Well With My Soul

I ran into a neighbor at the grocery store early this morning. As we stood in line, we talked Thanksgiving recipes and how many guests we were each expecting. "The number keeps getting smaller," she said sadly. I was quiet for just a moment before I quietly agreed. And then she told me about the last Thanksgiving her Dad had on this earth and how she burned the turkey. Bad enough to call 9-1-1. We laughed our way out of the store.

I've been thinking about the empty chairs around our Thanksgiving table this year. How I miss my loved ones. I miss them all the time, but the missing is right there front and center this time of year. No escaping it. But even if I could, I wouldn't want to escape my grief. A grief that has matured and changed over the years, a grief my children would be surprised to know about, lives quite comfortably with happiness.

The poet Shelley was right, I think, about our sincerest laughter being fraught with sadness. In a weird way, it's that sadness that makes my joy complete.

Thank you, Lord, for everything. It is indeed well with my soul. Because of you. I love you!