Meteor Shower Memories

He determines the number of the stars and calls them each by name.
Psalm 147:4

I am once again sharing from the archives of days when words did not fail me, and my sweet daughter was still very much alive on this good earth. It has been 55 days since Katherine died. Writing the name of my daughter and the word died together in the same sentence is still surreal to me. It still makes me flinch, as if it can’t possibly be true.

A dear friend asked me, “How are you?” I replied, “You have your children, I don’t have mine. That’s how I am.”

But if the truth be told…and maybe someday I’ll see clearly enough to tell it, I’m not sure right now. But, if the truth be told, I don’t know how I feel. I am not angry, numb, bitter. I just am.

Meanwhile, will you let me share with you another magical memory? One I am grateful that I recorded in time, not knowing how precious the telling of it would be to my very own heart. So here is a Summer memory from those days when I believed in a million tomorrows for and with my girl. This was written in 2012 and originally titled How Meteor Showers Rain Love {For A Mom and Tween}

There are times I am surprised by the turn in a day that brings forth a precious gift.
Those moments that delight us by the very unexpected nature in which they arise, 
rare and sweet.

It’s almost midnight. My husband is sleeping, with a wake-up time of three in the morning.
Give or take a snooze alarm hit or two, he’ll be rising and shining before the sunrise.

My girl is on an endless journey of late nights pushing the limits of Summer.
This Mom feels the impending reality looming on the horizon. Summer days will soon be over. 

I remember the Meteor Showers, and head to her room.

“You wanna go outside and watch for the Meteor Shower?” I ask into the darkness.
She pops right up with the enthusiasm of one who has not been sleeping.
I ask if she wants to just go in the yard or to the church parking lot.
She reminds me that we have to go to the church because it’s a “tradition”.
I grab a blanket. We head over to our church parking lot.

There are some low clouds. 
The sky is alive with movement. 
The stars glimmer; shades of smoky light seem to rise up from the earth.
We spread the blanket right on the black tar, near the back of our car.
Silhouettes, we are surrounded by the night.
We lay back, watchful for cars, but only occasionally does one drive by the entrance.
Thankfully, without interfering with our viewing.
I forgot bug spray. We itch and wrap up in the blanket. 

Suddenly, as falls over the Niagara, my girl is a flood of conversation.
I’m pretty tired, and relaxed. I’m sure she notes this as she chooses what topics she pursues.
“Have you considered letting me bleach my hair, yet?” I let that roll by. She jumps from hair, to favorite songs, random thoughts and family traditions by leaps and bounds.

I hang on for dear life. The ride isn’t so bad,  I think to myself as I stare at stars 
I know  are created, counted and named by Him, who has created all things.

Our third year out in this church lot, laying on a blanket staring at the sky.
She reminds me, once more, “It’s our tradition”.
This girl who resisted church on Sunday but was willing to come now.
And the knowing He is so present. So with us. In the dark. In the hard places.

“Ah, Sovereign LORD, you have made the heavens and the earth by your great power and outstretched arm. Nothing is too hard for you.” Jeremiah 32:17

“When I consider your heavens,
the work of your fingers,
the moon and the stars,
which you have set in place,
what is man that you are mindful of him,
the son of man that you care for him?”
Psalm 8:3-4

Oh Lord, I praise you the One True Living God who has set the stars in their places, each one.
Help us, each one,  to remember in the dark and hard hard places that nothing is too hard for you.
In Jesus Name, Amen.