Assurance

From beginning to end

/ Patsy Kuipers / 1 Comment

Sunday before last, I had the privilege of attending two special services. That morning I watched as my 7-month old granddaughter, Emma, was baptized.img_2017 Four generations were present as her parents vowed to bring her up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.[1] As the congregation promised to come alongside Mary and Justin as they raise Emma, I prayed she won’t be able to remember a day when she doesn’t know God loves her. I made a similar supplication when my daughters and other grandchildren were baptized, for there is no greater assurance than knowing you’re a child of the King.[2]

Later that day, I attended the memorial service for the mother of my dear friend, Susan Hunt. Mrs. Mac, as most affectionately referred to her, was 99 years old when she was called Home. She was ready. Her health had been declining for some time and, knowing the end of her earthly life was drawing near, she had been planning her funeral. Susan related that at times it felt like they were planning a party, as she and her daughters helped Mrs. Mac select hymns and scripture passages for the service. There was certainly a celebration that afternoon, of a life well-lived by a godly woman whose death was precious in the sight of her Lord.[3]

Our pastor, who shared 1 Corinthians 15:50-58[4] with Mrs. Mac just minutes before she passed away, spoke on the Apostle Paul’s declaration in Philippians, “For to me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain.”[5] Indeed, for believers, death is the gateway to eternal life in the presence of God. Yet even at Emma’s tender age, as she gets bumps and bruises from toppling over while learning to crawl, this life presents challenges. Jesus didn’t downplay the difficulties and hardships we’d face. He told his disciples to expect them, but added the promise He’d overcome the world. [6] And while we’re here, we’re called to do all to his glory[7], keeping our eyes firmly fixed on him, not our circumstances.

Pastor Todd Allen had the closing prayer, a sermonette in its own right, at Mrs. Mac’s service. Now 92, he proclaimed the same truth he declared at Ray’s funeral over 19 years ago. Speaking words of hope and assurance, Pastor Allen reminded us that when the days allotted to us are over, we too will be welcomed Home. What an encouragement to see the consistent faith of this senior saint across the years, a faith and consistency shared by Mrs. Mac and others who’ve gone before us. May we, like them, be able to say with the Apostle Paul when our days here are coming to an end, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.”[8] The One who is with us from beginning to end, the Alpha and the Omega[9], is worthy of all praise, glory and honor. [10]

[1] Ephesians 6:4, King James

[2] 1 John 3:1

[3] Psalm 116:15

[4] This passage includes the proclamation, “Death is swallowed up in victory.”

[5] Philippians 1:21

[6] John 16:33

[7] 1 Corinthians 10:31

[8] 2 Timothy 4:7

[9] Revelation 1:8, Revelation 22:13

[10] Revelation 5:12

Father knows best

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Numerous books have been written on the subject I’m about to address. Many of those books were authored by learned theologians. So it’s with a bit of trepidation I climb out on this limb. Yet I do so in hopes of providing some encouragement to fellow pilgrims, non-theologians like myself.

It’s a rare person who hasn’t had a few “Why, God?” experiences in life. From mundane irritations to unspeakable losses, things happen to us and those we love that don’t make sense, at least not from our finite human perspective. Not surprising since the Lord declares his thoughts and ways are higher than ours. [1]

Job, an upright and blameless man who feared God[2], endured multiple calamities and is often referenced as an example of patience under duress. After Job lost his children and his property and he was struck with loathsome sores[3], he refused to curse God and die as his wife recommended.[4]  Nonetheless, Job grew weary of his friends’ attempts to console and explain. He started to wonder why God had seemingly removed his favor and he longed for a return to the days when his life was sweet. He recounted his deeds before God, trying to understand why such misery had befallen him. For me, Job’s questioning is what makes him so relatable, so human. Even those of us who’ve walked with the Lord for years have times when we question and wonder and doubt.

