The Altar of Bereavement

A thin veil hangs between Earth and Glory, where Everleigh now resides, and we as humans just don't know what to do in that space. The church sanctuary is just that--a solemn, safe place for mourners to gush and share in a way people can only do when heaven is that palpable. So we weep and ask questions, hug one another, beg God for His comfort and promise to hold our babies longer, love them better. It's holy ground, where families long separated sit side by side, forgiveness in their embraces, tear-filled eyes smiling understanding. Somewhere in the deep chasm of loss, love and healing emanate potential light. Eulogies are given and behind words of anguish and anger, is a thread of hope that somehow there's a reason for the seeming insanity of baby death. 

Rick (Grandpa) reads Everleigh's favourite bedtime story, as he would each night, but this time to us, the assembly of fellow grievers. As he turns each page and asks, "Is that my panda?" sobs fill his voice and he gazes at the tiny casket and closes with, "Goodnight, Monkey."  Karen (Grandma) eloquently and honestly lists the ways this small person has transposed her from a private person to one who is open and enraptured with life as she views it through the eyes of a near-toddler. No one doubts the unconditional love for this little being. Heather, her young mother, is calm and lovely and speaks with a desire for all of us to know her daughter more. She holds the hand of Everleigh's daddy, Andrew, as he cries into the microphone how he loved his girl. His mom and sisters encircle each other and express their hearts too in a cascade of sadness and tenderness for their lost baby. So much pain, adoration and hope, all mingling at the altar of bereavement. 

Then, love-brimming, sorrow-filled pallbearers lift the wee box that holds only the pretty shell of little Everleigh, knowing her soul is long gone, healed and free. Still, as they walk, the aching human heart can barely grasp that truth. Jesus Loves Me plays while the procession carries her out of that Holy Place. But the song is really for us, because we're left behind and so very much need to feel that, in the middle of all of this, Jesus loves us, that His plan still proceeds and that this terrible thing isn't unseen by Him. We need to know He hears the cry of His people and rushes to comfort. We need to feel His Spirit after we've left the Holy Place and we're floundering for answers and are tormented by heartache. We need to move on and choose joy when it seems right to remain broken--for her. 

The days will march on and my loved ones who held that giggling bundle with each rising and setting sun will clasp emptiness for awhile. It will take their breath away at times. Grief hurts. But Jesus was not unacquainted with sorrow and He will tangibly offer solace if we enter the Holy Place that becomes portable as we whisper-cry His name. And, one day, just as that precious baby girl sees Him face to face, we will too. Then we will know and understand what we couldn't possibly have comprehended in this earthly life. But for now, when sweeping answers won't suffice, it will only be the experience of real heart-mending Love that will be desperately sought. Love for Everleigh embodied every word and every song in the sanctuary. It was present because of the Love that was given at this very time of year. That Love now holds us close in our deepest mourning and helps us to enfold each other to restore joy once again.

all of us wearing purple clothing or tiny purple bows in honour and memory of Everleigh

balloons and beautiful large photos filled the sanctuary

Suffering and Love at Easter

With tears brimming she explained how she was beginning to see God in the midst of dealing with her son's death. And although she couldn't get through the reading herself, she urged one of the women at our table to read us an excerpt from a little book she was holding close. We listened intently because our dear friend was suffering and whatever she wanted us to hear was, in my estimation, going to hurt that good kind of hurt. 

The author wrote of a grateful woman who had the bountiful blessings of a good husband and a sweet child. Her life was beautiful and she knew to Whom all her thanksgiving belonged. She praised God every day for all of His gifts to her. One day her child grew ill and despite her earnest prayers for his healing, he died. She cried out to her Maker, the Giver all good gifts. Why had He allowed this terrible tragedy to happen to her? How could the loving God she has worshipped and honoured with her thanks turn so cruel? The reading went on to point out just Who the woman had been worshiping. Was God was still sovereign, still loving, still giving, still powerful, whether her son lived or died? When she was giving thanks for her life, and praising this incredible Lord, had she considered that if things changed in her life that it would change who God is? Had He changed or had her perception of who He is changed? Could she say, "Blessed be the Name of the Lord", if He gave or took away? Had the merciful act of sending His only Son to rescue the world, disintegrated into nothing because of earthly pain? Is it God's intention to bestow continuous blessings upon His people and make them happy?

