Dear gracious and compassionate One, He who is close to the brokenhearted, You seem to be calling her home. If so, I
pray that instead of sorrow, she would know only anticipation. Of the ever
after, infinity, glory. A dry place. No tears.
I hope You stand between her and her earthly love, one
great and gentle arm across her shoulder, another around his, drawing them to Yourself.
I ask that the air they breathe be You (That near. Be that near to them,
please.). Exhale a soft breath, a halo both warm and cool, above their heads.
And maybe if you would, give her, perhaps even him, when
their faces are side by side, ears to hear the things on high, the sounds only
immortals are privvy to: living waterfalls, choirs of millions, wingbeats of
seraphim. “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty, who was, and is, and is
to come.”
In addition, would you also please prepare a spacious
place for her at your feet, in your throne room where I imagine (desire, really)
your floorcovering is by morning a sunrise and by evening a sunset? Some day,
and it may be years from now, (and if it is, we will praise Your name even as we laugh and call her Hezekiah), she’ll wind one ethereal arm around the essence
of You on her left, then lay one elegant hand on one of your Son’s piercings on
her right. A moment later, out of habit, her slender fingers will relocate to
the space in front of her ribs. Glide and tap, together and apart, and though there
is no keyboard, there will be a song, a gorgeous melody.
(She
doesn’t know me but this is my prayer for her.)
