Undone & Remade: Three Years & a Lifetime Ever After

Undone is myleast favourite part of pretty much everything, but I am especially aware ofthis discomfort in myself when I watch fairy tales with my kids. I love the setup, the falling in love with the characters, the introduction of a challengeand adventure. But when the villain appears, the circumstances darken, and themusic gets intense, I want to skip to the happily ever after.

While watchingOnward with our kids last weekend, Charlize crawled into my lap as thesun threatened to set before the kids could hug the father they had beenmissing for a lifetime.

“I’m scared, Mama,” she whispered.

“Me too,” I whisperedback. “But what do we need to remember about movies?” (We’ve had theseconversations before…)

“It alwaysturns out okay in the end.”

“Right,” I breathedback to myself, as much as to her, “Or else it’s not the end yet.”

The five-year-old-heartin me beats just as fast as hers as we wait for some measure of resolution. Weshare a longing for everything to be predictable, peaceful, and good. And thereal world is just as hard on our idealist hearts as Disney is.

The thing is,there is no happily ever after. There is only ever happy moments, gifts for receivingin the midst of whatever is right now. I am undone fairly often when theillusion of happily ever after falls apart – again.

There is anirony here too, though. My whole life, Creator has been my favourite name forGod. I stand in awe of a One who not only made everything that is, but who alsodelights in remaking it all constantly. There has never been a perfect sunriseor sunset, only a sun that rises and falls continuously. The mountains and theoceans seem so vast as to be unchanging, but they bear witness to shifts thattake longer than the human imagination can fathom.

And every morning, I rise to see a God who is ever remaking my heart too.

They said the first year would be the hardest after Abbie was lifted both into and out of the earth. They were wrong. The first year was endless, unanticipated heart breaks, being undone out of nowhere and everywhere with all the first things without her. The second year was worse because the first time had no space for the permanence of it all.

But somewherein this third year, the absences became filled with presence. Every dime, everymention of her name, every memory brought on by some unanticipated trigger –each brought her closer again. The undoing itself has become the remakingsomehow.

The world iscoming undone right now in some fairly significant ways. It is annoying and frustratingwhen it isn’t tragic and terrifying. I am far from alone in noticing how much apandemic feels like grief. We are all losing something, and some far more thanothers.

I have livedthrough enough undoing to know that just making it through from one sunrise tothe next can be a battle. While my idealist heart longs to skip to the end, mygrieving heart knows that the end is a long way off, and the only way out isthrough.

Right here inthe middle of what is, there are profound moments of happy. Singing happybirthday to a beautiful girl through a living room window. Two kids soaring forthe first time on their bikes. Soup and buns to fill my growling stomach and myaching soul.

The trial, which had been set for June, has been postponed. And there are selfless, brave, beautiful humans working beside me in a hospital. I am only rarely as kind and hopeful a wife and mother as I long to be. And the sky flared purple just for me last night and I heard Abbie laughing in the wind.

Everythingthat is undone will be remade. But living through it is the hardest part. Gogently, dear ones. We are being remade, and creation is exhausting work.

Abbie changedher hair almost as often as her clothes. We moved her between houses and citiesmore than anyone else I have known. She allowed herself to be remade wheneverher plans came undone. In the weeks before she died, she got her first pair ofglasses, and the photo is a reminder to me that I can see her – and pretty mucheverything else in life – differently, if I must.

Until each ofus reaches the final end of our lives, undone is not the end. It is thebeginning and the middle of the remaking. If it isn’t okay, then we aren’t atthe end yet. I am watching out for you today, Abbie, with my heart ready to beremade.

Creator, may ourundoing remake us more tender than hard.