The sun comes up
It's a new day dawning
It's time to sing your song again.
No matter what may pass
and whatever lies before me
Let me be singing when the evening comes.
- Matt Redman, '10 000 Reasons'
Over the last month, many Facebook statuses marked "The Thankfulness Project" have been popping up on my news feed. Friends of mine have writing about something they are thankful for each day. I think this has mostly been for their benefit, but reading their posts has been a source of encouragement to me. As I too quickly approach the one year mark of saying goodbye to John, I have been finding the hard days are coming closer together once again. I have been thinking lately about what my sister Rachel shared during John's funeral. She cautioned that on that day in our sadness, it is so easy to focus on the way John was taken from us instead of the life he lived and the memories we share as siblings, family and friends of his. These are the memories we need to hang on to. As I've begun to struggle again, I think I had better add my voice to "The Thankfulness Project" to help me on November 15th to be singing when the evening comes.
So today, just one month shy of the year anniversary of the fire that took my brother's life, in my heart I echo my sister Jessica's mantra from that terrible week, we were so lucky to have loved him.
I am so thankful to have shared my childhood with John; for the ticklish giggly four year old that came into our lives full of stories about super-puppies, super heroes and policemen to the rescue. I am thankful for all the games of hide-and-seek, Monster (a game my siblings and I made up for lazy days at the cottage. It involves a Monster (my dad), a jail, a home base, and a whole lot of tearing through the woods, jumping in the lake and hiding in outhouses.) and make-believe we all shared as siblings that enriched all of our childhoods.
I am thankful that his entire-body-consuming laughter is still in my head. I think of the day 10 year old John was laughing so hard that tears were almost running down his face in the back seat of our Suburban as he tried to explain to us how the Paul Simon song we were listening to sounded like someone squeaking his bare bum on a window.
When I go home to Blyth next week, I will be reminded of the time when in the beginning stages of building the house, shortly after we realized we didn't know of John and Colin's whereabouts, we heard mooing, and running, and looked out to the back orchard to see a frantic herd of cattle stampeding towards the fence followed closely by the boys. They were stumbling out of the trees, bent almost in half, with their fingers sticking off the sides of their heads like horns, mooing and yelling, and chasing the cows across the field. I am thankful for memories of his goofiness.
I am thankful that there were a few years in-between the hard years and the time we said goodbye. There were far too few visits, hugs, the opportunities I had to affirm John's new plans and ideas, but I'm so thankful for the ones I had.
For the family adventures, the childhood shenanigans, and for the shared memories with my other siblings, I am thankful.
I am thankful for my beautiful brother with the huge smile and contagious laugh. I miss him. I love him. I am so thankful to have shared such an important part of my life with him.
So on November 15th, I will try to remind myself of how lucky I was to have loved John. I will cry for the brother I lost, I will pray for me and my family for hope, for peace, for strength and courage to face the hard days ahead. I will pull out my guitar, listen to John Denver to honor my country-loving brother and eat hot fudge pudding (an incredibly messy favourite childhood dessert of ours). I will share my hurt, my questions, my anger and my grief with the One who is big enough to handle all the messiness of my heart. I will roll with the waves and I will make it through the day. And because I have a Savior who is rich in love, slow to anger, who's name is great and who's heart is kind, despite all the reasons to be overcome with sadness, my heart can find many reasons to still be singing when the evening comes.
Today
I am thankful for John's birth mother, a woman I'll never meet. She
carried and bore my brother, passing him, and then Colin into strangers'
arms when she was unable to care for them herself. I cannot imagine
having give up my own daughter, I cannot imagine the depth of her
heartbreak. For her incredible sacrifice, I am so very grateful.
I am so thankful to have shared my childhood with John; for the ticklish giggly four year old that came into our lives full of stories about super-puppies, super heroes and policemen to the rescue. I am thankful for all the games of hide-and-seek, Monster (a game my siblings and I made up for lazy days at the cottage. It involves a Monster (my dad), a jail, a home base, and a whole lot of tearing through the woods, jumping in the lake and hiding in outhouses.) and make-believe we all shared as siblings that enriched all of our childhoods.
I am thankful that his entire-body-consuming laughter is still in my head. I think of the day 10 year old John was laughing so hard that tears were almost running down his face in the back seat of our Suburban as he tried to explain to us how the Paul Simon song we were listening to sounded like someone squeaking his bare bum on a window.
When I go home to Blyth next week, I will be reminded of the time when in the beginning stages of building the house, shortly after we realized we didn't know of John and Colin's whereabouts, we heard mooing, and running, and looked out to the back orchard to see a frantic herd of cattle stampeding towards the fence followed closely by the boys. They were stumbling out of the trees, bent almost in half, with their fingers sticking off the sides of their heads like horns, mooing and yelling, and chasing the cows across the field. I am thankful for memories of his goofiness.
I am thankful that there were a few years in-between the hard years and the time we said goodbye. There were far too few visits, hugs, the opportunities I had to affirm John's new plans and ideas, but I'm so thankful for the ones I had.
For the family adventures, the childhood shenanigans, and for the shared memories with my other siblings, I am thankful.
I am thankful for my beautiful brother with the huge smile and contagious laugh. I miss him. I love him. I am so thankful to have shared such an important part of my life with him.
So on November 15th, I will try to remind myself of how lucky I was to have loved John. I will cry for the brother I lost, I will pray for me and my family for hope, for peace, for strength and courage to face the hard days ahead. I will pull out my guitar, listen to John Denver to honor my country-loving brother and eat hot fudge pudding (an incredibly messy favourite childhood dessert of ours). I will share my hurt, my questions, my anger and my grief with the One who is big enough to handle all the messiness of my heart. I will roll with the waves and I will make it through the day. And because I have a Savior who is rich in love, slow to anger, who's name is great and who's heart is kind, despite all the reasons to be overcome with sadness, my heart can find many reasons to still be singing when the evening comes.
Bless the Lord oh my soul, oh my soul
Worship His holy name!
Sing like never before, oh my soul,
Worship his Holy Name
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