God didn’t answer Job with a detailed explanation of his circumstances. Instead he posed questions of his own.[5] God’s queries opened Job’s eyes to the awesome power and wisdom of the One he questioned, leading him to declare, “Behold, I am of small account; what shall I answer you? I lay my hand on my mouth.” [6]

Although God doesn’t owe us an explanation, there are times when He graciously allows us to see some reasons things didn’t work out the way we wanted them to. Several examples from my life:

  • Some years ago, a position opened up at work. I requested a change, thinking it would be perfect for me and was disappointed when the assignment went to one of my colleagues. It was then I found out the job description had been rewritten, with the role becoming more technical in nature – not perfect after all. The business developed a new role, focused on color and design, which I was better suited for and filled for the remaining 14 years of my career.
  • When my parents told the seller of the house they chose to buy they were moving to this area to help their widowed daughter, she recounted how the house had been under contract a few months earlier but the deal fell through. Her explanation upon hearing my parents’ story: “God must have been saving this house for you.”
  • Soon after I finished my internship at a local botanical garden, a part-time staff position opened up. A chance to start a new career path? I applied, but didn’t get the job. Now, with four years’ hindsight, I see numerous reasons it was best I wasn’t chosen for the job.

As you might imagine, losing my husband, Ray, to a fatal heart attack at age 39 has been the most why-provoking event of my life. It doesn’t make sense that a kind, godly husband and father would be taken from his wife and young daughters, but it doesn’t have to. I’ve come to accept it as part of God’s plan for us. The glimpses God’s given me regarding other, less life-changing situations like the examples above provide touchstones of reassurance. I trust he’s working out his good and perfect plan for me even when I don’t understand. That trust has deepened over the years as I’ve come to know God more intimately than I would have had my earthly husband and provider been present.

Who knows? The Lord may be protecting us from unforeseen consequences, refining our character, using our circumstances to encourage others and draw us closer to himself, or any number of other possibilities we cannot even imagine. Regardless, we can remain confident, trusting that Father knows best. After all, he’s the One who promises to work all things together for good for those who love him.[7]

[1] Isaiah 55:8-9

[2] Job 1:1

[3] Job 2:7

[4] Job 2:9

[5] Job, chapters 38-40

[6] Job 40:4

[7] Romans 8:28

The happy garden

/ Patsy Kuipers / 2 Comments

A friend’s comment that we’ve had 70 days with a high temperature of 90 or above, confirmed what I already suspected: this summer’s been hot even by Hotlanta standards. Add in the humidity characteristic of our area and there have been days when it felt like I’d been engulfed by a damp blanket as soon as I stepped outside.

These less-than-ideal conditions haven’t kept me from my garden though. IMG_1877One recent day as I walked the property checking on plants and critters, my clothes soaked with perspiration from the afternoon’s exertion, I thought, “This is a happy garden.” And so it is. As I’ve alluded to before, there are certainly weeds and unsightly areas I need to attend to, but my Father has tucked all sorts of gifts and surprises onto the 1/3 acre He’s entrusted to me. A few current examples:

The passionflower vine by my mailbox has become a veritable ecosystem unto itself. It supports a burgeoning population of Gulf fritillary caterpillars while the resulting butterflies flit about, bees buzz contentedly, buried in the ornate flowers, and ants scurry tirelessly along the vine.

The heat-loving hibiscus right outside my garage greets me daily with a cheerful display of bright yellow flowers with exquisite red highlights.

The white wood asters, adopted from a friend two years ago, are blooming for the first time. Last year’s buds were nibbled before they had a chance to open, most likely by a passing deer.

The flowers on the black-eyed Susans, a dependable source of color interest in a summer garden, are starting to give way to prominent seed clusters. Attracted to this popular food source, goldfinches will often perch like dainty ornaments atop the seed-laden stalks.

The Tipularia made its typically short-lived appearance. Nevertheless, its display of the tiniest of orchids on fragile stems made it well worth searching for and savoring before it disappeared for another year.

Other illustrations abound, but this brief list is representative of the myriad garden treasures I’m thankful for. They change season to season, many returning year after year like dependable friends.

