A faint hum. A flutter of the wing. A hummingbird kiss hovering in the air.
The ability to beat the wing two hundred times in a single second.
This is grief; a flutter of memories that holds hundreds of visuals of the one you love which are displayed in a single beat of the heart longing to be with those gone.
I first experienced this the day my sister passed almost two years ago. As the sun was setting in a pink fire of a sky, hummingbirds greeted the porch that once fed them in multiple feeders on Traci's balcony. The pause of movement hovering before diving to the next destination.
Many have sent text messages with images of hummingbirds staring them down outside a kitchen window as a reminder of the connection my sister had with the fascinating bird.
A physical reminder that brought a memory to mind.
The most significant being on a run with a girlfriend this past summer, 1200ft. in elevation, pausing at an overlook facing Mt. Baker and the valley below. A breathtaking display of God's creation that felt like a hands distance away. Our emotions were already in play as we began our run in tears and paused in reflection of what God had done in our lives. As I began to explain how I couldn't even come close to what heaven would be like compared to the view we had in front of us, a hummingbird came within arms reach; eye level, face to face, pausing for what felt like minutes. My body collapsed to the stone rock we stood on as the tears flooded my cheeks. A hummingbird kiss of desired touch, relationship and physical presence fluttered in front of me as if Traci herself, was there to tell me to get it going, stop you're fussing and get running. My girlfriend gently laid her hand on my shoulder praying through the grief left on that view point advantage.
"I will remember the deeds of the Lord; yes, I will remember Your miracles of long ago. I will meditate on all Your works and consider all your mighty deeds."
Psalm 77:11-12
Hauling out the Christmas decorations I, out of habit, went to grab my phone to call my sister and tell her Christmas was about to unleash throughout my house. Her name greeting me on the Christmas card list in harsh reality that I won't be sending her a card.
The ornament hanging on the tree in memory of my sister not here in person to celebrate.
Memories of decorating gingerbread houses together, discussing what gifts to buy for our parents, what crafts to make for teacher gifts and how to spoil the nieces and nephews have been in full view this month. It's hard not to remember the old... of not that long ago.
One particular Christmas really stands out in my mind. My dad had just recently been diagnosed with prostate cancer. The weekend we found out all the details of his condition, I spent in Portland visiting Traci. She always had a list a mile long of things to do that if accomplished, would take the entire month to cross each one off. She was never shy of ideas to create memories. This weekend she took us (Tim, Addi & I) to the Grotto to see the beautiful displayed nativity scene carved in stone along with harmonic choirs in a tree light setting. There was a glimpse of fear in our conversation over Dad and tears shed as Daddy's girls were scared for his future. Little did we know four months later she would be facing a diagnoses herself.
I also think back to Christmas of 2015 when us three kids tried to replicate an old childhood picture in our Christmas onesie pj's with perfectly cropped mullets. There was laughter that filled the living room seeing all of us in oversized, ridiculous pj's making the kids think we were all a bit crazy.
And taking you really far back, the memories of red, plaid Christmas nightgowns with curly hair and three kids overly anxious to open presents with Mom slowly... washing... every... single... dish before we could even so much as touch a present to open. And of course, the kid picture in front of the tree or fireplace has to take place as well before the excitement of gifts begin. These are the flutters that cross my mind as I glance at our Christmas tree and see the hummingbird visit the feeder outside my window.
"And he took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to them, saying, "This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.""
Luke 22:19
Grief can be complicated, exhausting, unexpected and beautiful all in the same moment. I've been punched with grief when not expecting the tears to well up and then find myself laughing in the middle of a memory. I have promised myself that I will not give any ground for the Enemy to steal my joy and that also
includes my joy in grief.
Once a month, we remember what Christ did for us on the cross taking our sins upon Himself to then offer His children eternal salvation if we believe. A time to reflect, repent and remember ALL that Father God has done in our lives. Sure, for some this can be a time of extreme emotions and others a time of gratitude that extends through smiles and worship. Both displaying the act of remembering. We don't do this to get stuck on the fact that we are filthy sinners who don't deserve grace. We do this to remember the freedom we have through the cross. God has provided believers an expression to receive a hummingbird kiss. A moment to reflect on the ways God has rescued, redeemed and forgiven you in life.
I am so thankful for the beauty of remembering.
Sister, thank you for giving me so much to remember.
Two hundred memories in a single second.
Two hundred times two hundred more days I wish I had more with you.
Two hundred ways to say I love you and miss you.
Two hundred ways God gave you miracles that has inspired, encouraged and given me reason to smile.
Hummingbird kisses.
Flutters of memories displayed in mere seconds as a single tear quietly travels down my cheek.
Merry Christmas Sister. You are always remembered.
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