Last Friday was a dark day. I said goodbye in the morning to a woman who held her hands on my son every week for the last two years. Her healing powers eased the struggle he has being in this highly verbal world. But now she is gone and she took her magic with her. 

In the afternoon I squeezed into one of the few remaining chairs at the church to commemorate a woman who left behind three sons. John gave up his seat and stood in the doorway. Hundreds of people all crunched together, yet all of us were silent. The minister spoke of the love she had for her children, and of the turmoil that defined, and ended, her marriage. 

They are gone. And the emptiness feels real.

But today is a different day. It is Easter, and I saw daffodils and crocuses daring to defy the recently thawed ground. A new idea emerged inside of me, one that I can respond to. I invited people who care about those boys to make a quilt block for them, and the response was like water when you turn the spigot. 

Nature abhors a vacuum, and the void that is left behind when someone moves from this world to the next begs to be filled. The appearance is that I caused the flow of water, or the willingness to sew. But they were already in place watching for an opening. 

God is waiting in the wings, for a chance to fill us up. But when we are preoccupied with distractions that last five minutes or five years, it's hard for Him to find a seat. He wants to get His hands on us but we have to make the time. 

And He will bring His magic with him.