He Said No

"If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world" - C.S. Lewis

When I was around 11 years old I remember being in gym class. Johnny Gingles gym class at North Elementary School. I said something or did something. I don't really remember what. But I do remember what she said. I remember a girl looking at me and saying

"You're weird"

And at that moment I thought "She's right. I am. I'm not normal" But it's like I didn't care. Or I didn't know I was supposed to care. I mean, I wasn't a social outcast. I liked everyone and everyone like me. But my cloth seemed to be cut a little different. Not much has changed. Except it's been amplified times a thousand. It feels like the more I pray for spiritual eyes, the more He changes my lens and the more uncomfortable normal becomes. It is a peaceful wrestling. There is a deep richness that comes with seeing life from the lens of your heart. His heart. It is a mixture of the pains of empathy tainted with the anger of reality, and drenched in a longing for more of the very thing that puts you in that place discomfort. Feelings of disconnection can run deep.

"I feel most understood when I am by myself" I said. "Really?!" he said. Wait - what did I just say? That's weird. That doesn't even make sense. But nothing was more true. I did. And I do. Like now.....

I am lying here by myself on this beach chair on my stomach by a pool on the 9th floor of a building in the middle of downtown Nashville reading a book. Surrounded by chatter about the latest parties, celebrity gossip, and fashion. How to make more money and climb more ladders. A cute hat on my head and black sunglasses covering my eyes. And I am crying. Crying after reading these words from Shane Claiborne on a trip to Iraq:

"I grew especially close to one of the 'shoeshine boys' - a homeless boy around 10 years old named. Mussel (in Baghdad) ...Day after day...we grew on each other. We went on walks, turned somersaults and yelled at airplanes "Salaam" (Peace!).... Mussel began internalizing what was happening..Nothing I could do made him smile.. he mimicked with his hands the falling of bombs and made the sound of explosions, as tears welled up in his eyes. suddenly he turned and latched onto my neck. He began to weep and his body shook as he grasped for each breath of air. I begin to cry... we wept as friends, as brothers, not as a peacemaker and a victim."

And I wept with them. Lying in my chair a world away. Longing to be in the dirt with Mussel. Craving to be in the street with him. Dirty. There. in Iraq. Who is with him now? He is not a name in a book. I know that now. He is somewhere. He is somebody.

There are some words that should not go together.

Children. Bombs. Guns. War. Slave. Just to name a few.

I close my eyes. Yes, I am tired. By choice, I am transparent. Too many years behind masks and hiding behind locked doors. Life is to be lived together and out loud. Not in the shadows and with hidden tears. I talk often about the fear of the pedestal. I talk openly about past struggles and am candid about poor choices that God has patiently taught me from. He has taught me much and there is no place I would rather be than at the foot of the Rabbi. Living. Learning. Loving. Until it hurts.......

I look down. I read more of Shane's time in Iraq. I read this:

"One day we had a birthday party for a girl names Amal... As we were playing a little game of balloon volleyball, bombs began to explode in the background.... One explosion hit very close. A couple of us huddled down with the little children. I looked at the young teenager who had courage I could only dream of, she looked deep into my timid eyes and said "It's okay. Don't be scared" .. Later when we asked her what she wanted for her birthday. She said "Peace"'

My heart begins to break again. Yes, I am tired. I am tired of coming home to an empty home to cuddle in an empty papazon. I am tired of people thinking I am special when I am not. I am tired of the tug of war that comes with raising monetary funds to meet spiritual needs. I am tired. But

I

Am

Not

Tired

... of this place. I am not tired of this space I am in and this heart that overflows. I am weary of many things. But I am not weary of Love. I am not weary of the heartache that comes from loving until it hurts. The deeper I go into His heart the more I find the broken. The more I find the beautiful. Around every corner. Around every letter I find from a child. Around every drawing of a body. Around every story heard on my sofa in my office. Around every insight of wisdom I hear from the suffering.

