February in Kansas

The cold wind whipped my dress around my knees. There weren’t enough chairs in the tent for everyone. I hugged my sister closer, trying to block the gusts and to remind her she wasn’t alone. I didn’t have to see her face to know that tears were making tracks through her foundation. My throat constricted as the tears that had threatened to spill over all morning finally broke through and I closed my eyes in one final protest. She squeezed my hand. The sniffs and sobs around me further confirmed that we weren’t alone. Yet it’s all too easy to feel incredibly alone in a crowd.

We stood in a grassy field. My heels were sinking into the soft ground, as if trying to drag me down into the despair that grief can so easily bring. The reality of the situation was no longer escapable. There was a hole in the ground, black as my dress, and someone I loved dearly would be placed in it. I opened my eyes and looked around. It was a beautiful day, for February in Kansas. Standing on the hill you could see all around for miles. Snowy white, cotton ball clouds sailed across a sea of blue. I hadn’t seen blue sky for weeks. These sights, which usually filled my soul and lifted my spirits, were wasted on my broken heart.

Pastor’s words were a drone in the background. I can’t tell you what they were exactly, but they were beautiful words, full of hope and life. I shut my eyes and let the words fall, willing them to penetrate the dark corners of my aching heart. I wanted to feel the rejoicing of an eternity begun. The joy of long-awaited reunions. The relief of suffering ended.

Pastor was praying. I bowed my head, but my heart cried out.

And then, the sun burst through the clouds, just for a minute. Like a Kansas sunflower I turned my face towards it, relishing the momentary warmth that washed over me. As soon as it had come, it was gone. Pastor’s prayer had ended. But I was changed. I knew there was rejoicing in eternity. I knew there was overflowing joy and songs of praise. I knew that dancing had replaced suffering.

And my soul would sing again.