The Young

The grief in the crowded room was evident.  It dripped from the eyes of friends and loved ones simultaneously with the sweat that ran down the middle of their back.  As friends filed in, the family in the front of the room waited with sorrow laced anticipation.  It's a day that you hope never comes.  To say good bye to a child, sibling, grandchild. 

The summing up of ones life.  It's a difficult task but one that with much reflection seems to be doable.  The outward qualities of a person are tangible.  The love for the outdoors, the love for adventure, the love and commitment to family.  But to know someone.  To really know their heart...that requires time and long nights around a campfire.  It's the letting people in to the most intimateness of our soul.  The feeling of community and friendships that lay in the crevasses of the places that remain unseen and hidden by those out of that circle.

The heart.  To know the heart is a trickiness that few people can say they know about another.  Jesus.  Jesus knows.  He feels the longing, hears the cries and is the one who answers back in a still small voice.  The voice of a friend.  Friendship deep and intimate.

I believe I have only been to a small handful of memorial services for the young.  The young just aren't supposed to leave this earth until after they have completed their place in the circle of life.  At least that's how it seems.  But none the less, there are times when we say goodbye to those who go before us, even if they are the youthful, vibrant.

So we say goodbye to Dillon Smith at too young of an age.  Or maybe we will just be saying farewell and we'll see you again on the shore of the sweet by and by.  Only the one most aware of the heart really knows.  For now we'll hang on to the hope of God's promises and stay close to The Maker, living each day for all it's worth.

Puzzling

The new year starts out like a puzzle sitting in box.  A process.  You start by hauling out all the edges.  The edges represent the big events in life. They shape your yearly plan. Defining movement.  A lot of work goes into the edge of a puzzle.   Once the corners are set the day to day pieces can be put in place.  We recently did the unwrapping of a puzzle lovingly given by the family who surrounded us.  The symbolism of the pieces of a puzzle and life hit me while finishing after the house grew quiet and the holidays subsided.   It's all such a process.  Trying to find the right lot of color to fit. Searching for a shape.  We've been known to put a piece in place to later realize that it doesn't fit, never did.  Hopeful. Probably just hopeful that it fit because you wanted to make progress.

So even in mid January the daily pieces of life aren't the pieces I would have picked out.  The color lots aren't matching up.

The reality that life and death go hand in hand is, at times, startling.  We forget.  With so much life around us it is easy to keep laying down those pieces of the puzzle.  To get engulfed with daily routine, daily chores, and all that goes with it. 

We were stopped.  Stopped in the movement of our lives to take time.  Take time to help, care for and love the loved.  Grandma.  She was sick.  We were hopeful, of course, but the knowing glances and the unsaid truth left us in prayful contemplation.

It could have been foggy and dreary.  The day might have been one of downpour and misery. But it wasn't.   The day broke dawn with a brightness.  Brightness much like the smile of the loved one we miss already.

My mother-in-law was always bright and cheery.  Always greeted with a smile.  Kind words and helpfulness forever  on her lips.   She taught many of us so much.  Her talents, amazing.  Grandma loved to buy the grand kid's books.  Not just any book but those with fun, lively illustrations.  Books that were read many times.

There were the favorite dishes requested by the family. Could she bring her macaroni or potato salad?  How about her famous rolls?  But yet there were the cakes with that yummy frosting and the pies she so effortlessly created.

But aside the gift of cooking, Grandma Eastlick always wanted to know how your day went and how things were going.  She extended life through hugs and genuine appreciation for who you were.

Up to the end she held her sense of humor and appreciation of family.  The things she held dear are still here.  Missing.  They are missing her smile.  Until we meet again.  We love you Grandma!