Well, it has been a week.
Friday evening my husband came home from work with a beautiful fall bouquet of flowers for me (I may or may not have tried to cut my index finger off while trimming stems... and my finger may or may not still be bleeding). We took the evening easy and watched some light-hearted television. Saturday morning my in-laws stopped in for coffee. They brought me another gorgeous bouquet of flowers and wanted to see how I and my family were holding up. That afternoon hubby and I hopped in the car and drove north to be near my family. Sunday night was the viewing and I was amazed by the almost 300 people who came to pay their respects. Monday was the funeral. I held it together most of that day until we got to the church. As the casket was taken out of the hearse and into the building, we watched as police officer got out of his car and stood at attention, saluting my Opa. As the casket left the church at the end of the funeral the officer was there again and still saluting. I'm crying just remembering that.
What has been so hard is that I didn't know my Opa as well as my cousins. As I listened to the stories they told about him I found myself struggling. I was thrilled they had those memories, but I was also a little jealous. I felt robbed of the chance to get to know him better. To hear his stories.
I'm not anger and I'm not upset at God. I just feel like I missed something and it is something I won't get back.
On the other hand I must say that if there is one way my family copes with tragedy it is through laughter. I can't remember the last time I cried as much as I did this last weekend. But I also can't remember the last time I laughed like this. Whether it was getting a manicure with my Oma and walking around modelling our hands, or sitting down at the viewing before everyone showed up and listening as my family started talking about floral arrangements in a manner that again led to laughter... joy was still present.
On Tuesday evening our elder knocked on the door. Jordan had called him before we left for the funeral to let him know what had happened. Do you know what it is like to find out that your church was praying for you on Sunday? To have your elder show up with a card and flower and personally tell you how sorry he is about your loss?
Despite all that has happened I have felt so blessed this last week. There have been so many texts, phone calls, emails, messages, and notes from people letting me know that they care. That my family is in their prayers. That they are so sorry for what we are going through. In a time where it felt like I didn't have the energy to even pray, there were others out there going to God for me.
Our elder made mention of something that stuck with me. He talked about praying our tears. Which is also the title of a Tim Keller sermon.
Tears are a part of life. So is sorrow. Jesus even cried. As I listened to Keller's sermon he talked about how the majority of the Psalms are Psalms of lament. But the last few are straight praise. And how no matter how horrible a time we are going through, if we continue to take that pain and those tears to God, to continually come to Him and keep our eyes on Him, our prayers and laments will one day become praise.
After a weekend of rain, today is a beautiful, brisk, autumn day.
And as the sun shines I am reminded of God's faithfulness.
Beautifully said. Laughter doesn't negate tears, nor do tears negate laughter. Those with whom we've experienced joy and laughter are the ones we miss the most. Tears sanctify our laughter, and laughter sanctifies our tears.
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