defend the silver lining

“Pain throws your heart to the ground, 
love turns the whole thing around.

No, it won’t all go the way it should. But I know the heart of life is GOOD.

You know it’s nothing new. Bad news never had good timing.

Then, the circle of your friends will defend the silver lining.

No, it won’t all go the way it should, but I KNOW the HEART of life is good.

-John Mayer, Heart of Life

Today, one of the IJM employees said to me out of absolutely nowhere, "You're so lucky in the US to have both parents." 

Five years. It will soon be one fifth of my life. It has been five years since I stood and made a speech about my mother’s life, her beauty, and the love that poured from her heart to everyone around her. Five years that I have been without her hug, her soft hands to wipe a tear from my cheek, without hearing her call, “Stephanie!” when it was time for dinner. It’s a strange amount of time- it feels like its been so long and yet it is still just a strong of a feeling as if it all happened yesterday.

For some of those reading, you knew my mother well and you miss her too. For others reading, you never knew my Mom. I've struggled for several days now with what words to write that would accurately portray my reverie on what life is like without my Mom alive, but what it is like to have her spirit and her angel surrounding me at all times. I know that she would be proud of me, and though incredibly worried about me in Africa, leaning steadfastly on her faith that I would be just fine. Mom always had the gentlest way of dealing with everything and spoke in only the softest tone of a Southern woman. But then I also wonder if I would even be in Africa right now, at all.

So I write this post two days late yet still premature, because I have not carefully crafted words that are fitting for the occasion, that accurately express something so deep in my heart, words that could comfort the others that miss her too, words that would convey her unbelievable spirit to my friends who never had the chance to meet her. In fact, I feel that attempting to write something that accomplished such a lofty task would just result in a lot of wasted hours.

In five years, a lot of things have changed. I’ve experienced dramatic ebbs of grief and the widest range of emotions. I have directed words of confusion, anger, and pain toward the God that she worshipped so wholeheartedly. I have dreamt horrible nightmares then thumbed through thousands of photos to attempt to reconcile what my evil recesses in my mind crafted the night before. I’ve held others hands in a shameful attempt to encourage them through the loss of their parent simply because I had lived through it yet sat silently lacking any adequate words.

I no longer expect any of those things to change.

I still certainly don’t understand why, but I accept it.

I accept that she is dead but she is by no means gone. My story, of which her battle and her life is absolutely integral, is evidence of God’s faithfulness. Everyday I relearn the importance of His plan over my own.

This is the way it was supposed to be.

And, five years later, everything about this plan works.

Albeit, unconventional, it actually works quite beautifully.

Perhaps we all needed her angel more than I needed anything I prayed for five years ago.

So, Mom, here’s to you, a celebration of your life that I am thankful for everyday, and June 23, 2008, the first day we all got your angel.