Grieve with hope

Death has touched my life differently than some people.  I remember my mother getting the call about her mother's heart attack.  I remember my brother Jeff who came home for about two weeks before going back to the hospital with a heart problem.  After that, though, I'm not aware of death really touching my life again until I was in junior high and we got a call about my dog Herman dying in North Carolina.

I'm sure this is not the same commentary on death that my parents would give.  I remember the sobs as my mom heard the news of her mother's death.  As Jeff was not my son I can never really understand just how grievous the wound must have been for both my parents when he died.  At five years old I knew something was wrong, but my parents never failed to make sure that I was loved in spite of their pain, that they grieved when they could but took care of me so that I didn't unnecessarily miss their presence.

Here is where it gets a bit different.  My parents came to know the Lord because of my brother's death; first my mom and then my dad through her supernatural love.  If you ever have the chance to sit down with them and have them tell their story you'll be blessed by it.  The Father started with "mere" salvation and has wrought a miracle through my parents in the lives they've touched, not the least of which is a heritage of belief and salvation in their grandchildren.  The Father has touched people as far west as St. Louis, MO and as far south as Naples, FL here in the states.  God touched lives in Mexico, the Dominican Republic, Jamaica, and India through my dad's jobs and my mother's faithfulness.  It started with Jeff.

The Lord has been incredibly gracious to me by allowing me the opportunity to see the purpose behind a loved one's death.  There are many areas in my life where the question "why" goes unanswered and I can't imagine a more painful and difficult unanswered "why" than that of a loved one's death.  All of this comes to mind as I don't have the "why" answered yet in two recent deaths.  I went to one funeral yesterday and I will take my family to the second one later this morning.  Both men were married, one had three children, and they were both younger than I.  One came to Rome to head up a Christian youth organization, while the other had a "come to Jesus" meeting with Jesus about three years ago and was noted for his desire to make sure everyone he met knew about his Savior.  Why, in the prime of life and doing His work, was now the time for them to go home?  Why are wives, parents, friends, children all left behind to live through the pain of their absence?

I have two brothers whose deaths gave me life.  Jeff got my parents' attention and Jesus saved them.  My parents got my attention and Jesus saved me.  My wife and I got our children's attention and Jesus saved them.  What I have to be careful about is the desire to alleviate pain (read that as avoid or not have to experience) to the exclusion of dealing with reality.  Said another way, I have the expectation, where it comes from I don't know, that I can wrap my mind around a legitimate reason for the pain such that I don't have to hurt.  It doesn't work that way today and it didn't work that way for Jesus.

I've got to tell you though, my heart is heavy and has been for the past few days.  CaringBridge was the source of one announcement and a text to my wife told of the second death.  Each of them came as a physical blow to me.  I felt the darkness press in, weighing me down, and making the simple act of breathing more difficult.  I wanted to hold Anna, find my children and hug them.  Honestly, I didn't want to take the time to find a "why" that would let Him off the hook for taking those two men.  When I hurt I lash out, just ask Anna.  She sits through my venomous tirades at her until I exhaust myself and we both realize its that I hurt, not that I'm angry.  I do the same thing with Him; I call Him all kind of names, rant and rave about the fairness of His will.  I hurt.

It never dawns on me until later, once my initial fight/flight calms down, that I don't want to fight Him and there is no where I can go away from His presence.  In His graciousness He sits through my upset at Him until I get to the point of hurt not anger.  When I get to the hurt He comes alongside and says, "I know."  He points me to the garden when He was betrayed.  Come to think of it, He was betrayed in two gardens.  He reminds me of the blind man that was born that way not because his parents sinned but so that He would bring glory to Himself through healing the man.  He walks that all the way up through history until He says, "Your brother Jeff is with me so that your parents would be ready for My call on their lives.  You'll be here one day because you heard the word from your parents.  My Son is here with Me getting His army ready to come back in power and judgment.  I think you're really going to like either riding with Him or rising to meet Him."

We got back from the second funeral a little while ago.  I'm still heavy, but lighter.  I'm still sad, but less sad.  I hurt, but I know from where the hurt comes; it's the pain caused by the effects of sin, not an unkind, unloving God who enjoys watching me squirm.  I've seen a wife stand singing and lift her hands in praise to the Savior who is holding her husband's hand.  I've heard a wife stand firm on the truth of God's character in the midst of her pain.  I haven't lost my spouse, surely their example of pointing to the cross can turn my gaze to Him.  Surely their faith and trust in their Father can strengthen mine.  For today I'll love Him as He is, not as my pain and the enemy would want me to see Him.  Today I'll live by faith because of who He is.