He passed away while I was gone, and I told my sister when I left that day that I felt like it wouldn't be long now. I was right.
Things like he and I would road trip to Sioux Falls. And we'd just go drive, my dad and I. He'd hold my hand and tell me that he loved me, and I knew that he meant it. He told me often that he was proud of me.
One night, around 3 am, in my 20's... I was driving in a field... ( don't ask... ), and my car got stuck in some incredibly deep ruts from mud that had dried from where bulldozers and heavy equipment had been driving on this field. I called my dad. And he came with no complaining, and no lecturing, and he pulled me out with a logging chain and his pickup. I apologized a million times, and he only hugged me and said next time, I should possibly not be driving in fields at 3 am.
Those stories, those were all the kind of man he was.
You don't have to do the running, God comes to where YOU are today. And He'll sit in the shit and muck and the mire and the dark places. He will. And He does. Let him. And there's more than enough grace there. And more than enough love. And more than enough room for all those tears and all those emotions and you... you are not too much. Did you hear me, friend? Those emotions...they aren't too much. They aren't wrong. And you... will have a morning and a sunrise, and there will be joy again, and there will be dancing again.
Or that's what I hear being sung over me. And I believe with all my heart that this big God... sings it over all of us who are grieving.