I took a walk the second morning of camp. I walked up to the climbing tower where three months ago I released my son's ashes. I went alone. I just needed to be with God and cry and face it. I thought of when Trent was little and climbed that tower fearlessly for the first time. I thought of my own climb up that rock wall years ago. I thought about the joy of reaching the top and the fear and the thrill of jumping off. I thought about climbing the inside stairs three months ago. I thought about the peace and the joy. I thought about his ashes flying wherever God spread them. I thought about the rest of my life without him. Then I thought about the God who said I only have to live one day at a time. Then I cried some more. I didn't fight the tears. I didn't stuff anything. I felt the pain. I let the tears flow. Just me and God facing that tower. Then I walked back the long way to chapel where a God sent pastor was preaching a sermon about Joseph who learned to understand, just like I am learning, that God ordains all things for our good and His glory. Even the pits and the prisons and the deaths of those we love. And a friend cried with me, and laughed with me, and we had our own sermon in the midst of his. And God was there. And I did it. I faced it and I reached the top victoriously. And Trent is still in heaven.