Imagining I am walking through the heart of the Savior. I do not see pretty. I do not see neat. I do not see married, 2.5 kids, and a picket fence. I do not see pretty faces and plastic smiles. What do I see? I see the lonely. I see the deserted. I see the depressed. I feel the pains of the homeless who are dying alone. I hear the heartbeat of the homeless child who is shaken at night by bombs. I feel the softness of the mother's hand who longs to hold her baby she has aborted. I taste the salt in the tears of the father who was forced to say goodbye too soon to his son. I do not see the pretty nor the perfect nor the nice nor the neat.

Not in the broken heart of Jesus.

I see the ugly. I see the lost. I see Mary Magdeline. Many men had known her body - but only one man knew her soul. She was abused and turned aside and given up on. And He said - no. No. I do not see you as they do. I do not see you as you do. You will not find that here. Not in my heart.

You are not who you were or what was done to you or what you have seen or what you have done. That is not what I see when I look at you.

I see Me. In you.

I am there. In the street. In the shadows. In the nights of silent tears. In the mirror and the feelings of inadequacy. In the bombs. In the thinking you can't go on. In the hoping you won't. In the fear. In the silence. In the dirt. In the loneliness. In the hiding. I am there. And I See you. And I love you. Scars and all.

I

Love

You.

Father God, there are times that words actually leave me. Times like these. All I know to do is to thank you for breaking my heart. And in a weird way, I ask you to keep breaking it. And for Mussel and Amal and all of those of us who have been, will be, or are being broken. Thank you for seeing us. Thank you for loving us. Thank you for seeing past who we see ourselves to be. Thank you for seeing you in us.

I am, gratefully and forever -

Yours, b

To Change the World....

Thank you Katharos Now for the opportunity to share my heart in this article. Website and article below.....

http://katharosnow.com/index.php?pageID=4548_3

Sometimes something touches your heart so deeply that “doing nothing” isn’t an option anymore. It becomes more about finding a way to make a change than it is about finding excuses. Not because the fear goes away, but because the hunger to do Something is deeper than being afraid. My mind told me that the problem was too big. That we couldn’t make a difference in violence that had been going on for centuries. But my heart told me that the very reason young children are abducted and taught to kill is the very reason we want to save them and teach them about peace. Because when you are a child, your heart is delicate, fragile, and beautiful. It is a garden that can either be trampled and burned or nurtured and loved. I realized with a problem so massive, you must start with the smallest child. To teach them they are worthy. To show them a different way. So they grow to be soldiers of peace rather than soldiers of war.
Exile international was born out of a Darkness. In August, 2008 I went on my first trip to DR Congo with an organization called ALARM, Inc. On that trip, former child soldiers asked me to be their mother. Women tried to give their children away to me. I heard stories of boys and girls who were abducted by rebels and forced to murder their parents. Stories of women and children as young as 2 who were raped as a weapon of war. Stories of women who had their children stolen out of their hands by the rebels. I met children so traumatized that they rarely spoke and could hardly show emotion. We visited 5 displacement camps in one day with women just crying to go home. I realized that these people were not only living in true exile, but in emotional exile, as well. They lacked security and stability of the heart. It was a level of hopelessness I had never seen before. I had been to Africa many times, but Congo was like no other country I had been. I think for some people, its darkness envelops you in a way that bonds you to it. You leave knowing you have to play some part it bringing light to her people.
That's how I left Congo. But I didn't know what part I could play or how I would play it, until God seated me next to a three-year-old autistic Kenyan boy on the plane ride home. After two weeks of trying to wrap my brain around everything I witnessed, the people I met, and the stories I heard, this little boy profoundly summed it up for me. In a few seconds, with a few words, he made sense out of my restless thoughts. As he and I stared out the window at the magnificent clouds, he began to repeat something my heart needed to hear: "It is bigger than we are...It is bigger than we are...It is...It is...bigger than we are."
His words settled my heart and my mind. I knew God was speaking to me through this little autistic boy. Speaking to me in a profound and beautiful way that would change how I see the world around me, and my place within it. I thought to myself, "Thank You, God. It IS so much bigger than we are, isn't it? The heavens. And so is Life. So much bigger than we are...but the beauty is that so are You. And You, God, are in the middle of it all." I finally understood that God is in us and with us, through our tears, through our violation, through our orphaned journey, through our loss. He is in the midst of it all. And the hope of Heaven is bigger than the waterfalls of pain. I realized that I needed to stop wrestling with the question "Where are you in all of this, God?" Because the answer lies in the mirror. The question isn’t “where is He”. He is beside of them when they are afraid in the bush. He is holding their hand when they are abducted and running from rebels. He is right there with them on the battlefield and the bullets. The question is not “Where are you, God?” The question is, “Where are WE?” It is through becoming His hands and feet that He becomes alive in us, and we begin to live out the gospel in loving others.

