I never knew John when he was vital and young. I knew him as a white-haired man with a smile and a bit of a limp. He was hard of hearing and yet he seemed to be one of the ones who "got" my jokes from the pulpit, or at the least he laughed a lot at the right times.
He was a sweet-heart, in short.
Pastors have a lot more to do than I ever imagined when I was pondering becoming one. I didn't know really what life would be like, but I never imagined the sheer depth of it. Look, I believe Jesus conquerored death. I believe we will be reunited with our loved ones, those who believed Jesus did just that, and that death is not an end but a wonderful beginning.
Having said all that, dang if it doesn't get hard sometimes to share the grief that piles up like flotsam at the end of a river flood. It gets to you, eventually, whether you are seemingly impervious or not.
Tomorrow we bury John. Tomorrow those smiles will be relegated to the ground. Tomorrow we say goodbye for a while.
But the family, oh the family must endure.
I'm using these words from the 116th Psalm: 15 Precious in the sight of the LORD
is the death of his faithful servants.
What wonderful words. What wonderful expressive words.
They speak to death, to failfulness, to serving, to being precious with the Lord and being in the sight of the Lord.
What more could we want?
Well, just a bit more time I would suspect. Just a bit more. One more smile. One more laugh. One more moment.
It's precious to die with the Lord. It hurts like heck those who are left. It's just the way it is.
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