I miss her today. I miss her so much. I can’t say why today in particular.

Perhaps grieving is like the ocean. The tide goes out and you walk the sand by the edge of the water. Suddenly, the tide comes in and the waves overtake the shore again. It can take you by surprise the first time you visit a beach. Perhaps our grief is like that. Some of it almost seems to fade a bit and we walk on, unsuspecting. Then the wave of grief swallows us up again, just like the tide reclaiming the sand.

Maine has her share of sandy beaches, but much of her coastline is quite rocky. Watching the waves crash against the rocks, constantly assaulting them is quite the sight to behold. Perhaps the beach analogy is not entirely accurate for where I am today. I feel more like the rocks. I’ve stood against the battering waves of the ocean for so long, but they are beginning to wear me down. The unending attack of the salt water eventually has an effect. I’ve cried what seems like an ocean of tears over these past months, more tears than I’ve ever cried over any single event in my life. The sorrow threatens to overcome me.

But I think of what the ocean does to fragments of glass. Smoothing out all of the sharp edges, softening and shaping it, into something remarkable and beautiful. Have you ever held a piece of beach glass? There is just something about it that fills you with a sense of wonder. Perhaps I am a piece of glass.

Maybe the relentless waves of sorrow and raw grief are serving to polish and mold me into something better. I’m finding this to be a long and terribly painful process. One that I could never endure by relying on my own strength. I could never survive it without His strength to hold me firm.

For today anyway, rather than requesting grace for the day, I’ll pray to God to give me grace for the moment.