This has been a week of hard words in our house. With the same voices that led them into Narnia and across the West with Laura and down Klickitat Street, we’ve had to begin to tell our boys other stories, stories in which the shadow of illness and struggle hangs low over ones we love, and the days to come may hold turns we would not willingly write. These are stories they’ve not had to live yet, and as I hold these boys I bore, I feel as never before the violation of the Fall.
But in the midst of these hard words, I am finding myself so deeply thankful for many years spent near Scripture, for the pages in my own Bible, for the liturgies and prayers and songs and hymns that speak God’s heart to me.
“Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you.” 1 Peter 5:7
I do. Over and over I cast my worry and trouble on Him, and in the next moment, of course, I pull it all back. But like a net, the tattered frayed fibers of my anxious thoughts bear back to me, tangled with them, long remembered words of His. In the very middle of these aching hours, comfort and truth keep returning to me in the verses that have seeped into me over time. And in those moments God is near.
This after all, is the Story we’re really trying to tell our boys. The Story that runs above and beneath and even through this harder chapter we are living, with the Author whose wild and creative love alone has already written the final chapter.