Yesterday, while listening to the greatest hits album of Matchbox 20, one of my all time favorite bands, I posted some of their song lyrics on my Facebook page. “Reach down your hand in your pocket, pull out some hope for me, it’s been a long day, always, ain’t that right.”

I wasn’t feeling down and out. It was just some nostalgic song lyrics from my early twenties bringing back memories of dusty back roads and young love. After posting the comment, I dashed into a three-hour meeting. I checked my phone after the meeting was over and it was full of missed calls and “Everything ok?” type texts. After the fact, I guess the status update did come off a little cryptic and depressed, sparking some alarm. I didn’t need anyone to reach in their pocket and toss me a little hope. My day had been great, a long but productive day of meetings capped off with barn burner of a basketball game between two local middle school rivals. I didn’t need anyone else’s hope. I had enough of my own.

Today, all that changed. Moma called me crying this afternoon a little after three. She was crying so Daddy got on the phone and asked me if I understood what she was telling me. My voice cracked as I said, “uh huh.” A dear sweet lady from our Church died today. A charter member of our Church, in fact, and one my family was very close to. A spunky fading red head with a sweet, playful smile. Seemingly healthy and pretty agile for an eighty-six year old, she went up in her attic to sort through some items for our Church’s upcoming annual rummage sale. Apparently, she had a stroke and fell through the rafters in her ceiling passing from this life a few hours later. I have been in complete shock ever since Moma called me crying.

I know what people will say to comfort those mourning her loss. I’ve said those words myself countless times standing in front of dark stained cherry caskets speaking softly to family members dressed in black grieving their loved ones passing. “She led a long full life.” “Jesus called her home.” “She died doing the Lord’s work.” “At least she didn’t end up in a nursing home.” “She’s in heaven now.”

And while all of those words are true, none of them make me feel any better right now. I need somebody to reach in their pocket and pull out some hope for me. It’s been a long day.

Job 17:15 And where is now my hope? as for my hope, who shall see it?
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