A Band-aid for Your Bleeding Heart

Carson, mister, what do you think you're doing?

I'm in a hurry. I fight it, trying to embrace the art of slowful living, to make sure my family knows I am present It's my nature, always trying to get as much done as possible, as quickly as possible, and as a result of that the laundry is washed and our house has been vacuumed and the kids are dressed, but I'm feeling hurried and empty --not taking time to feed myself, physically or spiritually-- before scurrying to get out the door. 

We're heading to Rochester, to the hospital waiting room, to be with good friends of ours who are currently experiencing one of the scariest times in their lives -- a brain tumor and a delicate operation. 

Carson probably sensed the angst in my heart, as I told him our morning plans, and now, when I'm trying to make sure I have everything we need for our drive, over an hour one way, he's sorting through a drawer in the bathroom, pulling things out and making a mess.  

I'm finding a band-aid, so Gina's mom feels better.  

He shoves two packets, white with blue lettering, into his Lightening McQueen backpack, now lost among the toys and coloring books and super cool silly bands, and he's ready to go, trusting that band-aids can fix brain tumors, because, when you're almost three, band-aids can fix anything.

I was taken aback. And as I drove through the pouring rain, my heart bleeding because it's October, I kept thing about the faith of a child, the simplicity of it. 

----

Anne of Green Gable and all of Instagram deem this month best of all. I use to think so too, October is beautiful, yes, but now bittersweet. 

Two years ago it changed, when what I use to associate with this season, the crunchy leaves and crisp air and pumpkin spiced everything, was replaced with memories of a month of prayer, of fear, of faith, of death. 

I still so vividly recall that morning, the shock and numbness that came with the news of his passing. The overwhelming grief, and in the months that followed, the anxiety that I would be the next mother grieving over a son.  

My faith was, and still is at times, so shaken. And on days like today, anniversaries of death, where I want to honor and remember, but don't quite know how, the longing for heaven and for wholeness is intense. 

I need a band-aid for my bleeding heart.

Ev, we haven't forgotten you. You left imprints on our hearts and called us to pursue relationships above all else, with family, with friends, with God. 

Today, and every day, we remember.

"There is a peace that cometh after sorrow, of hope surrendered, not hope fulfilled; a peace that looketh not upon tomorrow, but calmly on the tempest stilled. A peace that lives not now in joy's excess, nor in the happy life of love secure; but in unerring strength the heart possesses, of conflicts won while learning to endure. A peace there is, in sacrifice secluded, a life subdued from will and passion free. 'Tis not the peace that over Eden brooded, but that which triumphed in Gethsemane."  -Jessie Rose Gates