I miss them both so much I could cry.

I miss them both so much I ~~could~~ cry.

Yes, I miss them.

And yes, I cry.

March 4 and April 4 were the dates.

The first year was difficult; grief coupled itself to other pain; I grieved with an already broken heart. But new life came near the end of that first year: Luke and Jackson — and their beautiful little lives evidenced the heritage started by the two who had gone. But the enemy, who steals, kills, and destroys, came and stole a chunk of that new life from our little Luke. Grief worsens when one is beaten down.

During the second year, the grief lifted just enough that I could breathe without pain. I found comfort in the Word I had known for years. I trusted in its promises. I saw our Lord stop by the whipping post. I saw the stripes on His body – one, for baby Luke. I believed “by His wounds, we are healed.” I remembered His suffering and His death on the cross. I saw it as amazing grace. I remembered it with communion. I learned to trust and believe.

Now I’ve entered the third year, and I have hope. Much hope. I’ve learned that the period of mourning should be limited – for my good. Little by little, I’m letting the grief go. I’m trusting in the great Comforter – in His love, His grace, His finished work, His mercy, His promises, His healing for Luke, and His healing for my family.

This third year begins in the spring – not by coincidence, but by God’s plan and by His mercy.

Spring is here, and Spring brings new life that abounds in every direction – north, south, west, and east.

I step out of my house and look to the north. The cherry tree buds. Grass, beaten by the worst winter, shows signs of healing, signs of green, as my soul my body, beaten by grief and pain, bask in the sunshine, warmth, and renewal of spring.

I look to the south and see a yellow house where a renewed and restored family now lives in the house of the two who are gone — the house steeped in heritage and love. I see evidence of those promises I read and believed. Evidence of His mercy, His forgiveness, His restoration, His grace.

I look to the west and see a beautiful sunset, knowing that His mercies will be new in the morning, reminded of His faithfulness.

But it’s when I look to the east that I find the greatest hope. I look into the blue eastern sky and know that’s where I’ll see my Savior.

Where I’ll meet those I’ve lost.

Where the grief and pain will be gone.

Where the enemy is no more.

Where every forever day will bear new life.

Where hope will be manifested.

And where I’ll never remember the dates, the grief, the pain.

March 12, 2014March 13, 2014

ABC’s Resurrection and 40 days of Lent

Part 2 of Thoughts on Lent

Yes, I’ve been contemplating these 40 days of Lent. I’ve been listening to and observing others. Some people share what they are “giving up” for Lent: chocolate; complaining; social media, etc. Some people don’t share – it’s personal – or perhaps it’s sacred. Some people, on the other hand, are not observing Lent, for whatever reason.

And yes, as I ponder, I’m still looking toward Good Friday and Easter Sunday.

But today, I’m “mulling over” my response to a different Resurrection – the television drama recently aired by ABC.

Watching it was tough for many; some “opted”out:

My friend asked, “Did anyone watch that new show, Resurrection last night? I don’t think I’ll watch it again. The thought of opening my front door and seeing my son standing there is almost more than my heart can take . . . it was difficult to watch but I couldn’t seem to turn it off.”

People responded,

“I didn’t watch it. The premise seemed a bit creepy. And having lost a son who is buried in a rural Missouri cemetery, I don’t think I could handle it.”

“I didn’t watch it . . . I just thought that it would be too hard!”

She replied, “You were wiser than I was . . . I went to bed with an aching heart.”

An aching heart. Aching over the loss of her son, and, similar to the drama, about 30 years ago.

In the first episode of Resurrection, the little guy, Jacob, “comes to” in the middle of a beautiful green rice paddy in China. We know he’s been dead because we’ve seen the previews and we’ve read just enough about the plot to know what’s going on. When we see him reunited with his parents, we are touched in various ways. We are perplexed We are elated. We believe. We do not believe.

And so the drama continues and closes with yet another “resurrection,” leading the viewer to the next episode.

