Today I went to a memorial of a woman that I barely knew.  I listened to the lovely things her friends and family had to say, and I admired a woman that had such a profound effect on those around her.  Though I'm cordial with her husband, I can't say I know him well.   I went because my god told me to be there, and because I wanted to show my support.

It wasn't long after I began going to my little Baptist Hebrew Roots church this year that I heard that the wife of the associate pastor, who I only knew by name, was ill. I think I met her one time.  In fact, I'm certain she wouldn't have known who I was.  She passed away early on Friday morning, leaving a quite obviously large and aching hole in the lives of those who loved and were impacted by her love and her faith.

I can't help thinking how rough this past Shabbat must have been for her husband.  Storm died at 4:16 on a Friday morning.  I had  survived that Friday, full of well-meaning huggers and kind visitors and loving people who, with complete sincerity, spoke to me the platitudes they have learned to say when someone dies.  I had talked to the people who had to be talked to.  I had made the phone calls I had to make.  I had answered the police and the neighbors and the questions and the dogs scared looks and the phone over and over again.  Night finally came that Shabbat, ending that worst day, and for the first time in 23 years I dreaded a Sabbath.

Waking up that day was waking to the second worst day of my life.  A few bright spots were in the day.  My daughter brought us breakfast, and her father-in-law brought Malachi, and he brought sunshine to my heart.  The day improved, and so did my life.  But that first full morning, that first Shabbat sunrise, the whole day looked like a bleak desert of empty time.  It was the first day I remember looking out the window at the sun, too bright and shiny when I hurt so much inside, and saying out loud, "This is the day you have made, Yahweh.  Please help me to rejoice and be glad in it."  He heard my prayer that day, and the many, many mornings I would say it after that.  I realized today that I no longer say that in the morning.  Each day starts with a soft, purring cat, and is full of work and service and joy and great blessings, and there is no time for me to wallow in pain and trauma and grief.  Life is short, and it is for living.

My church is like homecoming for me.  I still mostly try to make myself small, and still mostly feel out of place, like a single gray chick among the yellow ones.  I walked away from church and church fellowship many years ago; I was a gray chick even then.  My belief grew and changed and I developed my dogged determination to learn and obey Torah.  I had searched for congregations, and had given up.  The only reason I went to Cornerstone that day was because the father impressed upon me I needed prayer, and I remembered this church kept a Sabbath meeting.  I went and received the prayer, and then the message, and then the food; all nourishment to my broken soul. I tried to be small and invisible, and the Father mostly let me. I thought I would only go the once.   Somehow, I found myself waking up again and again on Shabbat morning, and making my way to the little church, and trying to be invisible in the pew.  Each week I felt a little better, a little more equipped, and a little more in awe of my god.  Each week I received something that helped me gain insight into the past week, and to get through the next, and it was all nourishment to my soul.  I'm sure the Father saved my heart through this church, and it might have even saved my life.  I have come to love these people, and their beautiful hearts.  

Today, watching these folks who love Torah so much express their love for this woman made me love them even more, and helped me realize once again how very blessed I am to have found them.  I realize how much I love the air in my lungs, and the feel of the cold against my skin, and the sound of a room full of people fellowshipping in His name.  I realized how much I love my soft cat, and my warm bed, and my quiet life, even if it isn't the life I would have chosen.

I am constantly humbled that Yah hears my prayers, and that he sees me at all.  The knowledge that this IS the day that Yah has made, and he wants us to rejoice and be glad in it has driven me from bed morning after morning, and the knowledge that I would be embraced in his love through my fellow servants in him helped me to rejoice in it at least once a week.  Yah has created something in the Torah that is more than just words and laws and rules; it is the framework of his love for us.  It is the embodiment of the caring and kindness he shows toward us every day, and it is the medicine that helps the grieving recover, and the brokenhearted to find healing.  Psalm 119 is all about the glorious blessing of the Torah.  Vs. 50-51 This is my comfort in my affliction, For Your word has given me life.  The proud have utterly scorned me, I did not turn aside from Your Torah.  Also vs. 93 says: Let me never forget Your orders, For by them You have given me life.    My favorite is 165: Great peace have those loving Your Torah, And for them there is no stumbling-block.   By believing in Torah, I knew what I was going to do that first Shabbat; rest.  The same as I have done every one since, and before it.  Resting. Though I dreaded the long day without Storm, I took comfort in knowing what to do that day.  I rested in Torah, in my grief, and in my Father.  I know that, whatever horrible things might happen in life, the rules have already been established at the foundations of creation.  All that I have to do is obey them, and Yah will take care of the hard stuff for me.    

I saw that same faith in the husband tonight.  I saw the grief, the pain, and that familiar feeling of "what am I supposed to do with myself now?"  But I also saw that framework of Torah.  That knowledge that whatever pain and sorrow life may bring, there is such a blessing in knowing that the guidelines for what to do are already in our hearts.  That faith that the Father has set his will into place, has spoken the creation into being, and he has spoken his law into being, and it is very good, and it will comfort and bring peace.

Maybe that is what I was there for; to see a mirror.  To see my own faith in Yahweh's Torah reflected back in the face of another believer who has lost that which they had cleaved to them and now find their love bleeding out.  To see the reflection of myself nine months ago reinforces where I am now in recovery.  Maybe I dunno.  I do try to understand, but I mostly try to obey.

Nobody wants my advice, but if I were to give it to a new widow or widower in faith, I would say this: Yah sees you.  He knows your pain, and he will bless you.  He will lead you out of this time of darkness and into the light, because the darkness has not overcome the light.  Just obey, and keep your faith, and it will be rewarded.  THIS is the day that Yah has made.  Yes, even THIS day; the one where the most important person in your life died, is his.  Try to rejoice and be glad in it.  I would tell them it gets better, and to take care of themselves, because they are the temple of Yah.

May Yahweh bring this family shalom.  May he hold them in their loving arms.  May he help them rejoice in every day.  May he remind me to pray for them daily.

Amen.