It could have happened Friday, or Sunday, but, no, it
didn’t.
We arrived at the gates of Six Flags, ready for our day
of adolescent fun, and instead it was then I received the call.
“Jamie, we’re on our way to the hospital.”
There are several choices God has made for my life that I’ll
never understand, and having the passing of a beloved family member happen while
at the gates of an amusement park—well, I can’t even pretend to understand why that was orchestrated as it was.
As I walked through limbo, waiting to hear news, two
Christians passed by me that morning. I
knew they were Christians—or at least some form of believer—by the t-shirts
they wore.
One displayed 2 Corinthians 12:15.
And the other Luke 11:35.
I don’t know what significance was held by those verses that morning, and maybe there is no significance. Maybe the viewing of the verses was just meant
as a reminder that even in the midst of confusion, He’s still God, and God’s
still there, present in every moment.
There are many memories I’ll cherish about my grandma.
The old house on the orchard in which she and my grandpa
lived.
All the trinkets that lined the walls of her house.
The Christmas sacks of toys from “Santa.”
The way she smelled.
Her quiet demeanor.
Seeing her and my dad interact and being able to tell
they were mother and son.
The way she would called my dad, “Jimmy.”
The awesome shopper that she was—with impeccable taste!
…the way she called me, “Beautiful,” the final time I saw
her. “Oh, Jimmy, she’s just beautiful,”
as if she was seeing me for the first time—or, somehow, like she knew it would be the last time she saw me.
These are the marks of aging.
Being able to drive.
Being able to vote. Being able to
drink. Having bills to pay. Root canals. Doctor’s appointments. Marriages. Babies. The birth of new eras, and the ending of others. The passing of peers. Losing grandparents and parents. Ah, tickmarks on the wall of life.
These are moments where mortality is evident. Grandparents don’t live forever. Parents don’t live forever. We won’t live forever. At least not on this earth.
And on that day that my grandma left this world behind, on
this earth I stood at the gates of an amusement park.
Maybe as I stood there waiting to enter, she stood at the gates of Heaven, waiting to enter into God’s Kingdom.
Can you imagine?
And I wonder... Did she know Him?
Did He show mercy? Was she taken
lovingly into His arms?
These are the questions that will plague my heart—the questions
I will bring to God and rest at His feet, asking for peace, asking for
direction.
If an estimated 146,357
people pass away daily, how many of them are in love with and know the love of our
Savior?
The biggest tragedy for a Christian is not our death, for
death itself is merely the welcoming of ourselves into a place of which we can’t
even dream. It’s a time for rejoicing.
The greatest tragedy remains
for a Christian to be the death of a not-Christian, or a not-so-sure-they’re-Christian. That is the loss that hurts the worst,
because that is a loss.
Spend and be spent for our brothers and sisters, for
every day our talents are wasted, lives are lost, unable to be retrieved or
rejoiced, for no rejoicing comes in the loss of a lost soul.
When I stand before God at the
end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left,
and could say, "I used everything you gave me."
— Erma Bombeck
— Erma Bombeck
