I was expecting yesterday to be hard.
You see, a year ago on June 15 I got a phone call in the middle of the day. Right in the middle of working and meeting deadlines, when all of a sudden that didn’t matter.
It was one of those phone calls you get when you wish you’d never answered the phone. The phone call that changes your world.
One of my cousins – cousins who are like brothers to me – had been killed suddenly in a car accident. The one who rode in the El Camino with me. The first baby I ever held.
Grief has come in predictable places, like Thanksgiving and Christmas, but I’ve experienced it in the oddest moments, too.
Like every time I see a little red haired boy.
Once in the middle of the produce section at Wal-Mart where I couldn’t hold the tears back.
But yesterday turned out very different than I thought it would.
Pretty typical for a Wednesday – went to the gym, visited with the guy who mows my lawn, went to a meeting, worked on projects, returned emails, made phone calls.
And ate leftovers for supper with a dear old friend who just moved back to town.
Afterward we went over to this small church in the middle of town. A church where people aren’t so consumed with what they own, like I am sometimes. Where pride is left at the front door and no one cares what they sound like singing. Or what they dress like. Or what kind of car they left in the parking lot.
Like I do far too often.
The tears came watching people who have obviously known a lot of loss in their lives, yet they couldn’t remain seated when we began to sing, “Lord, I’m amazed by you, how you love me.”
And neither could I.