The first month of summer surprised us.
Waiting for life. Waiting for death. Living in the paradox.
My sister was expecting her first baby. She was past her due date and we had traveled there anxiously awaiting his arrival.
At the same time, three states away, my husband’s grandfather was suffering on his deathbed surrounded by his kids, knowing his final breaths on earth were imminent.
The anticipation. The unknown.
Every time the phone buzzed we jumped.
Life and death.
Joy and pain.
Celebration and loss.
Sometimes the two go hand in hand.
“Sorrow and peace shake hands in the corner with laughter, anger and fear. Desire and disappointment often keep company with one another on the bench.” Emily Freeman, author of Simply Tuesday
I sensed my SMALLNESS in God’s grand master-story. I couldn’t control any of the outcomes. I had to trust His sovereignty.
Monday we got a call that grandpa had passed away. At 94 years old, it was expected, but still stung. Just three weeks prior he had been diagnosed with cancer, the same kind that robbed the lives of his two sons the past two summers. The family had already been dwelling in the land of grief. Three widows. Nothing at all fair about that.
Monday afternoon I spent time with my sis who still had NO noted progression towards delivering that baby any time soon. I knew we’d need to leave the following afternoon to start our drive to Idaho for grandpa’s funeral. I was hoping to be there to witness the miracle of life but I knew the chances were slim that he’d come before we needed to leave. Our family gathered around her and prayed for God to bring this baby in His timing . At 9:00 that night I got a text that contractions had started. Miraculous.
Even while I waited in the labor and delivery waiting room I was reminded of the dualities that dance through the fog. Awaiting the joyous birth announcement, the television blared the breaking reports of more shootings. More lives STOLEN. I had to turn my head and walk away multiple times. My soul couldn’t process the horror, the tragedy, the questions, the fears for the next generation of kids who would live here where mass murders and senseless killings are becoming a normal “thing.”
Oh God, have mercy. I’ve never longed for Heaven more.
Simultaneous exhales and inhales.
Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 “For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven.
2-8 A right time for birth and another for death,
A right time to plant and another to reap,…,
A right time to destroy and another to construct,
A right time to cry and another to laugh,
A right time to lament and another to cheer,..
A right time to hold on and another to let go, (Msg)
JOY. Baby Kayden was born the morning of June 21st. He came naturally, the way his mama had hoped. It was a quick, smooth delivery and even the small prayer I had to be there when he came was granted. A huge gift to this auntie. It was all such sacred ground – the miracle of life -the perfection of a new little one- we sensed God there.
The birth of a baby boy whose story was just beginning. The possibilities for his life.
And after hugs and happy tears we jumped in the car for a long travel to Idaho to join in the remembrance of a man who lived almost a century of experiences. Our kids asked on the way, “are we going to Idaho for ANOTHER funeral?” Yes. Three years in a row.
My husband was asked to officiate the graveside service. (What words can be said to make sense of the grave losses, and the three widows standing in the wake? Many questions). We saw God’s grace in that grandpa was ready to go. And his sickness and pain had lasted a limited scope of time. For that we were all grateful. The celebration of his life was simple just like he had wanted it to be. And his grandson (my husband) honored him well.
Now I’m home, and I still feel a little conflicted in my soul. A new life has begun and one on earth has ended. The generations continue. There are moments of bliss when I see pictures of baby Kayden on Facebook- the wonder of a new little life and all his firsts. And then, sorrow when more stories are told of the people behind in recent tragedies, or I see chatter among our family who is trying to make sense of loss with three holes in the family picture.
I have no clean, closing thoughts. No verse to put a bow and a lesson on this.
Maybe the lessons will come.
For today, I sit on the bench with joy and sorrow, peace and uncertainty, with laughter and fear. And I reach out for the hand of the one who is sovereign in it all.