My heart beat quickly as the excerpt was finished. The words hung in the air like a damp fog. Some of the women were nodding, others, I'm sure, were soaking in the profound simplicity of this truth that hurt that good hurt--the comfort--and pain of knowing we're not in control. Our friend tucked the book back in her purse and thanked us for obliging her. I swallowed the lump in my throat and among others, thanked her for sharing what our faith is built upon. She explained that had she not received the knowledge of God's immutable character into her heart years before, she would have surely turned from Him at this time of great grieving. I whispered thanksgiving in my spirit that the same truth my friend confessed, had helped me see God's love and mercy in the midst of great pain and confusion I had suffered through at a difficult time in my life. I prayed for even greater acceptance of His unchanging love so that He would be glorified in whatever future trials I would encounter. My friend's life is an example of just that--glorifying the Father in her story--which, in turn, is giving her peace.

Later, I sat with my children close by me on the couch while I continued our "read-aloud", Little Pilgrim's Progress, a children's version of John Bunyan's classic work. "Little Christian" was witnessing his companion, "Faithful", being bravely martyred for Christ and I began to weep. The words blurred on the page and my two big girls cried too. I breathed deeply and slowly finished the paragraph. Oh, how I longed for them to receive this incredible insight I had been grasping! Jesus' gift of His death on the cross was worth believing in, living for and even dying for. It's this foundational truth that they can hang their hope on, that will help them get through any struggle--not easily--but with peace and eventually, joy.

Since my Creator often feeds me His truth in threes, I shook my head as once again, the message of His resurrection stirred even more in my heart. These words in John Piper's book, Don't Waste Your Life, blazed brightly today: "... all your rejoicing in all things should therefore be a rejoicing in the cross where all your blessings were purchased for you at the cost of the death of the Son of God, Jesus Christ... One of the reasons we are not as Christ-centered and cross-saturated as we should be is that we have not realized that everything--everything good, and everything bad that God turns for the good of his redeemed children--was purchased by the death of Christ for us. We simply take life and breath and health and friends and everything for granted. We think it is ours by right." (p51). This is what this dear momma was humbly offering to us. Although, she cried out and questioned God, her  belief in the immutable character of a loving God, who gave His only Son, was the only thing that kept her from drowning in sorrow. He alone is in control, but praise God, He is deeply in love with His people! 

As Easter approaches, my heart is ever closer to the knowledge of who He is and why He came and how Jesus' resurrection offers the ability to live knowing we are loved, regardless of what this world may bring. And ultimately, we will receive eternal life, where we will glorify the One from Whom all gifts--the good--and the bad that God turns for the good--are given.  

Day Sixteen (of 31 Days)

"...the joy of the Lord is my strength." Nehemiah 8:10. Molly took this photo after I did a little shoot with her. She's not fond of sitting for more than a minute for me but she would be patient this time... if I allowed her to take photos of me. She caught me in a laugh here and it wasn't blurry :) I don't mind a picture of me if I'm laughing. We all radiate joy when we giggle in true amusement or laugh shamelessly. I want to exude the joy of the Lord. People who are close to me know the pain and sorrow but also the unbelievable blessings I have experienced. I have known my Saviour my whole life but it's only the drawing close that causes me to respond to my circumstances-whatever they may be-with His pure joy. How do people walk this earth and find meaning in their life's ups and downs without Him? We have a forever kind of hope. His joy IS my strength. His strength is made perfect in my weakness (2Corinthians 12:9). Praise God that weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning! (Psalm 30:5) As we draw close together, we will experience this powerful and desirable fruit of the Spirit.