A delicate red rose adorned the communion table. Its presence was to announce the birth of a little girl. It was a painful declaration of a tiny babe who lived a few short hours before she slipped away into the arms of Jesus.
A familiar voice asked me to call her back. I was checking my voicemail late at night, but knew from her tone she needed me. I quickly entered her speed dial number and then listened to the crushed voice on the other end of the line. She painfully shared her story of heartache and loss: the agony of loving while the other walks away.
Excited to have an email from my dear friend, I quickly opened it. As I began to read, I knew my heart was about to be broken. As she recounted the events of the last weeks, tears came to my eyes. Medical procedures revealed the abnormalities. Anguish crept its way into her life.
In my Sunday school class we are studying Job. Following class this week I was having a discussion with some friends of mine. We agreed that the implications of some of this morning’s comments were that with the resurrection hope that we have, we should rejoice always. I don’t. One of the hymns this morning implied that my life will be all sunshine when I believe in Jesus. It’s not. People have told me if I just try a little harder that I will be happy all the time. I won’t.
Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the grief that trickles into the lives of those I love. On this day I am very aware of the state of the world we live in. Nothing is as it should be. Creation has lost its luster and the effects of the fall have slithered their way into every corner. Eagerly we await the day when all things will be made new. The day when there will be no more crying, no more sorrow. The day when our Lord will tenderly wipe away every tear from our eyes, and we will be made perfect.
If you are hurting today, I will gladly sit in silence with you.
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