“This is not the end here at this grave
This is just a hole that someone made
Every hole was made to fill
And every heart can feel it still–
Our nature hates a vacuum”
We’re waiting right now.
We’re waiting with my grandfather while he spends his last days, hours here before he sees Jesus.
“This is not the hardest part of all
This is just the seed that has to fall
All our lives we till the ground
Until we lay our sorrows down
And watch the sky for rain “
And my grandmother talks about what a gentleman he is. And we remember.
And my mom talks about how gracious he is. And we remember.
And my dad tells a story about his sense of humor and adventure. And we remember.
And I tell a story about how he told me he would hold on to meet his first great-grand baby, and he did.
And now we tell him it’s okay to let go. His sweet wife stands next to him and urges him to run to Jesus.
“A thing resounds when it rings true
Ringing all the bells inside of you
Like a golden sky on a summer eve
Your heart is tugging at your sleeve
And you cannot say why
There must be more”
Last night we were sprawled on couches and chairs and floor sleeping. Together. Waiting. Expecting.
“There is more
More than all this pain
More than all the falling down
And the getting up again
There is more
More than we can see
From our tiny vantage point
In this vast eternity
There is more”
And as the dim morning light started to creep in through the windows, we thanked the Lord for another day with him, but we know that when there isn’t one, it will be okay. We will be okay. And he will be dancing. His eyes will twinkle again, like they haven’t in years.
“There is more
More than we can stand
Standing in the glory
Of a love that never ends
There is more
More than we can guess
More and more, forever more
And not a second less”
My dad says the closest thing he’s ever experienced to what we’re doing now is being there for each of our births. It strikes me funny because I think, how is this even the same? And I think about this while I sit next to my Grandpa and I hold his hand and my sweet baby girl kicks and kicks and kicks from the inside. And I think about how he is about to enter into new life. A better one with no pain or sorrow or hurting. One where he will see Jesus. And I smile. And I think I start to understand why Paul said we shouldn’t mourn like people without hope. Because my grandpa’s labor breaths? They’re leading to life eternal. They’re leading to a kind of birth so good we can’t even imagine it.
“There is more than what the naked eye can see
Clothing all our days with mystery
Watching over everything
Wilder than our wildest dreams
Could ever dream to be
There is more”
