We hadn’t been back to the waterfall park since you died. I looked at the rockface and imagined you sitting there. The falls were roaring with all the snow-melt. I wish my heart would thaw. It feels so cold without you on this earth.

All I could see was our old stomping grounds without you. Then something caught my eye.

I don’t even think these were here all the while you grew up in this place. I had to take a closer look.

There they were, clinging for dear life to the rock face while all around the torrent raged. I saw myself.

I remember our old life. Above the falls where the water was calm, you ran with your little brother. It was like living in a quiet meadow fed with dew and sunshine. The breeze barely moved our delicate petals. it was pleasant there. We thought our God had wrapped us in His protective arms with such blessing.

But now the waters roar.

I wonder, in trying to pluck the meadow flower how easily it would give way, its fragile roots slipping through the fertile soil?             I wonder, in trying to pluck the waterfall flower, what exertion would be needed to rip its roots that must grow deep to find the soil beneath?

The meadow flower has no enduring strength because it has not striven against battering and blows.

The waterfall flower is battered every day, yet is made strong by that same torrent.

I never wanted to live under a waterfall. I liked the meadow.

Why did God choose our family to endure a suicide loss?

I’m gently reminded it’s not the “why” that matters, but the “Who”.

Oh, the depth of the riches, both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are His judgments and unfathomable His ways!      Rom. 11:33

Thank you, God, for this picture.  Life doesn’t make sense but I’m not the one to judge it. You decide where I am to grow and bloom. You decide the condition under which your beauty is to be displayed.  You provide a resting place, and sustenance to make it through. Your delicate flowers could not survive the pummeling of the water if they weren’t protected just enough to grow and thrive.

Dear God, Tristan loved this place. But he’s gone and now it’s a place without him. Did you leave the flowers to show me You make all things new? Part of me wants to grab them and rip them to pieces. Part of me wouldn’t dare.  Even in Tristy’s place nothing stays the same; it’s all changing, moving toward You, and the day we’ll all be together again. That can’t happen fast enough for me!  Help me to see what You see about me being here. Save me from myself. In Jesus’ name, Amen.