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A Worship & Blessing Birthed From Pain

It was Sunday. 

I was standing there in the church where we had had our son’s funeral just two and a half short years ago. 
It was my grand boy’s baptism day. 
The pastor took the pulpit and announced his baptism and how happy and proud his Daddy would be. 
(A lump formed in my throat.)
After his remarks, there was a moment of silence for my deceased son. There was such a deep silence that I felt I might not be able to stay quiet much longer. It was deafening. 
(Tears. Sadness. Longing.)
It felt good to hear someone say my child’s name. That doesn’t happen near as much as I’d like it to. I like to hear people talk about him. To remember him. Somehow, it keeps his life alive and brings me some comfort. 
The other day, I received a picture from someone who was going through old boxes. When I opened the message, my heart felt like it stopped and for a moment it was hard to breathe, but it quickly subsided and I smiled and remembered my sweet boy who was always smiling and laughing. 
Death is awkw…

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