Understanding Death

By Pat

One thing in each of our lives we can never be sure of is when we will die. It's a question that haunts all of us at one time or another, I think, and some of us more than others. As Christians, we have the assurance that when we die, we really begin life anew with the Lord, in a place of joy and beauty and the eternal presence of God. We become less and less afraid as we grow older and weaker in our bodies and stronger in our faith. We become more accepting as we gain more of an understanding that death for us is not the end. It's a natural progression.

But what about when tragedy strikes? What about the horrible accidents that occur, taking lives way before their time? What about when children die? It throws us. It shakes us. Our faith wavers, and we cry out, "Why, Lord?" We are left with more questions than answers. Sometimes we become angry at God, and wonder why God allows these things to happen. That's NOT the way it's supposed to be! We simply don't understand. We strive to understand... but do we really have to understand?

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Be Gentle

By Michelle (Graceful, Faith in the Everyday)

I stop short in the driveway and stand staring. It all looks so normal, so everyday, I think to myself, observing the potted impatiens she planted in front of the garage, the Windexed windows, the kitchen light glowing inside. Who would know what goes on behind that front door, between those brick walls? Who would guess there is grieving and sickness, tears and joy mingled bittersweet?

I watch the grandkids play tag, climb the river birch tree. They yell and laugh, scream and fall in piles on the grass.

A neighbor drives by, slows, points to my husband’s uncle’s car – a 50s Chevrolet convertible parked in the driveway – gives me a thumb’s up. He approves of the car. But he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know that I don’t care a bit about that car, about its funky tail fins and genuine red leather interior. He doesn’t know that I don’t even see it.

This neighbor can’t see the real story, of course. All he sees are grandkids leaping on the lawn, neatly trimmed shrubs, the classic car, a beautiful house bricked shut.

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Don't Season Your Hopes Yet!

By Pat

It was over. Jesus was crucified. Dead. It was witnessed by many, so it couldn't be denied. Their lord, their hope, was gone. What a sad day it was for those who loved Jesus. His body was removed from the cross on which it hung, and it was given to Joseph of Arimathea so that it could be put in it's final resting place. The tomb. And in accordance with Jewish custom, Joseph and Nicodemus proceeded to wrap, along with myrrh and aloe, with burial linens. This was a form of preparing the body for burial, a "seasoning" ritual. They then placed the body of their beloved Lord in the tomb, where he would stay forever. Or so they thought...

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Death Up Close And Personal

By Michelle (Graceful, Faith in the Everyday)

Last year we experienced death up close and personal, in our own backyard.

Throughout the winter we had observed a large cocoon dangling like a leather satchel from the river birch tree. We weren’t confident it contained a hibernating creature – Rowan had prodded it too vigorously a couple of times, batting at it like it was a miniature tether ball, so we didn’t have high hopes for its metamorphosis. Nevertheless, one May evening Noah stormed into the house shouting, “The moth is here! The moth is here!” and we all dashed out to take a look.

Its body was furry and plump, like a tiny fruit bat, with a wingspan as wide as my hand. Two bushy antennae sprung from the moth’s head like centipedes, and on its intricately patterned wings shone bright yellow spots, unblinking owl eyes. It dangled a few inches from its cocoon, gingerly folding and unfolding its giant wings, hairy legs twitching a little as they clung to the branch. We all posed for photos with the moth like it was Julia Roberts suspended from the tree.

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