And It Makes Me Cry

No, I haven't given up on my blog.  I need an outlet for my writing, and I have lots of things to write about going through my head, all followed with the thought: "I need to blog about that."  This is the most thorough record of my life, for the past few years, anyway, so I really do need to get back on the wagon.  I'm just so busy that this tends to fall on the wayside.  I want to be a good blogger--I want to write stuff that means something, that I'd be happy to go back and read, grateful that I had written it.  In other words, I want to do it well, and since I haven't had time to dedicate to doing it well, I just haven't done it.  It's like quicksand: a bad trap to fall into, and I'm constantly trying to climb my way out of it.  Sometimes it's just easier to let my world swallow me up than to fight to stay above ground.

I want to put in a picture here of my French Family.  Unfortunately, all of those pictures are on film, and I haven't converted them over to digital yet.  I found these on my friend Caroline's Facebook page.  This is them in front of the chapel in Metz.

Caroline, Olivier, Didier and Martine Houmeau, circa 2004

 This is Didier and Martine in 2009.  Aren't they adorable?

This family is amazing.  They are intelligent and kind and good.  I was a missionary in Metz in 2001, and Didier was the Branch President.  It was my last area, and while I was getting ready to go home, Caro was getting ready to leave for her mission in England.  We enjoyed singing together, and she went out with us frequently.  I loved spending time with them.  I visited them when I went back for a study-abroad in 2004, and stayed at their home for a few days.  It wasn't long enough, but it was great to be with them for a little while.

I found out that Martine passed away this week.  She had cancer, which had come back pretty aggressively this time.  It wasn't unexpected, but I'm not sure that makes it any easier.  I hadn't seen them since 2004, but it still hit me like a ton of bricks.  Martine was one of those rare people who actually lived in a Christlike manner.  She was unfailingly kind and generous, always happy and radiating goodness.  She had so much faith and charity, you couldn't help but be drawn to her and want to follow her example. 

That's one reason why it hurts.  She was such a beautiful person, and I won't get to see her again until I'm on the other side.  When I realized that, it reminded me of all the good people in my life who are on the other side, who are missing from me.  And it ripped open those wounds that have taken so long to heal.  I know I can't understand the will of God with my little mind, and I know the pain becomes more bearable over time, but the scars are always there.  I will always ache for my John, for my dear Josie, for Martine, and for the others I have lost. 

Martine loved to sing, and she had a beautiful voice.  She was so humble about it that she was shy about sharing her talent.  I have joined a choir that will be performing some Christmas concerts, and I know she would have loved to have been part of it.  One of the pieces we will sing is called, "In the First Light" (listen to a version of it here).  As Sarah knows, I couldn't get through this song without crying, and now it's basically impossible to keep my composure--especially when we come to this part:

"Hear the angels as they're singing
On the morning of His birth
But how much greater will our song be
When He comes again to Earth."


I know Martine is an angel now, and she'll be singing in heavenly praises to our Lord for the rest of eternity.  I will try to sing to honor her, though it will mostly just end up with me in tears, trying to express a gratitude to God for the gift of having known her.