This morning the sky was a glorious clear blue. There was a gentle breeze to dispel some of the heat and coax a few leaves from their branches. Yet even on the most beautiful day, as I rejoice in the gifts I’ve discovered, I know they’re merely a glimpse of what awaits when IMG_1880all things are made new. My finite mind can’t comprehend the splendor  in store, but my heart rejoices in the assurance God will dwell among his people forevermore, our eternal source of light and life.[1] Until then, may we take time to notice and appreciate the  reminders of his love all around us. And let us say with the Apostle John, “Come, Lord Jesus!”[2]

 

 

 

[1] Revelation 22:5

[2] Revelation 22:20b

They’re back!

/ Patsy Kuipers / 4 Comments

Two years ago I planted a passionflower vine by my mailbox. I’d seen one growing profusely at the garden where I volunteer. IMG_1289Not only are the flowers intricately beautiful, but Passiflora is the only host genus for the Gulf Fritillary butterfly’s caterpillars. (See “Very Hungry Caterpillars”, September 2014 for more info.)

That first season I only got to enjoy two or three flowers before the ravenous caterpillars started devouring the plant. Last year the passionflower was well-established and provided numerous blossoms for me to gaze upon as well as nourishment for several waves of my little orange buddies with black spikes.

Now in its third season, the passionflower is flourishing. Ok, so that’s putting it politely. It’s actually starting to take over the entire mailbox bed, including the summer annuals residing there. For several weeks I thought, “No problem! Soon the caterpillars will show up. They’ll have plenty to eat plus I’ll have plenty of flowers.” I examined the vine every morning when I went out to collect the newspaper and every evening when I checked for mail. No caterpillars. Then one day I saw a tiny caterpillar in the clutches of a wasp. What did I do? I turned to Google, of course! “Do wasps eat caterpillars?” Unfortunately, they do.

I kept up my twice-daily vigil, hoping there would eventually be enough caterpillars to satisfy the wasps and still leave some to make it all the way through their life cycle. Days passed with only an occasional sighting. Then I realized there was an army of ants busily traversing the sprawling vines. Back to Google. “Do ants eat caterpillars?” Yes, yes they do. By this time I was feeling rather dismal about the situation since I doubted it would be possible to get rid of the ants without negatively impacting the caterpillars.

My five-year-old grandson, Joshua, encouraged me to find the ant mound and deal with the pesky marauders at their source. I was somewhat surprised he didn’t say, “That’s the way the world works, Grammie”, as he often does when I bemoan the fact some predator has taken down its prey. Being an avid fan of “Wild Kratts”, Joshua is incredibly knowledgeable about a multitude of creatures. He takes the food chain in stride, knowing some animals get eaten by other animals as God provides for all of his creation.

Yet I can’t help but wonder if the way the world’s working isn’t the way it’s supposed to work at all, particularly when it comes to death. Some months ago I was reading the first chapter of Genesis, a passage I’ve read MANY times, when I noticed something. Take a look at verses 29 and 30: Then God said, “I give you every seed-bearing plant on the face of the whole earth and every tree that has fruit with seed in it. They will be yours for food.  And to all the beasts of the earth and all the birds in the sky and all the creatures that move along the ground—everything that has the breath of life in it—I give every green plant for food.” (Emphasis mine.) Do you see it too? In the beginning, when God created everything and it was all good, there was no death, not even animals eating each other. Only after the fall did the shedding of blood become commonplace and, at times, necessary. Sadly, that’s the way the world works now, even when it’s man spilling a fellow man’s blood.

But there was One who came to save and restore by shedding his own precious blood. Because He did, we have the assurance that someday all things will be set right again. The world will once more work as its Creator originally intended. Speaking of Jesus’ return, the prophet Isaiah said,

IMG_1539 “Righteousness will be his belt and faithfulness the sash around his waist. The wolf will live with the lamb,  the leopard will lie down with the goat, the calf and the lion and the yearling together; and a little child will lead them. The cow will feed with the bear,  their young will lie down together,  and the lion will eat straw like the ox. The infant will play near the cobra’s den,  and the young child will put its hand into the viper’s nest. They will neither harm nor destroy on all my holy mountain, for the earth will be filled with the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover the sea.” [1] (Emphasis mine.)

