OCTOBER 13
Come to me, come to me, O my God;
Come to me everywhere!
Let the trees mean thee, and the grassy sod,
And the water and the air!
—GEORGE MACDONALDWhen we have lost a loved one, we are hungry for assurance
that God exists and holds the world in tender care. We need
to know that life itself is not rejecting us, turning from our
pain. Our antennae are out for signals, for signs and won-
ders—any hint that life cares for us, that God cares for us,
that we are not alone.
We see significance in everything. A bird hovers by our
window and seems to be singing to us. We run into someone
we hadn’t seen for a long time who, upon hearing of our
loss, tells a wonderfully reassuring story of life after death.
We go to church or synagogue and the service seems espe-
cially attuned to our need just then.
How much of this is our projection, how much the synergy
of benign forces beyond our understanding, we don’t know.
And maybe we don’t need to know. Whatever its origin,
something is coming to our aid. Perhaps God in many forms.
Sometimes I have a sense that life is calling my name, bringing
me comfort.