Po-Po was buried the day before Good Friday. It was absolutely freezing cold. It was windy. It was snowy. It was icy. As I sat there at the service, thinking about the internment ceremony at the cemetery and picturing how horrendously cold we would be standing on top of the hill with all that wind, snow and ice beating all over us, I suddenly realized that Po-Po would not feel any of that bitterness. Only we would. She, in fact, would be resting in peace, oblivious to the pain that would whip across our face and stir our hair wild. 'Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus.
Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.
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