His promised return is certain. We can wait confidently and expectantly for the day when there will be no more pain or tears, when death will be swallowed up in victory once and for all. And while we wait, God graciously sustains his creation . . .

Several days ago my morning caterpillar search yielded the results I’d been hoping for. A grateful smile spread across my face as I discovered a dozen or so voracious nibblers of various sizes. They’ve been steadily eating and growing ever since and have been joined by more. A small thing in the overall scheme of life to be sure, but a gift nonetheless from the One who knows how much I delight in hosting the Gulf fritillaries and their offspring each year.IMG_1578

 

 

 

[1] Isaiah 11:5-9

A hand to hold

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Anyone who’s tried to transfer a slumbering babe-in-arms to its crib knows what a daunting task it can be. Having attempted this move innumerable times, first years ago with my daughters and more recently with three grandchildren, I’ve come to believe babies are born with a sensor which alerts them to the increasing proximity of the miniature mattress. The little person sleeping so soundly and peacefully in your arms can become a crying bundle of flailing arms and legs in a split second.

Such is the case with baby Emma. Emma in her favorite sleeping position - a face down snuggle!She starts to fidget as soon as she feels my arms (and herself) move away from my body and works up to a full-on wail by the time I get her into her bed. I quickly cover her with a soft blanket and begin to rub her back and pat her bottom to ease the transition. Inevitably one tiny hand reaches for her mouth and extracts her pacifier. As of now this is a one-way maneuver – she hasn’t quite figured out how to put it back. The result: more fussing. In an attempt to keep her from dislodging her paci, I offer her one of my fingers to hold as she dozes back off.

Barely four months old, Emma has a vise-like grip which leads to another challenge as I try to reclaim my finger and exit her room. Yet a baby’s inborn ability to curl its tiny fingers around a bigger one is a most endearing quality. IMG_1356Siblings Joshua and Lyla will offer Emma one of theirs from time to time and then exalt, “Look! She’s holding my finger. She likes me!”

As our children become mobile, hand holding continues. We extend a hand to steady them as they take their first steps. We ask them to hold our hand as we cross the street or a busy parking lot. Gradually, the practical need to hold hands decreases . . .

But we never outgrow the need to hold hands from an emotional perspective. I’ve said countless times, one of the things I’ve missed most since Ray died was having his hand to hold. From momentous events like puffing my way through labor pains to more mundane activities such as discussing the day’s activities after dinner and strolling around our small property – we held hands. We were partners. He had my back. And then one day his hand was still and it could no longer reach for mine. Instead, it held a single red rose as we laid him to rest.

In the midst of my loneliness and sorrow, there was One who told me not to fear or be dismayed. He promised to strengthen me and help me. He assured me He would hold my hand and never let go. He’s been true to his Word. He always is. And now, in His goodness and mercy, He’s seen fit to provide another hand to reach for mine – a strong yet gentle hand that dwarfs mine in its grasp. Though I don’t know where our strolls will take us, I know the One who holds us in His mighty, everlasting embrace. We can trust Him to have a good and perfect plan . . . always.

A different kind of grief

/ Patsy Kuipers / 2 Comments

“19 years on the 19th”. That phrase has been echoing in my mind for the past several weeks as yet another anniversary of my husband’s sudden death approached. Shortly after lunch 19 years ago today I told Ray goodbye for the last time . . .

In 1997 the 19th fell on a Saturday. It was a beautiful, warm day, much like today. Life was proceeding normally – Ray left for his job at The Home Depot, I and my young daughters (ages 10 and 7 at the time) went shopping for summer attire. Mary, Jessie and I returned home around 7pm. We weren’t in the house 10 minutes when the phone rang. Chris, a patient care specialist from Kennestone Hospital was calling to tell me Ray had been brought to the emergency room from work and I needed to get there as soon as possible. No other details. It wasn’t until we were in a private room at the hospital that I got the devastating, life-changing news.

