Reflections for the Grieving Soul by Mike Nappa

Author:Mike Nappa [Nappa, Mike]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Zondervan
Published: 2023-06-02T00:00:00+00:00

PRAYER FOR TODAY

I feel lost today, Jesus. Alone. When I weep, will You share my sorrow and weep alongside me? For some reason, I think that’ll make me feel better. I love You.

Amen.

No eye has seen, no ear has heard, and no mind has imagined what God has prepared for those who love him.

1 CORINTHIANS 2:9 NLT

LATELY I FIND MYSELF THINKING “AMY WOULD’VE” AND “Amy used to” a lot.

I mean, a lot.

For instance, tonight I stood in the street in the freezing cold, watching our preschool-aged granddaughter perform a sweet little ballet at a local tree-lighting event downtown. Amy would’ve just loved this, I thought almost instantly. She would’ve cheered and teared up and been full of joy. I looked over at Amy’s sister Jody, who was standing next to me, also weeping, and knew I wasn’t the only one thinking those thoughts.

Every year, Amy and I had a tradition of watching our favorite holiday movies in the days between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Today I saw Love Actually in a stack of DVDs and thought, Amy used to love watching this movie. It made her cry every time.

Once, some years ago, she was having a really bad day. I hurriedly took a cue from one of the characters in the movie and scribbled a little sign for her.

“To me, you are perfect,” it said.

I stood in a doorway and held it up to my chest for her the next time she walked by. She burst into tears and hugged me for a long time. Then she felt better, and I forgot all about it.

After she died, I found that scrap-paper sign in a keepsake box of hers. She’d saved it, treasured it, for years, and I never knew. Amy used to do stuff like that, secretly save silly, sentimental mementos I made for her.

Amy would’ve . . .

Amy used to . . .

As soon as these thoughts appear in my brain, they’re almost always followed by I would’ve . . . and I used to . . . As in, I would’ve loved this with Amy . . . and I used to love being that with Amy . . .

My girl is dead and gone. I know this. She is safe, happy, free. But I am none of those things. So I sit here suffering, thinking, I would’ve loved to watch tonight’s preschool ballet with Amy at my side. And I used to love watching Love Actually with her and holding her hand when it was time for her to cry. No more. I find this unbelievably hard.

Still . . .

In the weeks before she died, I handwrote one last note for my girl:

“No eye has seen, no ear has heard, and no mind has imagined what God has prepared for those who love him (1 Corinthians 2:9).”

I used a black, fine-point Sharpie on a pink index card. I hung it at her eye level, on the table next to her hospice bed, so she would see it whenever she woke up.

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