Last month, the plum tree in my front yard burst into a burning bush of white blossoms like I’ve never before seen. In the rawness of my heart it felt like Carl’s love and God’s presence. My wildly untended to, woodland yard was a mess in comparison…but here was this little tree, aflame in white flowers like an unexpected message of hope. My eyes often rested on the tree and it didn’t take long for me to notice that there was always a little white butterfly dancing around it. That little white butterfly made me think of Anna, Carl’s baby niece who died just two weeks before him.

And now? The blossoms are beginning their slow process towards fruit. The tree holds a new kind of beauty. I am not sad for the loss of blossoms, because I know they will turn into something more and then repeat their process all over again. Grief wrecks everything. But then there is this. I don’t feel good or hopeful or anything easy today. But I trust the beauty of this. I trust the beauty of two spirits that I am still grieving for. I trust the story that is unfolding. I don’t want a happy ending for this post (because it neglects the difficulty and exhaustion I’m actually feeling)…but it exists, even when I don’t want it to.

I love you baby Anna. I love you, Carl. May heaven hold our hearts here on earth as beautifully as it holds you.