When we begin living for something bigger than ourselves, we find ourselves. We find our purpose - our song. The trauma work we do with the children in Uganda and Congo through art and expressive therapy brings us to life as much as it does them. Much of the program we use was actually created out of what the Lord taught me through my own journey through trauma, depression, and anxiety. That is our dream for the children. That they are not only survivors of war, but that they allow God to use their deepest pains to bring others to life by being the future leaders in their communities one day. To help them to know Jesus – The Prince of Peace.

As an organization, our team has been honored to work with over 800 children. Both through trips we take to offer the art/expressive therapy program and in the support of local leaders on the ground as they do weekly group work with the children. When the organization was founded, we thought it would be a small umbrella of trauma care. God has opened more doors than we have the resources to walk through, and our team continues to be taught that it is by walking step by step that we touch lives. Not in trying to fix the big picture. It’s about touching one heart at a time.
My heart cry is for the children of Central and Eastern Africa and for anyone who others have given up on. I needed someone to believe in me in one point in my life. And because God never gave up on me – I will never give up on these children. I am not special. I am not amazing. I am just a small woman who is doing what I needed someone else to do in my darkest hour – to believe in me. Just to believe in me. Although I fail daily, my wish is to be His heart here on earth. I want to let the Lord use my passions to make a difference, to embed peace in once war torn countries, and to help these kids know that God is beside of them in their pain. What is your heart cry? What passions has God placed deep inside your soul? What gifts has He given you?

I have learned that we often wait and stand back to find our purpose. We wait for our passion to come to life in order to begin living, when He has already given it to us. Our passion is found in living out our purpose, and our purpose is found in living out the gospel. Being the hands and feet of Jesus and loving His children who He places in front of us. One at a time. That’s how you change the world.

Editor's Note - eXile International offers a variety of ways you can help support their work. Go to www.exileinternational.org to learn more about the incredible things they are doing and find a way to be a part of it!

Bethany Haley is proudly Kentucky born and bred. When she is not seeing clients in her private counseling practice in Nashville, you can find her either playing with her nieces and nephew, in the depths of war-torn parts of Africa doing art therapy with former child soldiers or involved in advocacy work in DC. Bethany earned her bachelors degree from Freed-Hardeman University in social work, master's degree in social work from the University of Tennessee and her PhD in counseling psychology at Southern California University. She founded Exile international in 2008 after returning from DR Congo. She laughs loud, loves hard, and lives life as if she has only one.

Naked Storms

The first great moment that I remember was when I was three years old– a storm – I tore my clothes and ran out in it – and I have been doing that in storms ever since”….Kahlil Gibran

I wonder things. I wonder a lot of things. I tend to wonder more things when it's raining. It's like the rain somehow causes me to feel protected enough to think deeper. To feel deeper. Like yesterday. I watched it. The rain. And I wondered......

Why do we run from it? To be protected from the knocking of it's raindrops. Sheltered from it's wind. Covered from it's wetness. Are we afraid? Just to stand out in it and let it soak us to the core. Not to hide from it or run from it. Not to find protection from it under a newspaper, an umbrella, or a roof. What if we just didn't. What if we just let it do it's thing and cover us? What if we walked in it proudly? Standing tall and uncowardedly? As if we weren't smaller than it or fearful of it's outcome. We would be uncomfortable and wet and yucky. And then, if we surrendered to it, we would just be part of it in a way. Letting it wash over us.