But the most surprising thing about this drama, which, I suppose, separates it from others, such as The Returned or Believe, is the pastor, asking a question of his congregation, and of himself about faith. The scene is set in the snow-white church, outside and in. The choir wears white robes. The pastor and parishioners are all dressed in dull greys or black, but Jacob and his mother, Lucille, in stark contrast, wear orange and red, separating them from the others, evidently revealing their faith, thus setting the tone for the pastor’s question: “Isn’t that what it means to have faith?”

I place no faith in the script of a television drama.

But the whole scenario, the entire premise, causes me to think about people, reaching and yearning for the resurrection of the body and for eternity. It makes me thankful for the faith I have found in Jesus Christ – his death, burial, and his resurrection. And thankful for the Word of God that gives me the expectation kind of hope I have as His child. That faith brings the grace that heals my friend’s aching heart and my own aching heart – aching for my loved ones who have passed – and aching for eternity.

My parents both died at the age of 87 – just one month apart. My heart was aching. People tried to console me: He had a good life. She lived a long life. It was true. Each did have a good and long life. Typical comments, meant to console. But they didn’t. 87 years isn’t enough. Life is too short.

My heart yearns for eternity. That’s my consolation. Eternity. The resurrection – not the television drama but the resurrection of Mama and Daddy and my friend’s little boy, and all those we have loved who put their faith in the resurrection of the Savior, Jesus Christ.

God put it there. The longing for eternity. He put it in my heart, and He put it in all hearts. That’s why we can’t seem to turn it off. It’s no wonder we’re writing and watching and reading about returning and resurrecting! We look forward to that day – seeing our loved ones again – the resurrection of the old bodies and the receiving of the new. And it’s all because of Christ’s resurrection! Looking toward Easter Sunday with great joy! The 40 days continue!

. . . the few days of their lives . . . He has also set eternity in the hearts of men . . . (Ecclesiastes 2: 3; 3:11)

April 3, 2013March 5, 2014

And now it is a Wednesday . . .

It was a Wednesday. The first Wednesday in April. The sun was shining. Evidence of spring saturated the outdoors and permeated the halls of Maple Lawn. As I neared her room, I saw the hospitality “cart” outside her door – a lovely collection of cookies and orange juice, coffee and fruit – a “notice” that the family would need sustenance – as we would watch and wait.

Several of us were there – my sister and brother, some cousins, my aunts and uncle. We went in and we went out. Heads slowly shook in sadness and in heartbreak. Aides and nurses came in and stood by her bed. They cried. We could do no more to keep her here with us. My mother was dying.

She’d put up a good fight. She wasn’t created to die, most obviously detected in her steadfast resolve and perseverance. God had originally made her for eternity. It’s the story of the Garden of Eden and of love and of perfection – of sin and of death. It’s the story of a body that should have been perfect and could have been perfect, but of course, wasn’t. It’s the story of a downward spiral of health problems and a broken spirit that just gave up, especially in the last month.

For years, she had plodded forward – literally plodded forward. Her crippled feet and shrunken stature, stenotic spine and withered muscles, cancered blood and arthritic bones impeded her once vibrant step, year by year, month by month, and day by day. Only one purpose kept her going – Wayne. She couldn’t leave him. He needed her. Til death do us part, they had said, and a promise is a promise. And the love grew stronger than the promise. So she loved him and served him until the day he didn’t need her any longer. And that day was one month before.

So it was a Wednesday. The first Wednesday in April, one year ago now. And I needed that lovely offering of sustenance on the hospitality cart, as I watched and waited and sang to her and whispered sweet memories in her ear, and finally observed her right hand lift to meet His as the Lord took her home. And in the middle of that Wednesday, the promise of spring and new life was stronger than the heartbreak of holding my Mama’s broken, still body, and my sustenance was found in more than cookies and orange juice, coffee and fruit.

And now it is a Wednesday. The first Wednesday in April, one year later. Today, I again need that lovely offering of sustenance – and I find it in God’s Word.

I remember my mother – and I think of faithfulness, of a promise, of unending love, and of perseverance. I cherish the memory of the one who gave me life – of the one who showed me, through example, her faith in God. I hear her whispering, “You guide me with your counsel, and afterward you will take me into glory. . . earth has nothing I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.” (Psalm 73:23-26)

March 13, 2013April 21, 2015