After a few questions about Ray’s health, Chris said a doctor would be in to talk to me. I pleaded, “Can’t you at least tell me if he’s alive?” For a moment she just looked at me. I asked more urgently, “Is he alive?” And then came the awful reply, “No, honey, he isn’t.” That scene, her words and the gasp of disbelief that simultaneously escaped me and my little girls will be forever etched in my mind.

But oh how God has comforted, upheld and sustained us across all the years since that fateful night. Over and over again He’s proved himself as a protector of this widow and a Father to my fatherless girls. [1]

Our pastor recently began a sermon series on Philippians. The past two weeks he’s reminded us that Biblically-based joy is not dependent on circumstances. It’s grounded in the assurances of God regarding the past, present and future found in His Word. Our faith won’t exempt us from hardship. Believers will face trials and troubles of various kinds. Jesus told us as much, but He didn’t stop there. He encouraged us to take heart because He’s overcome the world. [2]

We know the end of the story. Even now He’s preparing a place for us.[3] So we grieve, but not as those who have no hope. [4] There will be times when we’re hurt and disappointed, times when we may cry out, “Why, Lord?”, but we won’t be alone for He’s promised to never leave us.[5] In our humanity we’ll experience a full range of emotions associated with the events of our lives – Jesus, fully man, wept over Lazarus’ death even though being fully God, He knew He’d raise him – yet the Truth will allow us to not be controlled by our feelings.

Soon after hearing Chris’s answer, it was as if a giant door slammed shut in my mind. Looking back, I realize I couldn’t have taken in the enormity of it all at one time without crumbling. Instead, the Lord provided a protective, albeit primarily subconscious, bubble of denial and disbelief. It allowed the reality of Ray’s death to drip into my soul bit by bit over weeks and months as I was ready to accept it. In the days immediately after, I was in a state of shock, yet the Lord enabled me to make difficult decisions regarding the visitation, service and Ray’s final resting place. Most amazing, He gave me the strength to speak for a few minutes at the end of his funeral. I’ll close this post with the sentiments I expressed when concluding my remarks that day.

None of us knows when the last goodbye will be said. Keep current in your relationships. Tell your family you love them. Thank your friends. Hug people who are dear to you. Let them know you care. And let us leave today rejoicing because we know Ray is in the presence of God. I believe he’s planting flowers right now and I look forward to joining him in God’s garden one day.

055

 

[1] Psalm 68:5

[2] John 16:33

[3] John 14:2-3

[4] 1 Thessalonians 4:13

[5] Deuteronomy 31:6, 8

Thrashing about

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I suppose I should preface this post by saying I don’t consider myself to be particularly punny – that’s the province of my daughter, Jessie, who inherited her dad’s sense of humor – but this title, well, I couldn’t resist . . .

Since the weather’s been more seasonably cold, I’ve added suet to the feast I set out for my bird friends. IMG_0377 (2)Brown thrashers are among those who want to partake of the high-calorie goodness. To say they have trouble steadying themselves on the suet basket would be a significant understatement. Inevitably, when one lands on the suet, it starts to wobble. This in turn causes the bird to flap frantically which results in the basket spinning around, bringing about another flurry of desperate flapping. It’s a rather comical sight, but also somewhat sad because the thrasher’s behavior keeps him from the nourishment he’s seeking .

Compare this to the behavior of the stately woodpecker who frequents the suet. Every bit as big as the thrasher, he has no trouble positioning himself on the basket and consuming the nutritious treat. Even if the suet shifts slightly, even if he has to hang from the bottom of the basket when the suet’s almost gone, there’s no anxious flapping of wings or shifting about. The woodpecker remains calm, focused on the sustenance before him.

