I don't enjoy surrender, ANY surrender.  It's messy, gut-wrenching, painful, frustrating, decidedly S-L-O-W-E-R than humanly possible, if that is possible.

My personal agenda  gets longer, I get weaker, my focus is mush on a good day, I am overwhelmed, indecisive and  when I think I can, I can't.

So, grief has its way with me again.

I've always been struck (because I have grieved more than once in my life) with how life comes at you in the midst of tragedy.  Since the death of my son Chris, four months ago, my three-year old refrigerator died, my vacuum cleaner blew up in smoke (yes, smoke), my kitchen sink pipe sprung a leak, and flooded, causing an outcropping of mold, ants marched nonstop across kitchen counters, the dog ate my husband's hearing aid, I received a $200 parking ticket (even the judge raised his eyebrows and exclaimed, "wow, that's a biggie") and, and, and.  My mind tells me, "this is life -- move with it, ride the wave of life and pain, work with it, NOT against it!

But my emotions tell me something else-my heels are dug in, I resist feeling the desperation, the loss, the chaos of finality and death of suicide, of a young man gone, of a family changed. Of walking my dog during a beautiful autumn day and feeling the peace of God,

but not the fullness of kicking leaves, the plan of building a new deck, the thanksgiving of work and the joy of it, the thought of the holidays---

dread set in, and I don't want to fight it.  I just want to finish my walk--the dog needs it.  So do I, but I don't care. The "I don't wanna's set in!"  I feel six, maybe two, maybe even before that.

But God.  Today, it isn't a verse, it isn't a workbook on grief--though all those things are helpful--it is just setting with the sadness of it all, and
waiting for the Holy Spirit to take me to a deeper level of surrender.  Maybe I can lift my heels just a tiny bit today.  Just a little.