Not so unlike life and suffering and the scars that living brings. I find myself called into dark and broken places. Sometimes that can be in a country torn apart by war. Sometimes that can be holding the hand of child whose mother took her life. Sometimes it's on my own knees on my own floor putting my own pieces back together. But I have learned not to fight it. I looked at people rushing away from it today. The rain. Into cars. Into buildings. Covering their heads as if they would melt if they let it touch them. And I wondered.

What if we were bold enough to stand out in it and just be drenched. Surrendering to the drops and letting it's warmth wash over us?

So I did.

Why not? What are we so afraid of ? We happily get in the shower each day and think of it as uplifting. But when we don't choose to get wet. When life happens and it chooses us. When the water comes down over us at times when we don't turn on the facet or we don't get to choose the temperature.... then it's an inconvenience and we run.

And we hide.

I got angry today. I rarely get angry. It wasn't a pretty angry or sheltered. It wasn't covered or hidden. It was me sitting and kneeling at the foot of a 60 foot white cross. My head was down on the wet stone steps leading up to it. Feeling the feelings that many would run away from because they are uncomfortable. Remembering the drama the former child soldiers acted out of their abduction and being force to kill. And I thought.....

The question is not why there is suffering. It is not why life happens the way that it happens or why we ask and do not receive. The question is "What, Lord, will you teach me from my suffering? How can you use this uncomfortable, unplanned, storm of life to help me to love more like you and trust you more?"

And I look up. How?

Maybe the question is not, "God what will you do FOR me? Maybe the question is what will you do WITH me?"

There was a car to my right and another coming around the bend and I didn't care. I did not run and I did not hide. The raindrops fell over me.....

I don't think I have ever felt more free in my life.

Life has taught me much. God has taught me more. I have learned..... to cry when I need to cry. To laugh when I need to laugh. To dance when I need to dance. To kneel when I need to kneel. In the rain. Out of the rain.

Sitting there. Kneeling there. It rained down and I took it all. Every drop. Soaking it in as if it were a covering all around me. Washing over me like a welcomed showered blanket of Fearlessness from the Heavens.

I had this thought....

These places I am called to. They are not pretty. These scars. They are not neat. These tears. They are not tidy or clean or sheltered. They flow. Freely sometimes.

But I am so happy. So full of joy. I have been made for this. Not for suffering, but for Hope. To make sense out of the senseless and to see the good in pure evil.

To scream into the storms,

"There is a tomorrow." There is a tomorrow. And the night will fall and the day will dawn. And there will be light. There WILL be light.

I get back in the car, soaking wet, and hear this song..... And I smile. Take a listen.

From Children of War to Children of Peace and Out of eXile

There is something about finding someone who shares your passion. Something about the non stop talking. The completing each others sentences. The "getting it" not because of hearing their words, but because you feel their spirit. I find that rare. I found that in Africa. In Jane.

Her face comes alive when she talks about the dreams of rehabilitation for the children tortured and wounded by the LRA in Northern Uganda, Congo, CAR, Sudan. True Rehabilitation. Not just emotionally, but physically and spiritually. With skills training, education, reintegration, and advocacy work. As we talked (for hours) we realized that our hearts saw through the same eyes in what these children needed. We realized we had similar stories. We realized that God had brought us together.

Amazing doesn't begin to describe her. She has given her all in all for the calling God has placed in her soul. She knows how to teach survival because she has survived. And continues to. And will... continue to.

As the eXile team sat around the table a few days later with the board of Children of Peace.... born out of the film Children of War (2010 Winner of the Cinema for Peace Justice Award in Berlin), we were honored. Who knew such collaboration would be born out of a connection this time last year? If you haven't seen this film. You can now purchase it at http://www.childrenofwarfilm.com/ . Watch the trailer.

The history of bringing us all together goes something like this:

~ Miss Lisa Dougan from Resolve: "Bethany, you have to see this film. It tells the story of rehabilitation of former child soldiers in Uganda" Lisa connects me with Mr. Bryan Single who lives in Los Angeles.

~ Finally getting to talk on my way home from a road trip, I pull over. Bryan and I talk for about an hour.