Just as I recognize I’m not exceptionally adept with puns, I’ll also readily admit I don’t know very much about birds. No doubt a knowledgeable ornithologist could explain the behavior I’ve described. But, as often happens when I’m working in my beloved sphere of horticulture, I see a spiritual analogy. The birds’ behavior reminds me of Peter’s attempt to walk on water, recounted in Matthew 14:25-31:

25 Shortly before dawn Jesus went out to them, walking on the lake. 26 When the disciples saw him walking on the lake, they were terrified. “It’s a ghost,” they said, and cried out in fear. 27 But Jesus immediately said to them: “Take courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid.” 28 “Lord, if it’s you,” Peter replied, “tell me to come to you on the water.” 29 “Come,” he said. Then Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus. 30 But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, “Lord, save me!” 31 Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him. “You of little faith,” he said, “why did you doubt?” (NIV Bible, emphasis mine)

As long as Peter kept his gaze firmly fixed on Jesus he was able to walk on the water. But when he shifted his focus to the storm, he was quickly overwhelmed by his situation.

Too often, when I’m confronted with changing circumstances or buffeted by winds of uncertainty, I become flustered. Like the thrasher, I begin to flail about, thwarting any possibility of finding the stability I seek. And before I know it, I’ve lost sight of the One who is my sure foundation. The One who never changes. The One who still speaks to his followers, saying, “Take courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid.”

As I reflect on the disparate behavior of the woodpecker and the thrasher, may I be reminded to rest in the promises of the One who calms the storms.

 

 

 

 

Ask

/ Patsy Kuipers / 2 Comments

When I came downstairs this morning, there was a squirrel wrapped around the bird feeder, trying to figure out how to get to the precious sunflower seeds within. The spring-loaded feeder was doing a good job of protecting its contents, the weight of the squirrel having caused its outer sleeve to drop and close the openings. I raised the window over the kitchen sink and shooed him away, but the sleeve didn’t pop back up. Closer inspection revealed the squirrel’s determined efforts had unhooked one of the springs. I was NOT happy since this had happened once before and I remembered all-too-well how difficult it had been to reattach since the outer sleeve covered the hole where the hook resided when the spring was attached. Furthermore, I knew my feathered friends would soon be arriving for breakfast and I didn’t want them to be disappointed to find their source of food unavailable.

I brought the feeder inside and began to work, discouraged that my initial efforts to reattach the spring proved unsuccessful. As I tugged and fumbled with the hook, I prayed, “Please, Lord, help me fix this! It’s so hard. The birds count on me to feed them. I don’t want them to go hungry.” And then I saw the obvious solution which I’d completely overlooked when the spring was unhooked months ago and again this morning: the hook at the other end of the spring was exposed. All I had to do was unhook it, reattach the one at the end that was covered when the outer sleeve was raised and then reattach the hook at the lower end! Within minutes I’d refilled the once-again-fully-functioning feeder, returned it to its hanger on the deck and watched happily as the birds came for their morning meal.

As I turned to making my own breakfast it hit me: Too many times when faced with a challenge or a problem to solve I launch into self-initiated, self-sustained efforts that often prove frustrating and futile. Yet I have a Father who’s told me to ask when I lack wisdom, when I don’t know which way to go or what the best course of action is. He’s shown me time and again that his promise to instruct me and teach me, to counsel and watch over me is trustworthy.

More and more, may we begin by coming to the One who tells us to ask . . . taking time to be still before Him instead of heading off on our own . . .  confident in the assurance that He always hears us and will lead us in the way everlasting.

Family matters

/ Patsy Kuipers / 4 Comments

Week before last, a friend from church and I made similar journeys. She and her husband drove to Texas with their two small sons while my daughters and I flew to South Dakota. We were traveling to be with our extended families – she to say goodbye to a much-loved grandmother; me to help lay to rest a cherished brother-in-law. Back in our home state of Georgia last Tuesday, we hugged and tearfully shared details of our bittersweet treks. We affirmed to each other the assurance our loved ones are safely Home and agreed the tears we shed weren’t for them, but for ourselves, the ones temporarily left behind.

