A strange theme seems to be emerging around me, and since it persists, I thought I´d mention it. Parents who lose a child. First there was the demonstration in Buenos Aires of the mothers of the Plaza de Mayo, whose sons and daughters ¨disappeared¨ 30 years ago in Argentina´s ¨Dirty War.¨ I barely held back tears watching these women, now white-haired. What persistence, devotion, love.

Yesterday in my package of Christmas presents from Mom, I received one of Ellen Drake´s clay angels. They are simple faceless figures (mostly 1 inch tall) that she has been making since her 13 year old son died after a skiing accident in 1996 (?). The proceeds go to a foundation in his name. I was a year older than him and got to know Ellen during the years immediately following his death. I haven´t heard anything about her since I moved away from Greensboro in 1999, so this was a sweet surprise.

Lastly, today I started reading Isabel Allende´s new book El sumo de los dias (available in translation in April). It is her second autobiographical book. Her first was Paula and recounted the story of how her 20something daughter died. This one begins addressed to Paula and telling how the family scattered her ashes in a forest. It is heavy on my heart.

Three people (well, the mothers represent about 30,000, but anyway...) who lost children. They all responded with deep grief and equal grace. None of them chose this path, but they have chosen where to take it since. I don´t know why I am crossing paths with them this week nor where to go with this except to the Father, who willingly chose to give His precious Son for me. Is there any pain greater than that? I suppose that´s why Jesus´death carries so much weight and so much power. I can´t comprehend that kind of love, but I´ll continue to receive it and plumb its depths the rest of my life.

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