warning. this post is not a funny one. (In case the title confused you.) I did have an idea for a funny one today… I could have written down all of the 386 questions that my poor husband was asked trying to watch his favorite team lose their playoff game. (“Daddy, which one is R.G. III? Daddy, do you like the Giants? Daddy, what do the quarterbacks do, Daddy? Dad, once I did a big tackle. Dad, is this game fun? Dad, who’s winning now, Dad? Dad, let’s play catch. Dad why did you yell? What happened, Dad?” times 140, with each question repeated after three seconds if it wasn’t answered.)
Overall, I give Todd an A- for fatherhood today. I would say he answered at least 90% of the questions, mostly in a pleasant tone of voice. So good job, Todd.
Anyway, this blog post is not about the Redskins loss. It’s about something sadder. š
Do you feel like this? For months and months you think nothing of death. Then something happens (or two or three things happen) and for a few weeks you live in that somber, uncomfortable cloud of how short and scary life is?
The first straw this time was that horrendous, unimaginable murder of little first-graders. So, so awful.
Then I read about a little toddler – again unthinkable – who died when her bedroom dresser fell on her.
Most recently, a friend of many friends, a young mom, my age, lost a long battle with breast cancer. She’s survived by a brave husband and one of the cutest little three-year old girls I’ve ever seen.
I am just sad.
I know we should die, but it should be old ones, safely and painlessly, in their sleep. Not still-needed mommies and babies and little ones getting ready for kickball.
It’s not fair.
I’ve said this before,Ā but I’m most angered because I know it could happenĀ here. Could happen to me, or mine.
And then my hypochondria starts flaring up… My lymph nodes feel extra swollen, my fatigue extra-unexplained. Everything seems extra precarious and fragile.
I can’t make it untrue – death is real, and it’s sad. It just is.
A few things, along with the sadness, have been circling my head these days. I thought I’d share them.
- This is going to sound a little cheesy and dramatic… But I keep thinking of this quote from C.S. Lewis’ The Horse and His Boy:
āChild,’ said the Lion, ‘I am telling you your story, not hers. No one is told any story but their own.ā (Italics mine.)
It’s awful to imagine what the moms from Newtown feel, or any parents without kids, or daddies without their wives… I don’t think I could live through that. But I don’t live their stories. I live mine. God has been so good to me. And the God of my yesterday is the God of my tomorrows. He will still be faithful, and still take care of me.
- This song. My favorite thing is that my boys love it, even if they don’t really understand it. I like to think maybe they sort of do though.
- This Scripture: “If only for this life we have hope in Christ, we are to be pitied more than all men. But Christ has indeed been raised from the dead, the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep…Then the end will come, when he hands over the kingdom to God the Father after he has destroyed all dominion, authority and power. For he must reign until he has put all his enemies under his feet. The last enemy to be destroyed is death.” (I Corinthians 15).
- And, this thought. Sometimes when I hear about something awful, I feel obligated to have a really awful day. This is wrong! The best thing I can do for anyone is enjoy my today. I can honor what they lost by treasuring what I have. I will enjoy the chubby little toes I get to see tomorrow, and the beautiful sky we can look up and see, and that my legs move and walk and (sometimes) run. I’ll enjoy peace and warm socks and cup of coffee, and enjoy how I can read God’s word, and laugh, and not be sad tomorrow. and so should you.
image by Andrew Clark
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I htink those thoughts come out a lot during this time of year. We seem to always lose at least one loved-one or friend each year around the holidays. I am at peace with my own mortality (after two pretty close calls) but I cannot imagine losing one of my children. I am amazed by people’s strength and faith when they deal with the loss of a child.
It does seem like these things often happen this time of year! Odd! And agreed…the loss of a child would be my far the worst. My mom always said that and now I understand. Thanks for your comments.
Well said – thank you