It’s been a little over five weeks since Dad has gone to glory. Amazing weeks for him, I’m sure … in a place where there is no tyranny of time and no earthly limitations, no sin and no sorrow – only perfect peace and tremendous joy in the presence of Jesus Christ!
For all of you that have reached out to us and cared for us in this time, thank you! God has shown Himself very strong and very faithful as we walk through this season of grief. We have had hard, tearful, broken days, where it seems like the ache is too much to bear. But we have also had good days, where we’ve laughed and smiled and shared memories and thanked God that we do not have to walk through this alone, because He’s with us and He’s given us each other.
As just a little of the fog begins to clear (and no, I don’t expect it to leave for good anytime soon, and we all well know there are still some very rough days ahead), we can’t help but be thankful for the ways God showed us His gentleness even in the midst of Dad’s battle with cancer. Dad was so very peaceful most of the time, rarely anxious or troubled. Brain diseases can cause slow insanity, but instead Dad was able to keep his focus on the Prince of Peace and things that would have been mentally excruciating to him before (like not having the strength to work, or eyesight to read) didn’t seem to antagonize him the way they might have. In a way that we marvel at, he was able to accept the debilitation with grace and move forward with trust. Looking back now, we know that in the midst of watching him go downhill (as hard as that was), it was made easier for us because of the grace and peace he displayed. We know this was God’s gift to us even in the midst of a trial. And seeing that even in turmoil God was answering prayers for peace means that all along, God was listening to our prayers. It means that we can know that Dad’s death was not a random accident, avoidable if we’d only chosen the “right” treatment or nutritional therapies … no, it was all in God’s hands. God chose this path for Dad, and for us, for reasons that we cannot fathom. But if He chose it, His very character pledges that it is for the best, that He will bring good out of it. That is a tremendous comfort to us.
We go often to God’s word to give us perspective and hope and guidance, and this Scripture from 2 Corinthians chapter 4 has echoed in my heart all week:
“For God, who commanded the light to shine out of darkness, has shined in our hearts, to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ. But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellency of the power may be of God, and not of us.
“We are troubled on every side, yet not distressed. We are perplexed, but not in despair. Persecuted, but not forsaken. Cast down, but not destroyed.
We are always carrying about in our body the dying of the Lord Jesus, that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our body.”
That phrase, “treasure in earthen vessels”, made me think. These vessels – our physical bodies – will break and die. But they’re not the treasure. The treasure is inside, indestructible. The excellence of this plan is from God Himself, and it’s beyond our understanding. We still hurt when the vessel breaks. We still ache to hold the one we love. We still don’t understand why or how this can be best. So we are “perplexed, but not in despair.” To despair is to have no hope, and though we hurt, we do have hope. Our hope is in the Lord, who promises that His life will again flourish in us. We experience the pain of dying, but we also know the hope of life eternal … and this hope is our anchor, holding us safe. It’s our life jacket, keeping our heads above water even when the seas of sorrow and grief toss us about. It’s a warm glow of a lantern on a dark, dark night. No answers. No map. But a light.
“Lead, Kindly Light, amidst th’encircling gloom,
Lead Thou me on!
The night is dark, and I am far from home,
Lead Thou me on!
Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant scene; one step enough for me.
I was not ever thus, nor prayed that Thou
Shouldst lead me on;
I loved to choose and see my path; but now
Lead Thou me on!
I loved the garish* day, and, spite of fears,
Pride ruled my will. Remember not past years!
So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it still
Will lead me on.
O’er moor and fen, o’er crag and torrent, till
The night is gone,
And with the morn those angel faces smile,
Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile!
Meantime, along the narrow rugged path,
Thyself hast trod,
Lead, Saviour, lead me home in childlike faith,
Home to my God.
To rest forever after earthly strife
In the calm light of everlasting life.”
(“Lead, Kindly Light”, by John Henry Newman, 1801-1890)
*Garrish: glaring, bright
hopeful.thankful.blessed 