Life Without Mother

Dear Mom,

Hey. It’s been a while. There are so many things to update. Some are still in the process of transition and currently have many question marks. But, really I’m just here because it’s one of those days I wish I could call.

We had a celebration worship night tonight for our service — basically having a song, some testimony time, some songs, some prayer time, more songs, the Lord’s Supper, final song. Oh, Mom, sometimes I wonder if what we really just had was a glimpse of Heaven! What a blessing to be part of it here on earth. Tonight was definitely just a glimpse, though. The brokenness of this world seeped through. The sore throat and (literally–not for show) breathless voice, the testimony of struggle — of not being where we want to be in our relationships with the Lord, the small gathering of believers. All of these things, this brokenness of the temporary home were in the same breath reason for celebration and longing. The longing for Home. We worship because we know one day we will have restored bodies, we will be in a place of no more sin, surrounded by the multitudes of saints and angels singing in holy union, in one voice of CELEBRATION! No more longing, because we are there! We worship because we know He is guiding us there with every shaky breath, every heavy step.

And — praise the Lord! — He’s bringing me closer every day, Mom. I think you’d especially smile about the past couple of weeks. Rhonda and I have been texting nearly every day with a phone call about once a week. It’s nothing too deep — just a program we’re doing together and she’s my coach and accountability partner in it. BUT, God has used it. He’s used this constant communication to final squeak open that window I mentioned before. That window kept shut as my grief associated her with loss. The other night, I was struggling again, missing you. And, for the first time, instead of thinking, It’s not fair that she’s here and Mom’s not! — I instead thought, It’s not fair that Mom’s not here! But, she is, and she knew Mom, and she could tell me about what kind of friend Mom was. Five years since she and Dad married. Six since you died. And, I’m finally here. The window’s cracked. Maybe the door will open sometime soon. But, this is progress on that road of healing.

Why was I struggling so much the other night? Well, I believe the current transition caught up with me. All of the things. While we all knew my time in this position was two years (give or take a couple of months), not even I knew what was next. (This is why I absolutely dread those “what will you be doing in five years” questions… really don’t like those much, like, “Idk, whatever God wants me to be doing, I hope…”) Anyway, I’ll give you this update in brief (due to more questions than answers): staying in New York, but moving out of my current place to a new one with a roommate (praise the Lord!), applying for jobs with one of the publishing houses here in the city, and continuing on with my wonderful church. I think that’s it… Oh, and yes, Mom, I’m still single. What really gets me are the first two things: living in New York City, and looking for a job in the publishing industry. Two things I said, “Someday I’m gonna do this,” and here we are — the Lord made it happen. Dreams I’d all but given up, not because I thought they were “too big” for God, but because I thought they were impractical, maybe even unspiritual.

And here God is, flipping me around again. Reminding me that He cares about the seemingly insignificant dreams of an eight-year-old developing a passion for story-telling, a fourteen-year-old enamored with the beauty of a people-filled (aka story-filled) diverse city. His personal grace. When I think about how He (low-key) forced me here. And in spite of all the moments of darkness and loneliness and near-despair (the Lord bless my dear friends who heard many sob stories and not always as many of the daily joys), God has re-ignited a love for this city. (I could write a whole new letter on the numerous reasons I love this city. I may in the near future.)

I did say I’d keep it brief. (Though, we both know, brief with me is at least a novella.) Six years, Mom. I’m twenty-four now. You got to see me for my first day of adulthood, and that seems so long ago. More and more I feel I’m picking up some of your mannerisms. Would I do that if you were here to remind me why I used to think they were annoying? Or would I still realize what I do now: that they actually are good practices in adulting and loving people (both of which I always thought you were good at).

Anyway, I feel like when I’m on the phone with a friend and there’s always one more thing to say and I don’t want to say good-bye. There’s always so much more. And even though I know I’m not literally writing you, there’s something so cathartic about it. Like letting go of the longing a little bit. I express the things I wish I could to you. I wish I could hear your response. But I know in all things it would be one of two things: 1) God is good, or, 2) Talk to Jesus. And that’s the truth of it.

I miss you, Mom. Maybe a little more lately. As always, praying through it, inexpressibly grateful for the hope of Heaven I have in Jesus.

Your daughter,
Hannah