Butterflies in winter often chase away the losses.~Phrase a character heard in a dream from my book, Missing God.

Last week a former colleague of mine died. She was young. It felt impossible to imagine that she was gone from this world. I think this feeling fits the word empty. I felt empty. Her absence like someone snatching something precious out of my heart. How could she be gone just like that? I wasn't prepared. No, I wasn't ready for this reality.

And then the truth began to sink in. I couldn't deny (though I wanted to, my brain wanted to) that she was absent from this earth--her absence like a sad presence.

Yet I go on inside this loss. There is not a choice. Life continues to pulse and bustle onward in all its call to sustain a day. There is gas to put in the car. Food to stock the fridge. Bills on the dining room table. Clothes in the dryer waiting to be folded. All the ordinary stuff that packs a day. 

Writing is healing. I write to process the death. And I go to God. His Word. In John 6:66 it says: "From this time many of his disciples turned back and no longer followed him." Then Jesus replies (vs. 67), You do not want to leave too, do you? Jesus asked the Twelve." Then (Vs. 68) "Simon Peter answered him, 'Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.'" I resound with Peter. To whom else would I go when caught up in the darkness of grief and loss?

Like my character in the book, the Lord's presence is akin to the beauty and comfort of butterflies appearing in the cold, in the dark, in the debris. My colleague, too, a woman of faith, safe now in heaven. This truth, too, brings solace and consolation inside the pain that still resides.