A Road Less Travelled

I went to church yesterday. It was Sunday and in our world this isn’t unusual, but it was the first time I’d been in two weeks. It’s amazing what two weeks away from the worship of the Almighty and the fellowship of the saints will do to one’s week.

Sunday afternoon at home was a bit more stressful than normal because we were watching two extra children for some friends. And after all the children were either returned or in bed Seth, Crystal and I sat down to play a game. Loud funny music, a couple rum and Cokes, and some tired, stressed out people don’t make for a really intense game, but it made for a fun time. At one point Seth got laughing so hard about a passage in the Bible he started crying. A jar of pickles later I had won the day and the game. For a full-contact, in your face, rules crunchy economics game I do pretty well. This time, though, I crushed my opponents like circus peanuts. Crush, crush crush!!

It was a good Sabbath. It was restful and delightful. I can’t wait to do it forever.

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Death is a very frightening thing. We have no idea what is on the other side, what’s waiting for us, what’ll happen when we stop breathing and moving. The far side is terrifying. I should say, apart from Jesus and what He’s said the other side is terrifying and all that. But that’s the kicker. The only way to live and die without fear is to trust Jesus.

I watched Reign Over Me because one of my sisters and one of my brothers said it was excellent. It was. It was an excellent portrayal of grief and sorrow where there is no Jesus to trust. The movie is about a man, Alan, who has no one to talk to who bumps into his college roommate, Charlie, who lost his entire family in one of the planes that crashed into the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001. It’s four years later and Charlie still hasn’t begun to mourn. He has persuaded himself he doesn’t remember anything about his wife and daughters. But Alan wants to help him.

In a strange way it’s a buddy movie, the best sort of buddy movie. Alan and Charlie want the best for each other in their own way. Some of the most enjoyable moments are when they are just hanging out together listening to music, riding around the city, watching funny movies. But hanging in the background of Charlie’s life is what he’s lost. He can’t forget, he can’t move one, he doesn’t want to remember. He’s stuck in this loop, this horrible cycle, this tearing grief in a world with no God.

I was told that this was an atheistic look at grief, but I was not ready for the complete lack of God in the movie. Charlie wasn’t even angry at God for what He’d done. The question never came up. Stuff happens and you adjust or you don’t. God is not part of the equation; He’s not even in the math book. And that is why Charlie’s life is tragic. His suffering is pointless, meaningless. He has nothing to hang any hope on other than his friends and they let him down.

Because I was already feeling down and contemplative thinking about death without Jesus I thought I’d watch One Last Thing, a movie about a sixteen year old boy, Dylan, dying of brain cancer. He seems very cool with dying. He jokes about it, he talks about it, he stares it in the face and doesn’t flinch. But underneath he is angry and terrified. I would be scared too if I were him in his world.

The movie gives three options for life after death- your soul ends and you rot underground, you get to go to a loosely defined ‘better place’, and or you get reincarnated. Those are not good options. If I had to choose of course I would choose a ‘better place’, but the movie doesn’t actually make any decisions about what happens to Dylan. The question is left open.

These two movies together left me deeply sad. This is life in world where God is not. This is life and death and mourning with no hope or meaning. I’ve seen it up close and I can tell you it really is as bad as all that. But at the same time this is art doing what it’s supposed to. The movies asked questions and showed world views. They made me think and feel someone else’s world. And the movies, though not made by Christians, did what Christian art should do which is to point me to Jesus and to remind me why His way is the best possible way to live.

I give Reign Over Me four out of four stars. It was fantastic in composition, heart breaking in story, and outstanding in acting.

I give One Last Thing three out of four stars. It was a good story, but I felt like it got distracted from sometimes and wandered off. They made the characters real like people, but sometimes that meant that at times they were just annoying. Authentic to be sure, but this is the movies, my boy.

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beautiful
is what happens
when He is there

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Gabrielle and I collect brothers. Call it a knack, a habit, or just an unusual providence, but it seems to be the case for both of us. Specifically, we seemed to collect older brothers–until we joined Providence. Suddenly we were confronted with a slightly unexpected new species: younger brothers. It might have applied to several people, but specifically Colton and Samuel E. were in that perfect age range of old enough for intelligent conversation–indeed, I’m quite sure they often have to bring their conversation on subjects such as military history and weapons down to the level where I can understand it–and young enough to be safe to talk to. (I don’t have to explain that any further, do I?)

We agreed that we rather liked this whole little brother thing. Indeed, with their uncanny ability to turn up whenever a crockpot needed to be carried and their reliable determination that girls were not fair targets in whatever game happened to be going on, I mentally noted that I was getting rather spoiled having them around. It was supposed to be tongue-in-cheek. Then we found out they were moving away, and I started to wonder if it was more true than I’d thought.

I mused along the changes there would be. No one was going to care anymore if I played ultimate frisbee–I mean really, who else would track down one of the worst players and insist that she should play? Jacob was just getting to the age where he would join our conversations, and I wanted to watch it happen. Gabrielle and I would once again be the only ones who would notice the world-altering reversal if I happened to wear a brighter color than she did. It seemed like dumb stuff I really shouldn’t care about. And then I realized, being a little slow as I usually am about these things, that somewhere along the line they’d moved from just ‘little’ brothers to friends, and I hadn’t noticed when it happened.

