We returned home Saturday night with the type of message on our voice mail that no one ever wants to get. Friends of ours lost their 10-month-old granddaughter, daughter, niece, and sister in an accident earlier that day. Little Amaya. We had not met, but she was born about a week after our Rachel. My dear friend Dianne's grandbaby.
Too close to home.
Today we went to their home, although we had missed seeing them. We did get to visit with family and Amaya's big brothers.
I used to think I had to say something in these situations.
I don't feel that way anymore.
When Luke died, I learned that words don't matter. Actions do. I remember so many faces, some completely unexpected, at his prayer service and funeral or arriving at the door. I hardly remember a word that was said.
Words weren't important.
Hugs were.
Smiles were.
Tears were.
So, today we showed up, as hundreds will, and left our humble offering of prayer, support, and bottled water.
It's a good thing that words don't matter anymore because I didn't have any anyway. I haven't had any since we first heard the news.
No one can fix.
No one knows what to say.
Thank God that we don't have to.
He has it all under His control.
"As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts." Isaiah 55:9
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