Legacy is a strange thing. We want people to talk about our great works, our incredible character, our nimble wit, or any other number of wonderful things about us. Certainly he embodied many of these things–he was hardworking, kind, gentle, funny–the list goes on and on. However, as believers, the legacy we leave behind is different. It has to be.
What he leaves behind is the memory of a life lived for Christ. I’m not talking about braving African jungles to reach natives, or sitting in jail because of persecution, but living a quiet, ordinary life extraordinarily. Extraordinary in its faithfulness and perseverance, where now he can say, like Paul, I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith (2 Timothy 4:7). This is what we, as those left behind, can take comfort in and inspiration from.
I will always remember the feel of his hands. He had a firm grip, solid and reassuring. Warm. Holding his hands made me feel safe, especially when he was praying. His voice was steady and deliberate. He tasted his words before speaking them. There was power behind his prayers.
Thank you God, for giving him to us for this short time. Now he is by your side, where you have called him to be. Safe in your arms.
my new year’s eve passed by quietly and uneventfully, and i went to bed amidst the sound of exploding fireworks.
another year has gone, but it’s just another day and every day is new after all. if i have a resolution for this year, it’s to try my best every day.
i am only beginning to discover the fastidiousness of his everyday routines.
he is rediscovering that girls shed much more than any pet ever could.
we are happy.
i will be a different person.
this time last year, i was getting ready to move home from japan. sometimes when i’m lying in bed, just woken up, i think that i’m still there. other times, i forget that i was ever gone from this place.
this place. it’s familiar and foreign at once and things are happening so quickly and suddenly that i’m off kilter and don’t know it until i’m head deep underwater. i’m pushing through but the water is thicker than i realize and there’s nothing for me to do except relax and let it take me where it will. because it will.
i’m hoarding little moments, caught in secret, away from the light, because the weight will crush its lightheartedness i know it i know it i know it i don’t know it.
nothing is ever so certain as time. it passes without a care and this too, shall pass.
the hives are gone finally and i’ve settled into a routine that will soon be turned upside down in a week or so but it’s unexpectedly welcome. nevertheless, there is a part of me that resists; i suppose that is why i stay up as late as i do. i’m willing tomorrow to not come.
I feel obligated to do this last post of the year, not to anyone in particular–well, maybe myself. It’s been an eventful year; two huge moves, several engagements (including my own!), and one new job.
There’s not much I want to say, except that I am grateful and blessed.