In memory of Grady

I often find myself thoughtful the day after Christmas. Happy and content, pleased at a good time being had in our family and the families of our friends, and thankful for the quiet down-time. My house is a wreck, which I know is allowed the day after Christmas, so I'm not even worried about it. There are no Christmas parties or checklists yet to be tackled.


I'm looking forward to sitting in the comfy chair curled up in our new corduroy throw with a good book, my Bible, coffee, my journal, and my new package of beautifully colored ink pens. (I have a thing for good pens with colorful ink.)


My head is always a little clearer the day after Christmas. The fluff is done.



I've been thinking quite a bit about Grady Paul Larson, our very special little friend who left our world to go home and be with Jesus on April 23, 2002. Tomorrow is Grady's birthday, he would be turning 11 if he were still bound by the constraints of time.


I'm thinking about my dear friend Kim, Grady and Logan and Alyssa's mom, who always hurts at this time of year even while she hopes.


At the oddest moments, tears leap into my eyes and right down my cheeks when I think about Grady. I had the profound honor of being the DATE NIGHT BABYSITTER for Greg and Kim Larson before and during Grady's diagnosis and treatment and homegoing. We spent many Christmas Eve celebrations together with the Larsons, and although we've moved away from Iowa, the Body of Christ lets us be family. We've travelled back and forth for visits since the move, and still I am sometimes overwhelmed by the lack of Grady's presence with us on this earth.


Grady was just about famous for his intense personality and hilarious and poignant quotes.


The thing Grady was very sure of even at the end of his short and deeply meaningful life was probably his most famous quote:


"God loves me."

That's it, that's what he wanted to share at his preschool program. That's what he knew, without question, in the midst of suffering.


Wherever you are and whatever pain and questions overwhelm you at this time of year, may you know:

"how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge..." (Eph. 3:18-19)


I am reminded when the tears come that this really isn't my home. Pain is to be expected here; it makes me long for the place where...

Never again will they hunger; never again will they thirst. The sun will not beat upon them, nor any scorching heat. For the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd; He will lead them to springs of living water. And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes. (Rev. 7:16-17)

Because sometimes, I am tempted to expect that here.