It is 7:06 am on an early fall Sunday morning. The sun has not risen and though light is visible no vegetation has dressed in their colors for the day. Nature’s palette is muted in shades of gray and black. There are thousands of people living around the peaceful Lake Washington which spans at this point from Mercer Island to Seattle. My house sits about a quarter mile above the lake. I relish the solitude as the Cascade Mountains begin to peer at me through my window. Quiet and serene the undisturbed mantle of the water bursts with a roar. One lone person in one loud and noisy motorboat shatters the morning’s stillness forcing those in its’ vicinity to stumble from their slumber in an undignified exit from their dreams.
This week marks eight years since the sudden and unexpected passing of my late husband Winston. That was a strange land for me. The land of loss and death. At first I needed to hear others sing because the song in my heart was frozen with grief and I was traumatized. I’d sing God’s song later with help from others. There were tapes I listened to that reminded me of the Lord’s song. It was the voice on the radio or the television that told me God would bring me out of these trials. It was the voice of my mother telling me and reminding me of God’s faithfulness to me in the past. How could I sing the Lord’s song in a strange land? In the next phase on my journey through grief after the sudden death of my husband I tried to sing along with those who were on the journey with me At first I’d only get a few words out before the tears started to flow. I kept trying day after day to sing along. I was reminded of God’s word. I was strengthened by constantly hearing the words of faith and ...
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