Your Love Proves Immortality

Because I’m driving I cannot close my eyes, but I can imagine that I do. I see her sitting next to me. I can feel her hand. We hold hands, like we did when I was a child. I can feel her soft, motherly touch.

I smile as I see her bobbing her head to the beat of the music. My, how she loved her music, she loved worshiping her God. She would raise her hands to the one who lifted her, who rescued her, who protected her.

There was so much suffering in her life, so much sorrow. She never really caught a break. And though the circumstances of life were set against her, she loved me and my sister so deeply, loved us like there was no one else on this whole wide world.

She poured her life into me, making me feel like I was valuable, like I could accomplish anything, like I could do nothing to lose her love. I could tell her anything and she would love me the same—no matter what I did, or did not do. I learned about true love from her, grace. It’s impossible to ever put into words the love she possessed, and to appropriately give her the honor that is due her.

And when she died, I could tell you what it’s like when someone who loved you more than anything else in the world is gone…no longer physically here to love you when you so desperately need it; no longer here with you.

Her love is gone. She is gone. Or is she?

When she died, she showed me something new: that love proves immortality.

Does our innate desire to be with our deceased love one have no point? No fulfillment? I long to be with her; is this longing in vain? Does this longing not have a day when we embrace again?

My love for her points to something real—her continued existence.

But what is love? Where did it come from? What is its texture? What is its shape? How long does it last? What is the beginning of love? What is the end?

If love is not a physical thing, and we cannot tangibly see it, is it actually real? If it is real, is it immaterial? And if it is immaterial, is it immortal?

Surely love must be a real thing—but we cannot see it, so it, therefore, must be an unseen real entity in itself—it is immortal.

And if love is immortal, are we not also immortal? Is not the very person that we love, more important than the very love between us?

Love only has greatness from its relationship between two people. And if love’s greatness is dependent on a person to love, and be loved, then are we not greater than the eternal entity of love between us? If love is immortal, and we are greater than love, then are we are not also immortal?

And what about our ability to generate love? If love is eternal, and love is born in our hearts, are we not (as the source of love) also eternal? Love proves eternity because the source of love in us is infinite.

The wood is hard, cold, smooth. I feel my little hand hanging off the ledge, my head laying between the wood angles of the pew. Etched in between, I sleepily hear a rhythmic voice in the room, an excitement about it. It gets louder and louder, everyone in the church begins to shout, they stand, they cannot hold back, in anticipation, in reaching for something.

There is a holy awe in the air. The preacher has stopped and everyone is singing. Nothing in particular, no song, but there is unity, rhythm, melody. I hear mom’s voice; there is so much love, so much tenderness.

With her eyes closed, she sees something. Her voice is soft and sweet, it goes higher and higher, slowly ascending. It seems to reach beyond the room, into another place. I no longer think, thoughts have stopped, and I just feel her voice, her worship, her love, her knowing, her relationship; it lifts me out of myself and into the heavens; I am one with her and we enter into there. I am still, not wanting to move; we were on holy ground, now on holy ground. She was my Angel, she is my Angel—a Messenger guiding me into a place where she sings again.

The infinity of love is the infinity of her life.


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