~ "We would love to screen your film in Nashville and we'd love for you to come"

~ Finding out Bryan's parents, oddly, live right outside of Nashville, we make plans.

~ He comes. We screen the film. Heart connection. The UN has the World Premiere of the film in NY. I go. I meet Jane - trauma counselor of a well known Rehabilitation Center in Lira, Uganda. She leads the viewer through the story of the children's healing in the film. She speaks after the UN screening in NY of her dreams of holistic rehabilitation for the children. Addressing their physical, emotional, educational, spiritual, and relational needs - all lead by local leaders. I knew we had the same dream.

Jane and I begin corresponding by email. Bryan and I start dreaming of how we can all work together.

Fast forward 8 months, and I am in the middle of Jane's home in Lira, Uganda. We are holding sick babies together, finding food for orphanages, and talking about blogs, logos, and how God can use our hearts and visions to collaborate a 10 year plan to develop a program to change the face of a nation. Or two. Or three.

The team sits around the table with some amazing leaders. Sharing the same hearts. Praying the same prayer. The prayer of leading them back to life again. To give them back what was stolen from them in war. So they can become Children of Peace rather than Children of War.

It will be a long journey and lots of support funds to be raised and prayers to be spoken. But we will get there.

"We can all do more together" said the President of the Board of Children of Peace.

Yes we can. And we will.

Check out the website http://www.childrenofwarfilm.com/ Watch the Trailer

Listen to Jane speak at the International Criminal Court screening here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MWP-FjUqem4

The new blog for Children of Peace will be live soon AND if you are interested in helping develop a website for this amazing organization please email bethany@exileinternational.org. Let's do this together.....

Where do I begin....

Where do I begin? So much in my heart and only a few minutes to blog....

Do I begin with the baby orphanage? When asked their greatest need and mentioned clothes, Sister Francis laughed.

"You know - it is the belly. The babies do not care if they are naked. They

care if they have nothing to put into their stomachs. What do I do if they

are crying and have nothing to give them?"

Do I begin with the child mothers - those who have been abducted at young ages and given to rebel leaders as sex slaves. They come out of the bush with babies. The youngest one we have met so far was 12 when she gave birth. I see shame in their eyes, and I want so desperately to tell them how beautiful they are. Each and everyone one. I want even more desperately for them to believe it

Do I start with the former child solders and children we met yesterday. Spending a lot time rained in with them. Trying to talk over the sound of beating rain on the tin roof. Time of laughing, sharing, playing soccer in the rain, hearing stories of survival. Looking at their scars as they danced in the dirt, as they played their drums. Watching them look down at the ground when we told them that God was with them in their deepest pain. Who am I to tell them that? Who am I? I have no clue what they have gone through - at 5 at 10 and 12.

Stories are just stories until they become your reality.

Like the reality of a young boy who was forced to kill a leader in his village - in unspeakable ways that I will spare you details from. He went through years of seeing him. The man he killed. He saw him when he slept and when he woke up.

"I see blood as running water"

He was five. When forced to kill. He was five years old.

Maybe I should begin with Innocent. Amazing young man of 15.

"I want to be white like you. I want to be like you. Life would be good then. Life is hard here.

Me "You are beautiful. we see more true life and joy here than we see in all of America some time."

He was orphaned by the war when his parents were killed and captured by the rebels. He was abducted. He is a survivor.... but he will not just survive. He will be a great leader one day. You can see it in his eyes. He wants to be a doctor, but he fears he won't succeed

Jessica "You will succeed. We believe in you."

Jessie "We will pray for you and never stop praying for you. We will carry your story in our hearts" Looking deep into his eyes. "We will not forget you. We promise"

Big promise. That will be kept.

When we left he started whispering in my ear, but I couldn't make out what he said. Soft voice. He took my hand... and I listened. And I heard.

I heard a 15 year old former child slave, possibly forced to kill, who was praying for three women getting ready to depart on their journey to another part of his country. Yes - HE was praying for US. And, NO - we will not forget him. Committing to make sure this boy is sponsored and empowered and loved. He has no parents, but he is such an amazing child of God.

