the writing life – remember

There’s a song by a band called The Script that says, “I still look for your face in the crowd, Oh if you could see me now. Would you stand in disgrace or take a bow, Oh if you could see me now.” The song echoes loudly these days as grief holds me a little closer amidst the excitement of celebrating a book’s launch into the world.

I’ve shared these words before, and they echo loudly too in this season as I remember the days of talking to my mom at the kitchen table, or riding in the car with my dad and listening to him pontificate about business things. When it came time to get permissions for the book, telling Revell, “They’re both gone now,” sent an ache through my soul.

I think there are three times we come face to face with our longing for our homeland. For Eden. That place of rich, unmirrored conversation with God and walking in the cool of a day that never ends. The space without the dust of frailty, the place before the brokenness, the space where we and the universe are one in our reflection of a Creator who hand-stamped us with “It is good. It is so very good.”

When we cradle our newborn and the questions of a lifetime come crashing in, and we feel so small to own the responsibility of tending to the breathing in and out of another in a world that was never supposed to slither like a snake.

When we carry someone’s weight into eternity, and in their death we feel the ache of a fellowship that was never designed to end.

And when we are held together by the vulnerable.

Right now, I’m longing for Eden. I miss my parents, and I wonder what they’d think about the woman I’ve become and the stories about the women who have transformed the way I see womanhood. I wonder what my mom would think about being included in the chapters, and I wonder if my dad would finally be proud of the daughter who shares his DNA and so much of his heart. I wonder if they’d remember the dreams of an awkward kid to be an archaeologist and adopt kids from around the world, and if they’d smile and say, “Well, look at what God has done with that dream! He’s given you stories and a million hearts to love.” And I wonder if mom would smile when she flipped through photos from so many countries and remembered teaching her little girl to dance.

Today, remember that grief and joy dance together. And remember, it’s OK to long for Eden.

This entry was posted in The Friendship of Grief, The Writing Life by Ronne Rock. Bookmark the permalink.

About Ronne Rock

YOU ARE GOD'S HAND-CRAFTED DESIGN. AND I WANT TO CELEBRATE YOU.

We're in this together, and I am for you. I secure road signs with a hammer of hope, and clear the debris so they can be seen. I am your encourager. I walk and keep walking. Cheer and keep cheering. I invest, dive deep, and cherish most the stories being written in the lives of women who believe restoration is a reality on earth as it is in heaven. God holds the pen in those stories, “That one - I hold her. And that one - she is My delight. And that one - never snatched away.”  I am a mouthpiece of celebration for women. Redemption is our song. You can find even more encouragement in  "For You, Love" the prayer journals that invite you to respond, and in Everbloom, a collection of stories from the Redbud Writers Guild. And be sure to pre-order your copy of One Woman Can Change the World: Reclaiming Your God-Designed Influence and Impact Right Where You Are. It publishes June 16, 2020 (Revell Publishing). I'm honored to be represented by Credo Communications.

Like This Story?

Sign up to receive my little love letter every month.

Leave a Reply