By Mary Stosich
My sister’s name is Estella Rose.We call her Stella which means Star. She has brilliantly shone with example, beauty and a beckoning spirit. To everyone she radiates invitation to partake of her Christ-given love. She, the oldest child of eight, was sixteen years old when I was born and has held my hand ever since. A few days ago doctors discovered that a melanoma in her eye which was treated two years ago with laser, has returned. Prognosis is now pending.
On Monday we met as a great clan at our parents’ graveside. We siblings, grandchildren, great-grandchildren and cousins gathered to honor and hold in our memory the lives of those who once breathed every breath for our good and happiness. But I could not think of Mom or Dad. I could only watch my beautiful sister with her unfoiled grace, greet and tenderly minister love to each family member. There she was again our “Star,” still brilliant, still beckoning.
There at the cemetery, there in the middle of silenced mortality with headstones, lilacs and peonies, there with wringing sadness in our hearts, the sweet grace of Jesus Christ was our gift, and the two of us held three babies—the latest grandchildren—on our laps. They were absolutely breathtaking moments when we were able to feel strange happiness during our sorrow.
The power of His grace flows warmly over all the cracks and seeps into the wounds of mortality.
The power of His grace beams brightly through the realizations of love; it pulses with memory, true and sure of hope.
The power of His grace seals love, brings birth, stretches years, and softly leads to Heaven.
The power of His grace owns the future with its strung out questions and frightening speed.
This is my happiness still.