The fabric of my life was suddenly too thin, the once-plush cloth of all the people who knew me when, now threadbare.
Another fiber pulled away yesterday, unraveling a piece of my history as it went. Suddenly the weave was so thin, I feared it would dissolve in my hands.
My friend died, one of the ones who was always there, always praying, always believing… and always worrying in a good sort of way. We didn’t speak often, but she was there, caring and loving even when she was in pain.
Her body gave out way too soon and the hole she left made me gasp. I didn’t realize how big her fabric thread was.
Almost forty years ago she promised to pray for us, and she and her husband never forgot. They prayed for us. Every. Single. Day.
All of a sudden, I felt very lonely.
“Who will pray for us now,” I sobbed to my husband as unwanted tears wet my cheek.
“She’s still praying!” He smiled a gentle smile, comfort in his eyes along with tears. Confused, I tilted my head, my eyes asking questions my brain couldn’t answer.
“All the company of heaven!” He threw his head back as he laughed, “that’s what that verse means. She’s still praying for us, along with all the saints in heaven!” Oh. Wait. Right. I forgot. And suddenly, the veil between earth and heaven seemed almost transparent. I wanted to pour out my heart, tell her everything I’d missed saying, everything that had happened, and everything that hadn’t. But more, I knew I’d see her again, along with all the rest of the dwindling tribe of elders in my life.
Grief made me forget, but suddenly I remembered.
The resurrection. His, Jesus’s, that overcame death, and ours, to everlasting hope. The forever family, friends and community that would once again be together, the fabric no longer thin but mesmerizingly complete. I would see her again.
I would tell her about the ministry she helped us birth, and what God did. I would tell her about worship, and healing, and prayer, and wounded hearts made whole, but she would already know.
Easter would win over dark Good Friday. Life over death, dancing instead of mourning, beauty for ashes, celebration in place of abandonment.
I looked down at my hands and imagined. Transformed, the fabric sparkled in my eyes, alive with the hope of heaven and the glory of resurrection.