Today, I watched a little boy kneeling in the grass holding a feather. He held tightly, eyes studying spine in the middle as his tiny fingers rubbed the velvety shape, smoothing it upward. I wondered what he thought. He was captivated by the feather. In a crowd of parade goers, he was intent, his sweet spirit comforted by his found feather.
Last week, I stopped by my parents’ graves in the old hillside family cemetery. I was disappointed to find the grass overgrown and some of the most stately cedar trees either damaged or decaying.
I left a penny on daddy’s grave and replanted pansies for mama. Silly to plant pansies in a clay pot when I’m two hours away? Probably. It’s a tradition, though. Like the penny and a rooster every Christmas.
Visiting the cemetery is a weighty appointment. We either go because we should or we go hoping to connect. It’s a contradiction of love and misery.
Sometimes we leave feeling as sad and afraid as the day we stood, circled with family when we buried our mamas and daddies.
“No one ever tells us grief feels so like fear.” C. S. Lewis
Walking towards my car for the drive back home, I glance over and see a feather, pristine and white with touches of cobalt blue…l placed it tenderly in my lap and drove.
I’ve found three more since. Tomorrow, is the anniversary of my daddy’s death, 16 years ago.
God is good. Small things, big love kind of good.
Be captivated and comforted.
God is good. He has good for us.