And then my friend said something that resonated with me just as deeply: “When I’m with my family, I remember who I really am.” Yes! The world uses myriad criteria to judge us, each with an implied worth – income, education, appearance, occupation, and so many more. But in my family I’m valued simply because I’m one of them. I belong. Not that we don’t encourage each other to do our best and celebrate our successes, but they aren’t the cost of entry. And our calamities, even when self-induced, aren’t reason for dismissal. I’m thankful for the unconditional love I’ve experienced in my family of origin. I’m equally blessed to have married into a family whose members are there for each other. They accepted me into their fold when Ray first introduced me to them over 30 years ago and have welcomed me ever since.

As I listened to the prayers that punctuated many of our gatherings while we were in South Dakota, I was reminded of the heritage of faith undergirding my daughters and grandchildren. There are generations of faithful believers on both sides of our family, many now part of the great cloud of witnesses. Because of the boundless love the Father has lavished upon us in sending his Son, we’re part of his forever family – chosen, unconditionally accepted, destined for another Home. No matter how the world chooses to judge us, when we’re in the presence of our Father, we remember who we really are.

Fixing our eyes

/ Patsy Kuipers / 2 Comments

A while back, a friend asked if I’d ever heard the adage, “Heaven may be my home, but I’m not homesick yet.” No, somehow I made it through over half a century of living without hearing that one, in spite of being a believer for the vast majority of those years. Since becoming acquainted with it, however, I’ve had a number of occasions which have brought it to mind, but with a twist: “Heaven is my Home and I’m so very Homesick” . . . like the news I received a few days ago.

I was feeling a bit sorry for myself, stuck inside on such a lovely day when I would rather have been outside playing in the dirt. But, not wanting to risk injury or infection to my recently-operated-on hand, I opened a bunch of windows and enjoyed the breeze. A phone call from one of my sisters-in-law broke the afternoon silence. Even before I answered, I knew it was unlikely she’d call me in the middle of a weekday just to say hello. Sure enough, the tidings weren’t good. My youngest brother-in-law had died the day before, felled by a heart attack at a much-too-early age as were his father and brother (my husband) before him.

I’m all too familiar with phone calls that bring such life-changing news. The report that another loved one has suddenly been called Home puts everything else into perspective. The disappointment I was feeling about not being able to go outside was quickly eclipsed by the more pressing reality I’d been made aware of. I’m convinced no matter how many such life-altering phone calls I receive, they’ll never get easier. My tears are quickly followed by numbness and denial – Not again, Lord! How can this be happening? – Yet death is one of life’s certainties. And those of us left behind grieve, but not as those who have no hope.

God has great compassion on us, remembering we’re dust. He reminds us through the Apostle Paul that our present troubles, which are described as light and momentary, are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. He encourages us to fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, while what is unseen is eternal. Similarly, Jesus tells us to store up our treasure in heaven, not on earth. Commenting on Jesus’ directive in light of loss, Elisabeth Elliot states,

“The loss of someone we love, whether by death or otherwise, brings us to the brink of the abyss of mystery. If we wrestle, as most of us are forced to do, with the question of God in the matter, we are bound to ask why He found it necessary to withdraw such a good gift. Cover "The Path of Loneliness"We will not get the whole answer, but certainly one answer is the necessity of being reminded that wherever our treasure is there will our hearts be also. If we have put all our eggs in the basket of earthly life and earthly affections we haven’t much left when the basket falls. Christians, being citizens of Another Country, subjects of a Heavenly King, are supposed to set their affections there rather than here – a lesson few learn without mortal anguish.”[i]

Later this week we’ll gather in a tiny South Dakota town to remember Phil, a quiet, gentle man. He never married but cherished his family and endeavored to attend most all of the weddings of his numerous nieces and nephews. As we stand in the windswept cemetery just outside of town, I’ll strive to fix my eyes on the unseen. For then I’ll see two brothers, eternally reunited and I’ll rejoice in the assurance that our treasured family circle will one day be completely restored in a Home where there will be no more tears or death or pain.

Phil Kuipers. a kind and gentle man 1-9-1961 to 8-26-2015

Phil Kuipers, 1-9-1961 to 8-26-2015

[i] Elisabeth Elliot, “The Path of Loneliness”, (Grand Rapids, Revell, 2001) pg. 59