Today I worshiped thru tears.  A continual stream of them.

I am sure I was not the only one.

On Tuesday morning I was driving to work singing along to the radio at the top of my lungs (the only acceptable volume, really).  It was a cold morning but I had my heated seat turned on and I had just come from listening to my friend, Adrianne, talk to our ladies group at church.

I did my job, picked up Jake from preschool, and came home.

And Larry says to me, "Did you hear?".

No, I hadn't.

He then told me how a woman who used to come to our church had died.  Very unexpectedly.

A young woman.

A pregnant young woman.

A pregnant young woman with a husband and a toddler.

I felt waves of grief crashing over me.

I wasn't close to this young woman.  But I had watched her while she was in the youth group.  While she was a young bride.  I felt like she smiled all the time.  She was so cheerful.

And now, she was gone.

As the day unfolded, so did the story.

I heard that they were unable to save Jeneva but they delivered her baby boy.  And things were looking good for him.

All day Wednesday I thought about Jeneva's husband, Mervin.  And their little girl.  And their baby in the hospital.  And I couldn't take my prayers much farther than "Oh, Jesus."

Then on Thursday, right before I left for work, I got a text.

Pray for the baby, it said, the doctors think there is significant brain damage.

The sun was shining as I drove my son to school and it felt like a mockery.

I dropped him off and drove to work.  I didn't listen to the radio.

I said to God, "How can one man handle this much pain?"
Sometimes it seems like God makes mistakes.

As I was cresting the hill on Railroad Ave coming into New Holland, something caught my eye.  It wasn't the church steeple stretching skyward, a view that normally I love.  It was well below the steeple.

It was the graveyard.

The tombstones to be specific.

They were glittering in the sunshine.

I don't know why or how but, for some reason, it comforted me.

Then this morning.

A sweet girl who had been a good friend of Jeneva's led worship.

We sang "Glorious One", "Lord I Need You", and "Revelation Song" among others.

I sang with tears streaming down my face the entire time.  Wanting to worship this Jesus whom I love but also feeling the ache of loss for someone that I barely knew.  Wanting to worship but also feeling the why.

Why did God allow this to happen?

Isn't that always the question we ask when tragedy strikes?

We can get philosophical and go into the fall of mankind at the beginning.  How death entered the world because of sin.

But I'd like to suggest that sometimes it's ok to just sit with the 'I don't know'.  And not just sit with it alone.  To bring it to Jesus and be broken and say 'I don't know why this happened and it breaks my heart.  But I trust you.  I trust that you know what you are doing and I'm going to look for you in this situation   Please show yourself to me.'

We sang the phrase "eternity sings" and I thought of Jeneva, singing in heaven this morning.  She loved Jesus, was committed to following his ways, and because of that she gets to sing his praises for eternity.  It's a comforting thought.

In Sunday school this morning we looked into the first two chapters of Ecclesiastes.  They are basically summed up in chapter one, verse two: "Meaningless!  Meaningless!" says the Teacher, "Utterly meaningless!  Everything is meaningless."

This was said by Solomon, one of the wealthiest and wisest men in history.

It makes me sad but, in a way, I see his point.

I do a lot of things that will never be remembered after I'm gone.  Mountains of laundry, piles of dirty dishes, mindless web surfing.

And even the important things that I do, making my husband and kids feel loved, being there for my friends, church work, writing this blog, generations from now it is most likely that no one will know my name.

But you know what?  I'm not gonna be here generations from now.
I am here right now.

And I say my life has meaning.  I say each day has value.  I say giving thanks for the little things is leaving a legacy for my kids and grandkids.

Today I watched people hug each other and I hugged a bunch of people.  I loved that.

Today I went for a hike under a white-puffy-cloud-blue sky with some people I care about.  I loved that.

Today I heard laughter and music that made my heart rejoice.  I loved that.

Today I tasted sweet chocolate, salty peanut butter, savory rosemary.  I loved that.

I read something in Shauna Niequist's book "Bittersweet" that I want to share with you.

"Bittersweet is the practice of believing that we really do need both the bitter and the sweet, and that a life of nothing but sweetness rots both your teeth and your soul.  Bitter is what makes us strong, what forces us to push through, what helps us earn the lines on our faces and the calluses on our hands.  Sweet is nice enough, but bittersweet is beautiful, nuanced, full of depth and complexity.  Bittersweet is courageous, gutsy, earthy."

The last thought I want to leave you with is this:

Jesus set the example in giving thanks.  1Corinthians 11: 23b-24a says "The Lord Jesus, on the night he was betrayed, took bread, and when he had given thanks he broke it..."

It's a stilling thought.

Jesus knew his betrayal was going to come at the hand of a friend.  He knew how his body was going to be beaten and brutalized.  He knew there was incredible suffering ahead for him on the cross.  And, yet, he gave thanks.

Sometimes our eucharisteo is bold and bright.

Sometimes life causes our eucharisteo to become faded and broken.

But the important thing is that we keep on giving thanks.

"Worthy is the King who conquered the grave."