Lunchtime oomph

"Let's have prayer, shall we?" I said, carrying lunch over to the table.

Alexander quickly folded his arms. He's so good at getting ready for prayer that we've started asking some anonymous sibling of his to follow his example (which is embarrassing for any of them, though I will just let you guess which sibling in particular I'm referring to).

"I'll say it!" Zoë volunteered, because she always volunteers (because she never gets to say the prayer, according to her, even though she probably gets to say the most prayers).

Then she said, "I prayed for Grandma to not die."

"You did," I said.

"But then she did. She died all the way."

"I know," I said, stroking her hair.

"That's sad," she said.

"It is," I agreed. "It is so sad."

"Why did Heavenly Father do that when I prayed for her to not die?"

"Well, because sometimes when we pray the answer is yes and sometimes the answer is no. Heavenly Father has a special plan for Grandma and a special plan for you. I guess part of his plan for Grandma was that he needed her home right away, and that's hard for us, but Heavenly Father will help us to be happy even though Grandma is gone because he loves us and he loves her and he knows that she loves us, too."

"But Heavenly Father is not here either!" she objected.

"But his love is," I assured her.

Someone described grief as an ebb and flow and I thought that was a wonderful depiction. I guess today Zoë's is flowing.