At the same time.

A friend lost her battle with cancer yesterday.  My heart grieves for her and her family, but at the same time, I feel joy knowing she’s no longer in pain.

A friend’s newborn has an unexplained high fever. My heart aches for that little one and his family, but at the same time, I’m at peace knowing their faith rests in a loving Father.

A friend was in an accident while on vacation and has a spinal cord injury.  My heart feels pain for him and his family, the shock of their shattered world, but at the same time, I’m hopeful because I believe in a God who heals.

A friend is facing scary medical tests, trying not to succumb to the darkness of fear and ‘what if’ questions.  My heart feels heavy for her and her family, but at the same time, I feel at rest because I know the God who directs our paths is for our good.

A friend is confronting some difficult decisions and challenging situations in her workplace.   A friend just lost her brother.  A friend is battling through alarming pregnancy complications, fighting for her own life and the life of her child.  A friend is searching for light through the oppressive fog of depression.  A friend is struggling to breathe on her own.  A friend is in dire financial need.  A friend is desperately trying to get pregnant…

I grieve deeply, but at the same time, I am grateful, because I love deeply.

At the same time. 

That’s the wonder of the human race; this ridiculously complicated, beautifully messy, glorious reflection of our Creator.  Nowhere in the physical world can anything hold two opposing characteristics; light and darkness cannot simultaneously exist in the same place.  There’s no such thing as a circle with corners.  A plant is either alive or it’s dead.  According to the rules of the universe, two things like joy and sorrow should not be able to coexist.  But they do… in us.

So today I find myself embracing… at the same time. Sorrow and joy.  Grief and hope.  Pain and peace.  Desperation and gratitude. I’m embracing the fact that I can feel… because it means I am alive. 

I wish I could be there, for each of them.  I wish I could just bless them… hold a baby, make coffee, clean the house, build a ramp, care for the other children, make dinner, make a plan, do laundry, speak life and truth over each of their situations.  I wish I could… but, at the same time, I know I am where I belong.

And I will speak life and truth over each of them.  An ocean apart is but a breath on the wind for the One who covers us all, the One whom I trust.