Father - bless this week. As we go into Village of Hope and see these precious children that I have talked about to senators, representatives, staffers in Washington DC. I have not seen them in over a year. Gloria. Norbert. Norman. Barbara. My heart leaps and my spirit fills with excitement.

Make us your instrument, Lord We are

Yours,

b

Never Old Hat - Back in Uganda....

It's becoming old hat. I wonder where that phrase came from. I don't know, but I hope it never applies to me. Driving down this Ugandan road to Gulu from Lira coming from Kampala after Entebee... and Amsterdam....and Detroit.... from Nashville. In three days. I have started coming up by myself a few days before or staying a few days after the team to meet with potential partners, finding needs and understanding culture (team gets in today!). I love it so much. I find the time richer and deeper. But I am tried. But not really. What I actually am is Full. Filled to overflowing with stories. Of numbers. Of sights and sounds and smells and lives lost that are floating around me in this green and beautiful bush I am riding through. Bosco drives. He loves listening to the Grease Lightening sound track and laughs at me so much when I belt out every word. "I love this so much!" He says "Have you seen the movie?" I ask "The movie? No? There is a movie?!" I smile and look out the window again.

I often ask my nieces what they are thinking about when I catch them drifting off (I miss them so much more when I'm away). I love hearing their response. For me? Now?

I'm thinking of John who told me about his wonderful program in Lira that teaches those who are not able to feed their families how to farm. He is driven and articulate and intelligent. I watch him tell me of his dreams for his people. He is missing his right ear. I know how he lost it. I don't have to ask - nor would I. The LRA is known for chopping off the ears and lips of its victims. But he lives on. He lives in color. He lives in hope.

I am thinking of Justin. The driver of our car who took us to Kampala. The minute we were alone in the car he started sharing. "I am from Gulu, you know?" I only have to ask a few questions and he begins, "Even I am war-affected. You know, they would come into the schools and they would take you. They would chop the children and force the others to kill their teachers. Even they would make you eat her flesh"

"I am so sorry. So sorry, Justin."

He points to his hand. He is missing the top of a finger. "Even I was abducted for 2 days" Showing me his finger. "It was a bomb. It took my finger"

"How old were you"

"I was 13"

Riding along. Bosco asks me if I am hungry. No. No - I am not hungry. I am sad. I am hopeful. I am full. I look out the window again imaging when the LRA was raiding this land and the 60,000 children in Uganda alone that I heard yesterday were either killed or abducted. I think of Congo were Kony is now. I think of Kinshasha, DRC where I was told yesterday that there were 10,000 street children abandoned by their parents who wrongly have accused them of being witches and sorcerers. They blame them for their poverty and they have abandoned them to the streets. I think of the 5000 child soldiers who are apparently going to be released to their villages in the next year in Sudan. What is there for these children to begin their healing? They will be rejected by their villagers and will be forced to be street children. But there is an answer.

I remember the three year old boy yesterday I saw on Jane's computer. He was born in the bush by a young girl forced to be a sex slave to Joseph Kony himself. There are thousands of them - these children born in the bush after abduction of the girls. They only know life in the bush. They are called "the choppers" because they are the offspring of a rebel commander. They range in age of around 3 - 10 years old. This little boy in particular?

This boy resembles his father - Joseph Kony - in an obvious way.

"They say that all of Kony's children resemble him. They say none of them that resemble the mother"

"How many are there?" How many children does Kony have?"

"He has had around 70 girls as wives. Many of them have had 2 - 3 children. They say he has 150 children. You know, if we do not teach the children differently. If we do not help their hearts heal. What will happen? We will have thousands more Konys"

I have fallen asleep. Deep needed sleep. Dreaming of many things. I open my eyes and the sunset is amazing. It captures my heart and I smile. I think.....

"Your love is as faithful as the sunrise and as soothing as the sunset. I will not fear. I will hope. I will believe."

