All tagged Death
I cry thinking about the people I've lost whose gravestones I can't visit, for whatever reason. I cry thinking about the people who are dead while they still live. I cry reading tributes to parents, spouses, wondering if I will leave anyone behind. Ultimately, it doesn't matter, does it?
Isolation is now man's "natural" path. Isolation from God, friends, and eventually even self. Who hasn't felt like they were a shell of some better self?
The Advent season prepares our heart, mind, and soul for the darkness that occurs throughout our life. It reminds us to rely not on any extinction of existence but the Christ who penetrated our deepest darkness and conquered them in His death.
The day my mother died was a rainy one.
Read in this light (not an immediate pun), the words of Rubarth become a soulful but softly whispered plea that the Christ with those "who have fallen asleep in Jesus" (1 Thess. 4:14) would return.
I am now "just sinking in" to the grace of Christ conquering the current cyclical cacophony of death and life.
But every time I see or drink a Lost Gold IPA, I laugh a little. I tear up a little. And I remember those two days.
I can’t wait to see you again. Happy Mother’s Day.
Te amo, Momma. Mucho mucho.
But especially this Mother’s Day, I say this to you: If you want to share your pain with me, I will help you hold it — like Atlas — and will do my best to make it not so damn heavy.
To those who "don't believe what they know," rest in God's grace. And let us produce together the type of memories that will "soak these sheets in tears."
Where will you be when tragedy strikes our family? Will you run like cowards, or will you sit and face the demons with those who have been shattered by this poisoned world?
Those are the things unseen. That is the city still unreceived. I can wait for that.
I think about all the things we allow to come between us, and how little the Dead must dwell upon such things.
For some reason, I can see Aaron and I picking strawberries in the kingdom. We'll both be smiling. With red faces and full hearts.
You'll be missed Aaron.
His poetry came into my life at a time I desperately needed it - heartbroken and reeling, going through my own crisis of faith, I did not know how to put into words what I was experiencing.
it is astounding,
it is grotesque,
that nature abhors a vacuum so.
On May 17th, I was informed that Chuck had requested I "preach" at his memorial service.
Christ's promise to me and my offspring rings louder than ever — "I will not leave you as orphans."