for cathy

14 Jul

I went to a funeral and came home over-joyed. It bubbled out of every pore, pushed past my tear ducts, ran down my cheeks, and welled up in my heart. Joy that passed my understanding. It’s strange, right? To feel so blessed by the passing of another person. But as I tried to comprehend what I was feeling, as the Holy Spirit pressed in on me from all sides, I started to understand: it was her life that was blessing me so much. The life she had lived and the life she now had.

What a hope it is we have in Jesus. What an amazing thing when a funeral becomes a celebration. When you walk into a sanctuary to mourn and find a presence waiting for you there, so heavy and powerful that it’s all you can do to breath, and you want to worship God and thank him with everything you can think to give him, and you feel comforted and unafraid and totally content, wrapped up in something that is safe even in the midst of such loss- especially in the midst of such loss.

The women who had passed, Cathy, had captured me with her gentle spirit and her love for others. I didn’t know her well, but those two things were obvious from the time I first met her. And she loved God. That was beyond obvious. She lived it so beautifully too. And one after another, people came forward and poured out their stories of her. So much laughter was shared in that sanctuary. So much hope.

I can’t find a shred of fear in myself as I sit here, still reeling under the heavy spirit of God, contemplating our lives on the dirt of this earth which are as short-spanning as vapors. And my kids- oh, my kids! I listen as they talk about dying, and Heaven, and Jesus like it’s all so normal. And I sat back and watched them tonight as they tried to unravel the deepest mysteries of theology: Is there spit in Heaven? Are there fountains of spit maybe?

And they are so unafraid.

Clay, who is only three, assured me the other night that if he were to die I might miss him, but I only had to wait until I died too, and then we could meet again in Heaven. He told me that he loved Jesus and he smiled, a grin so full and sure. Then he drifted off to sleep without a single fear to hinder him.

I know people who don’t have this peace, this assurance in their spirits like Clay does. They’re open about their fears, wear them on their shoulders, and I get it. I know what that feels like because I’ve felt it too. I’ve feared the future. The unknown. The what-ifs that can paralyze and end a life before it’s even over.

But the truth is, God, He washes all of that away. In Him, there is no fear. There is only this overwhelming joy. And it seems to make no sense. And yet it is the only thing that makes sense.

I know Cathy is basking in that joy right now.

The thing is, all of us can.

*******

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4 Responses to “for cathy”

  1. Tom July 14, 2012 at 12:20 pm #

    Very well written. You are right, Dustin, there is no fear in dying when we know the Lord and what He has waiting for us. And when you know thd Lord and pass this earth it is a reason to celebrate. Keep Marching toward GLORY!!!

    • nora krahn July 15, 2012 at 8:37 pm #

      Cathy’s faith walk was so real and so much a part of her. She was my guide and mentor. Thank you for sharing this…

  2. Mary Beth Macfarlane July 16, 2012 at 2:12 am #

    Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Thank you for sharing.

  3. clayanddust July 16, 2012 at 6:54 pm #

    I wouldn’t have been able to process the event without writing it out like this. I’m glad that you all enjoyed it. And thanks for reading 🙂

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