Father, if I love these children as deeply as I do, I can only imagine how much you love them. Use these next few weeks not only to change me, but to use me. To use our team. Use our words. Use our hands. I don't want this to be old hat. I never want my heart to stop breaking. I never want to be hardened. I was at one point. Hardened. Thinking I would never thaw out. I praise you for breaking me. I praise you for unthawing me. I praise you for never giving up on me.

I will, my God and my Father, never ever give up on you. I am

Yours, b

How do you say goodbye?

How do you say goodbye? How do you say goodbye to your best friend? Best friend of 60 years. Best friend of 5. How?

Funny, I've noticed that I don't blog nearly as much as I used to. Mainly because I thought no one was reading them when I wrote them. Now that I know people do, I find myself being less vulnerable and writing less often. But it's inside of me. It's always inside of me. Even more lately. I get a bit sappy before a trip. I think deeper. I feel deeper. I live deeper. I question.... deeper.

Like how do you say goodbye? To your best friend of 60 years? Knowing you have weeks with him. Maybe days. How do you say goodbye to your kindred best buddy in high school when a freak accident snatches him from your life. At 17. When you feel like you can't even breathe?

There are so many kind of tears. It fathoms me. Tears of fear. Tears of relief. Tears of disappointment. Tears of embarrassment. Tears of wonderment. Tears of joy. Tears of sorrow. Tears of loss. Deep loss. Stomach pitting loss. Grief is its own animal. And its been surrounding me the past few weeks. Seeing young lives lost suddenly that were supposed to live for decades. Seasoned lives slowly coming to an end and the anticipation that surrounds that. The time to say the things you need to say, do the things you need to do, and the knowledge that death is imminent.

This past week I prayed fervently for the life a teenage boy. After a tragic accident. Before he died. Tears of loss. Questions of purpose.

Today I watched the two wrinkled hands I blogged about a few weeks ago. I watched them all day. Not just their hands, but their eyes. Their tears. Tears of sorrow.

I watched love in action all around them today. Acts of honor and love in the form of a warm peach cobbler, in cleaning out a fridge, in writing a heartfelt letter, in the colorful drawings from the heart of a grandchild, in a yard being mowed, a memory being told, a tear being shed, a hand being held, an eye being wiped or a breathing treatment being tenderly given. I watched.

I watched his sweet grand girls coming over to give him the pictures that they had drawn especially for him. Him looking at them, barely able to see them, and then closing his eyes in silent tears.

I watched love surrounding me today. If it were a colorful cloud I would have been blinded by it.

I saw it from a far this week. 100 amazing kids just being with the best friend left behind. Precious heart. Incredible young man. Just sitting with him. Being with him. In ICU rooms being decorated in school colors. In donations being given to the cause of adoption in honor of a life.

Life's Death being honored through Living Love.

LIVING LOVE.

C.S. Lewis: "If, as I can't help suspecting, the dead also feel the pains of separation, then for both lovers, and for all pairs of lovers without exception, bereavement is a universal and integral part of our experience of love."

When it's all said and done. I go back to this. The Sorrow we feel would not be Sorrow at all if it weren't for the Love played out from the precious memories. And if what they gave us, what they taught us, and the person we are because of them still lives - have we truly lost them at all? And doesn't that somehow mean that a part of them still lives. And as we live out their fingerprints they have placed on our souls in our own lives - touching others along the way - doesn't that somehow mean a part of them will always live? Maybe?

"I want to move my bed in with his. When they move in the hospital bed, I want my bed to be in the room too. So I can sleep next to him. So I can be next to him."

Tears. More beautiful tears. Tears flowing out of a love that some rarely experience. Especially for over 60 years.

How do you say goodbye to your best friend? You don't. You just don't. You live for them and they live through you. You carry them around with you when you remember that thing that only you both would smile about. When you see that special something that causes you to think of them. Or you remember that special lesson that they taught you. You live out a deeper understanding of how you are a changed person because of them and you touch other people with their fingerprints.

Knowing that your heart would not be broken if it had not been loved. And it's that love that you live off of sometimes.

And until then?

Maybe you sleep with them. Beside of them in the same room. And slowly..... day by day.... say goodbye.

For now. Just for now.