My words are not nearly powerful or eloquent enough to capture the true pain that has happened to some close family friends this past year.
Hard eucharisteos are those places of utter desperate pain; they are things that I am not thankful for, but that I trust that God is working through:
The death of a senior in high school, a beloved youngest son. My memory of him is that he spoke my love language when he was just six years old: hugs. Lord, it is so painful to think of how his family feels right now, but we have to trust that you are there with them.
The loss of a father and husband, brother and son, to cancer. As Valentines Day approaches, I think of his widow without her husband, and I pray that God is pouring his love out to her each and every day.
Another untimely loss of a wonderful father and husband, brother and son, to cancer. I was the flower girl in his wedding. These things don’t seem fair; they aren’t fair. And I am so removed from each of them — I feel a tiny fraction of the pain and heartache.
These are hard eucharisteos. My mind tells me that the world is so dark and the pain is so real. But I see the scripture as the Word of God, and it is true every moment our lives.
Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good. His love endures forever.