Almost a week ago a sweet friend (and distant Weaver cousin) buried her baby boy.
Only he wasn't a baby anymore.
I'm pretty sure if you ask any mother she'd tell you her children will always be her babies.
Still, he was far too young to leave this life.
He was nearly 28 years old.
His death was a shock and extremely hard to contemplate.
Tears were quick and painful last week, still they're too close to the surface.
I can't even imagine the grief that comes with losing a child, I pray I will never know such heartache.
As I thought of my friend and her family I desperately wanted to do something to help, only I was at a loss as to what I could possibly do.
I racked my brain for days, tormented by the desire to help but not wanting to intrude on their family at this time of loss.
And so, I did what I do best, I baked.
I baked up a couple loaves of bread and some chicken broccoli bombs and set off to their house.
As I dropped off the food and chatted for a few minutes with this sweet boys father, I could not help feeling shallow.
It did not seem enough.
They lost their only son and I offer them bread?
How is that supposed to be any compensation at all?
I felt like I had cheated them somehow, like what I had to offer could never fill the chasm this life event had left in its wake.
It just felt really trite.
As I drove home, sobbing the whole way, I hoped this family would know what I was really bringing that day, what those few short hours of baking represented.
Wrapped in plastic was a piece of my heart, my love, my shoulder to cry on, my deep desire to lessen their pain, impossible as that may be.
Those rolls were not only filled with chicken and broccoli, but with hope that the sun will come out tomorrow, that these dear friends will know they don't have to shoulder this burden alone.
Those cracks on top of the bombs were not only to let out the steam, but to show that our hearts are also broken for their loss.
I thought about the symbolism of bread and He who is the bread of life.
The bread I brought this family will perish.
But the bread of life is eternal.
"And Jesus said unto them, I am the bread of life: he that cometh to me shall never hunger; and he that believeth on me shall never thirst." ~John 6:35
The bread I offered up has power to only fill their bellies for a short time.
This bread, however, is the power to heal that which is broken, that which I am powerless to fix.
That is the bread I want that family to eat.
That is the bread I want to eat every day of my life as well.
"And this is the will of him that sent me, that every one which seeth the Son, and believeth on him, may have everlasting life: and I will raise him up at the last day." ~John 6:40
What an incredibly beautiful promise.
A promise I am powerless to make, but one given to them from a loving Savior who I am sure is holding my Wonderful Wendy in the palms of His hands.