On Death

Anyone who knows me can tell you that I don't cry. Some even go so far as to suppose that I am actually a soul-less robot, devoid of emotion and feeling, mechanical in all that I do. I went to the visitation yesterday for an eight year old girl who died this week because of heart condition.

Eight.

I cried.

Maybe it's because I have my own child that I grieve more for those who lose one of their children. I didn't cry when my papaw passed away. I was sad. I just didn't have any tears I guess. But yesterday I cried.

I think part of me was sad for the family--certainly not sad for Darby, given that she is far better now in the arms of God--and I mourn their loss because she will be missed. But I think part of me was mourning for all children who suffer. The very notion of a child suffering is repugnant to me and makes me physically ache all over. I just hurt. I've been to Riley Children's Hospital a number of times and have had to almost numb myself to the pain in that place. Children with heart conditions, varying forms of cancer, mysterious illnesses that no one can figure out, injuries that no one should have to endure.

I'm not even going to attempt to explain why things are this way. All explanations I've heard (and used) fall short every time I try to draw a definitive conclusion. I guess at the end of the day I have to keep coming back to the hope of something better, that somehow God is in control of all that we see and experience and that whatever it is He is doing in allowing these types of things to happen, He knows what He is doing. And I always hold on to the hope of "Someday" in heaven. I have to hold on to that. If I don't then death takes control and becomes the final say in life and Jesus' resurrection becomes a meaningless event.

Death does not win. It is only the beginning...

shalom, matt