14

As if on cue my sleep is stirred to consciousness in the wee small hours of the morning.

There’s several things that wakes a middle aged man in the night!

The aches and pains that normally cause some level of discomfort are present, to be sure, but they are muted by the ache that accompanies a memory.

This night. This hour. This shock.

No less than the moments of profound joy, the moment a wound to the soul occurs leaves an indelible mark.

Over the course of time the wound has healed over, yet the scar remains.

Scars are often roughly textured, never pretty. Some are hard to look at. Some we work so hard to hide. Others evoke curiosity, “How’d that happen?”

Every scar tells a story - the pain it caused, the path to recovery from when it was incurred to now.

I broke my ankle when I was 14.
40 years later, every now and again when the weather changes abruptly, I feel an ache there even though it has long since healed over. It’s just my body’s reminder that something happened.

So ache's echo awakens me this morning to remind me that 14 years ago my family suffered the soul wound of losing Jimmy, one who possessed so much of the family’s energy. It’s a loss that left us staggered. Yet somehow we still stand, scarred but not broken.

Is that Grace?

I feel the loss palpably some years more than others, and this year I feel it.
I don’t know why, maybe a strong soul cold front is blowing through.

It aches enough to awaken me. So I’ll sit with it for awhile.

I’ll remember what I could never forget.
I’ll wonder what could have been.
I’ll give regret for things unsaid no room because I’ve battled those demons and prevailed.

But mostly I’ll be glad for what was, this bolt of lightning I had in a brother. And if you were struck by him, on this day, you understand.

James Eric Jeffords.
Jimmy.
To the glory of God.