Just Jesus

FullSizeRenderSpring is here and warmth that has seemed so long in coming it feels more special than I remember. And I long to be outside and run in green fields, which always makes my kids laugh when I say this to them, because who can picture their mom like modern-day Julie Andrews in the Sound of Music? But I would do it, if a green field would invite me. I just want to run and be outside and thank Jesus for spring and warmth and life, ragged as it is.

Because today my friend writes on FB that she’s lost one of hers to that mean cancer that also took one of mine several years ago. And I’m reminded of standing and doing Jenn’s eulogy and it makes me cry because I miss her and don’t wish that ache on my friend. Yet I know: it’s the drill when you lose someone you love and can’t do anything about it.

And I listen to this beautiful old-school song on repeat, “how could I ask for more, “ which reminds me of the fragile elegance of life… “there’s nothing like the warmth of a summer afternoon, waking to the sunlight, being cradled by the moon…catching fireflies at night, building castles in the sand…kissing mama’s face goodnight and holding daddy’s hand…thank you, Lord…how could I ask for more?” and I’m stunned that I forgot about some of those things and how awesome they are. Because, life. It’s awesome.

But all of it is not the real awesome, and I know this. Because there’s something about hearing that someone has gone to be with the Jesus you have loved long time that makes a heart feel jealous, which is quickly dismissed with human reasoning: “oh no, I’m not ready yet. I still want to be here” as if God might get the wrong impression and ask us to come home, too. Our life is spent in rub: we want to see Him so badly it hurts, and yet, life here feels pretty important to stick around for.

And all of this, during Holy Week, and the day before My Greatest Love spent His Friday drenched in love on a cross, and my heart can’t utter any good words but…Jesus.

Just Jesus.

Because life and death and tears and love and warmth and running in fields and saying goodbye and heartache and joy and every single piece of human experience…and the grasping and the letting go…and the mourning and the missing and the laughter and the future and the hope and the ugly before the beautiful. It’s all just ultimately about Him.

So I just offer the only good words I can for today, for this moment, which feel small but somehow also enough:

thank you, Lord. How could I ask for more?

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