The Waterfall

Abby,
One year. One year without your face, your voice, your hugs, your funny emails. One year without hearing you ask how I am doing, without our prayers together, without your voice uplifted in song. One year that you have gotten to look upon the face of Jesus, to dance in His arms, to glory in the fulfillment of all your heart’s desires.
I still think of you every time I worship. I think of you when I drive past THE SPOT in Granite. I think of you when I see your mother every day at work, when I hug her and wonder how I can relieve her sorrow. I think of you when I see flowers, when I wear the necklace you gave me, when I’m in the shower using the sponge you put in my birthday gift last year. I think of you when I see Brandon and know that he wishes he would have told you how much he loved you. I think of you when I see the last email you sent me, still in my inbox because I just can’t delete it. I think of you when I visit your Facebook page and see how everyone still pours their hearts out to you daily.
I am so glad I think of you. So glad your presence is still so real in my life. And now that one year has passed, the sharp edge of sorrow has become an ache that fits into my heart somehow, as if it has found a rightful place there, where it will always remain. The sorrow of your death is like a seed that is beginning to sprout new life. Through your death I have become friends with Echo (a miracle, definitely) and have watched her struggle to come to grips with loss and rage and doubt and loneliness. God has opened to me the hearts of Karlee and Brooke, and I am growing to love them like little sisters, watching them grow in their own ways. Our Girls Group which you started still gets together, and your spirit is there among us, drawing us heavenward. Your amazing mother still ministers to others more than she is ministered to, but I see seeds of hope sprouting and I am praying for flowers.
I see only a few of the sprouts, Abby, and there are thousands more, all over this town, all over the world. From your perspective I know you are watching a garden bloom. I suppose there can be no true life without death, and hope is all the sweeter because of the pain of its coming.
In church you were remembered and mentioned, and I began to cry as we worshiped, hearing only your voice singing those songs. I’ll admit that lately I’ve felt distant from God, disconnected and discontent. (Alas, I have not had our dates with God that we so often discussed.) But as we worshiped and I thought of you, God suddenly met me. I understood, in a way I have not in a long time, His AWESOMENESS. He was just so suddenly THERE, so real, and so overwhelming. My heart was broken because of its smallness, its inability to grasp His greatness. There He was, overflowing like a waterfall, and I could only stand a few droplets. But oh, how I wanted more.
Oh Abby, I believe this is what you discovered before you died. I saw it in you. You KNEW. You had plunged into the waterfall. And yesterday I knew with certainty that God had to have you with Him because He just couldn’t stand to watch you long for Him any longer. That thought brought me such comfort, because, idiot that I sometimes am, I had been doubting His love, not feeling it, not believing it was as real and big and all-encompassing as He says. But the thought of you plunging into that waterfall and God smiling in delight as He pulled you to Himself—I knew then that is what He wants for all of us. And we all have such small, shrunken hearts, such a noisy world, such deaf ears. We are numb with apathy and boredom and are desperately filling up our souls with distractions. We no longer know how to search for God, how to grope for Him, as the Bible says, though He is not far from each of us and is waiting for us to reach out so He can find us.
God, I want the waterfall. Not for myself only. For my husband, my children, my poor, misled students, for all of Your children bleating with meaninglessness, for this lost, lost world in its suffering. Please come. Please come in Your power, with your presence, and flood our hearts with Your love. Break down our walls of distraction and apathy and anger and suffering. Let us truly know You, as much as we are able. Undo us, ravish us, revive us into the children You long to see, the children who delight Your heart and dance with You in joy.
Thank you, Abby, for your love. I will never forget it. It will remain a precious treasure in my life. I miss you so much. I cannot wait to see you again. Thank you for teaching me so much, for living so passionately and openly before us all. Happy anniversary. I love you.