Blake
I wrote this earlier for facebook. Now I'm afraid its too self serving to share there. So I'll share here. I need to keep it. To remember it. And I needed to write it. Maybe someday I'll be brave enough to share it with the people I thought I wrote it for. But maybe I never wrote it for them at all.
Love.
Em
The text message was awfully full for being so short. And I didn't get it right away. Maybe because I was half asleep. Maybe because it sounded so foreign. Maybe because it was easier to assume anything else.
"My brother is dead". Four words. I thought he was kidding. The sobs in the background of the phone call answered any doubts I had. I immediately ran to find shoes and keys and warmer clothes, but he stopped me. "Don't come now. Its one am. And you already have to do a funeral tomorrow. Just come when you're done?"
The resulting silence was deafening. The resulting prayers went on all night. The next morning, I went through the motions of being a pastor. I preached to people I loved, and told them how much they were loved. I helped them bury a beautiful matriarch with a great smile and infectious laugh. And I couldn't get the text message out of my head. After the service and dinner, in the rain, I started driving.
The next four days are a blur. Cleaning out rooms. Cooking food. Cleaning. Praying. Crying. Protecting. Cell phones. Communion. Stolen Smiles. Beautiful Music. Pictures. Meeting a million people, drying ten thousand tears. and praying a thousand times. Driving. Love. Hurt. Confusion.
I'll never forget how much hurt was covered and surrounded by love. The hurt was always there, never hidden. But there was more food than we could eat and more love than we could imagine. People brought flowers and paper towels and chicken salad. I'll never forget the times they broke down or the times they forced smiles. I'll never forget the strength and weakness and questions. I can't imagine a more beautiful communion service than watching people I loved share their grief, their tears, and the bread. I'll never forget the look of strength and calm in his eyes as I spoke, a strength that broke any strength I thought I had.
I'll never forget standing in front of the packed crowd and telling them that God loved them. That nothing: not death, nor life, nor angels nor principalities separates us from the love of God. The music. The real laughter. The real tears. The real anger. The real love. I'll never forget him, them, her, or Blake.
Its been a year. I went back and sat on that couch yesterday. And held them and they held me. There were fewer tears and people. There were still questions. Still grief. Still love. But its been a year. I left early, this time my obligations weren't another funeral but a new baby. His name was AJ, he was 5 pounds and 10 ounces and his weight still somehow felt heavy in my arms. We prayed over him, giving him to God, and praying that he would always feel our love and God's love. As I prayed, I remembered Blake, and prayed that he was as safe, warm, and felt as loved as the baby I held. I prayed that those hurting felt that love and warmth and safety. I prayed that he would grow up knowing the love that Blake did. And I prayed that we all really know that nothing separates us from God's love.
"For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord." Romans 8
Love.
Em
The text message was awfully full for being so short. And I didn't get it right away. Maybe because I was half asleep. Maybe because it sounded so foreign. Maybe because it was easier to assume anything else.
"My brother is dead". Four words. I thought he was kidding. The sobs in the background of the phone call answered any doubts I had. I immediately ran to find shoes and keys and warmer clothes, but he stopped me. "Don't come now. Its one am. And you already have to do a funeral tomorrow. Just come when you're done?"
The resulting silence was deafening. The resulting prayers went on all night. The next morning, I went through the motions of being a pastor. I preached to people I loved, and told them how much they were loved. I helped them bury a beautiful matriarch with a great smile and infectious laugh. And I couldn't get the text message out of my head. After the service and dinner, in the rain, I started driving.
The next four days are a blur. Cleaning out rooms. Cooking food. Cleaning. Praying. Crying. Protecting. Cell phones. Communion. Stolen Smiles. Beautiful Music. Pictures. Meeting a million people, drying ten thousand tears. and praying a thousand times. Driving. Love. Hurt. Confusion.
I'll never forget how much hurt was covered and surrounded by love. The hurt was always there, never hidden. But there was more food than we could eat and more love than we could imagine. People brought flowers and paper towels and chicken salad. I'll never forget the times they broke down or the times they forced smiles. I'll never forget the strength and weakness and questions. I can't imagine a more beautiful communion service than watching people I loved share their grief, their tears, and the bread. I'll never forget the look of strength and calm in his eyes as I spoke, a strength that broke any strength I thought I had.
I'll never forget standing in front of the packed crowd and telling them that God loved them. That nothing: not death, nor life, nor angels nor principalities separates us from the love of God. The music. The real laughter. The real tears. The real anger. The real love. I'll never forget him, them, her, or Blake.
Its been a year. I went back and sat on that couch yesterday. And held them and they held me. There were fewer tears and people. There were still questions. Still grief. Still love. But its been a year. I left early, this time my obligations weren't another funeral but a new baby. His name was AJ, he was 5 pounds and 10 ounces and his weight still somehow felt heavy in my arms. We prayed over him, giving him to God, and praying that he would always feel our love and God's love. As I prayed, I remembered Blake, and prayed that he was as safe, warm, and felt as loved as the baby I held. I prayed that those hurting felt that love and warmth and safety. I prayed that he would grow up knowing the love that Blake did. And I prayed that we all really know that nothing separates us from God's love.
"For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord." Romans 8