Teach me your ways O Lord,
That I may love those who persecute me,
Pray for those who wish to do me harm,
And live in a manner that reflects whose I am.

May I never stop learning about your mercy and grace.
May the beauty of your Word always lift my spirit,
May I know your peace all my days.

Show me my sins that I choose to ignore--
The ones that I hide so well as to even fool myself.
And help me to reflect your beauty in humilty.

For you are wisdom, power, holiness, goodness, and truth.
You speak and the very elements of nature obey you.
You set the stars in their places and the planets on their paths.
You made all things.
Nothing can escape your hand.

Yet you love me intimately, as if I were your only child.
You cause me to draw breath and know every fiber of my being.
I am held together by you.

Help me to love you truly as you love me,
And to love others with the same love I feel for myself.
Help me to forgive for I have been forgiven much
and to rest in your love which you have lavished on me.

I’ve been cleaning the house this evening, trying to restore some order to the inside as I’m hoping to play outside in the yard next week over spring break. I started in the dining room, moving a lamp or two around and rearranging a few photos that were clustered on a side table. Stopping, I picked up Jesse’s picture and ran my finger along his face, brushing away the dust on the glass. Peering intently at his eyes, drawn into their blueness, I drank in the curve of his cheek and the sweet twist of his crooked smile, so like my own. His hair was lifted by the breeze and he was glancing down at the sand smiling as he watched the water rushing toward his toes. If I closed my eyes, I could remember that moment—hear the surf—almost remember the sound of his voice. My throat began to tighten and my heart pounded with the familiar aching that has been a companion for such a long time.

This Memorial Day weekend marks the 10th year that we have been without Jesse in our lives. Some days I think of him in passing, and others I can think of no one else. Tonight, looking at his picture I was ambushed by the intense desire to hold him, smell his hair, and lace my fingers with his small ones. The gift of time has helped with the searing intensity grief, but there are still times when the waves of sorrow break over me and I am pulled down by a rushing current of pain. However, these times also provide a much needed gift— although laden with anguish, they bring with them memories that are achingly sweet, and give me the opportunity to remember him anew, mixing joy with sorrow.

I haven’t been able to write much about him yet, but I thought I might post a picture.

I miss you Jesse.