And the rest of the family, of course: The one of my elders that I was pretty sure had an idea how freaky odd I really am (and no, hadn’t started avoiding me yet). I also hold to the personal opinion that everyone should have an elder who reccommends the Terminator style of pumping a shotgun. Kim, who just understands. I should have better words than that, but that’s all I can come up with right now: whatever it is, she understands. And Gracie, and Levi, and Jedidiah… And Faith who wrinkles up her nose and says, “I don’t like it.” in this growling monotone. Seriously, you have no idea how cute this is until you’ve heard her do it. And walking into church on Sunday and seeing them all sitting there in a row in the back…

People keep saying things like, “God’s calling them someplace else” and though I intellectually assent, it’s just a phrase. This is what I can wrap my mind around: They’re being transferred to a different unit and redeployed at another base of operations, and while we hold down the fort here, they’re needed to go conquer ground somewhere else. And somehow that helps, even as I’m sitting here crying because it still hurts like Tennessee really is the ends of the earth. Because even though I don’t understand the military strategy I know our King’s strategy always works, so maybe this brings us one step closer to victory. And that brings us one step closer to Heaven. And Heaven is where you never have to say goodbye again.

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Today I am thankful that Jesus has promised to come back for us someday. With the possible exception of Isaac our entire household is down sick. We stayed home from church today and just felt yucky together. Last night Samuel said to Seth that he was tired of this world just going on because we all felt yucky and he was tired of being sick. Seth agreed and reminded him that this world won’t continue forever. Someday Jesus will come back for us and we won’t feel yucky anymore. Today we read from the end of Revelations where we’re told that we will reign with Jesus forever and that no one will get sick ever again. That was very helpful to hear.

At the same time I am thankful that He hasn’t come back yet. I was talking to a mother a while back who has some children who are not believers. She said that sometimes she prays that Jesus won’t come back because that would be bad for her children. When the director walks on stage it means the play is over and it’s time for the after party. And that is beautiful for some and should be scary for others. So I am thankful that His time has not yet come because there are people I love and people others love who aren’t yet invited to the eternal after party and I want so much to see them there.

Oh God, Who has appointed the times and seasons,
I thank You for Your merciful promises to us.
You promise us peace, healing, rest and joy.
You assure us that we will not have to be touched by death forever.
But You, Lord Almighty, are holy
And so there are other You promise pain and death.
I thank You that in Your mercy You have not yet given us what You promised.
I thank You that You are waiting.
I offer these thanks through Your Son, the Author and Director of the play.
Amen.

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 The funeral happened at the small country church that Grandma and Grandpa attended. (Historical note: This happens to be the same church where my parents got married.) It was crowded enough that they put up folding chairs in the back, a few people were standing in the back without a seat, and the only seat I could find was in the very front row. It was the best funeral I’ve ever been to.

 I’d forgotten to bring in my spare packs of tissues, but Eva and I shared the pack I did have, and it sufficed. There was even a tissue left at the end of the funeral.

 My grandpa planned out his funeral ten years ago, after having a stroke and thinking he was going to die soon. He included hymns to be sung, a request for his grandchildren to all sing a song together, a charge to the family, the topic and length of the funeral sermon, and a note reminding us to contact Ladies Aid to provide the lunch afterwards.

 This was all explained, we sang a hymn, and then the grandchildren got up to sing “I’ll Fly Away”. Thankfully, this was a fairly low pressure assignment. As Theresa pointed out, we could have all broken down and started sobbing in the middle and it would have been fine. I think it actually came off pretty well, especially when you consider we had about twenty minutes to practice together.

 After this we settled in to hear stories of my grandfather’s life. I was sitting right across the aisle from my grandmother and my mother and her siblings, so I was never quite sure if I was crying just because I was watching them. Except of course, when we were all laughing. I enjoyed hearing about my grandfather throwing a cat out the window (it was on his bed when it wasn’t even supposed to be in the house) and how he managed to nudge together another couple (I’d never thought of my grandfather as a Yenta before…). I think my favorite story, though, was from back when he was a single young man, and he told his sister he was not interested in going out with my grandmother because ‘her feet were too big’.

 I think that was the closest I ever felt to my grandfather, sitting and listening to stories of his life. It was sad because it was over, and because of the people closest to him that he’d left behind. But it was wonderful, because even with all the hard parts, it was a really good life, and it was over now and he’d gone Home.

  So we listened to the charge he’s left for us, that when the time came for us all to be  gathered together in Heaven, there would be no gaps in the family, that we’d all be ready to go when the time came. And we filed out under the blue sky to stand by his grave as the funeral came to end.  It was goodbye for now, and time to go eat lunch, courtesy of Ladies Aid.

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 Coming back to my grandparent’s house this time I particularly noticed certain ‘historical’ items. I’d already explained some of them to Gabrielle when she visited with us a few months ago. I told her that the back bedroom was always where the older cousins stayed when they worked on the farm, which particular room was in my mind ‘the grown-ups room’ or usually ‘Uncle Kevin and Aunt Mary’s room’ (I have still rarely entered this room), and which one we piled all the younger cousins into. I noticed everything was smaller than it used to be.

This time I perused the cross-stitching on the wall which contained important family dates and the names of all the grandchildren. I remembered how they used to be segmented at the time– Mike and Jen I’d barely met, so they were the really old cousins (a little older than Theresa and Donna, I think). Eva, Robin and Roi were old, but not old enough to have moved far away (in other words, mid-to-late teens). I remember liking Robin, though not interacting with her a lot (since, after all, she was old). Chenel was usually filed with them, though she drifted down to our group during certain age ranges. Then came the three of us who were the same age: Kristin, Charis, and me. I saw Kristin most often and frequently fought with her. We discovered one time that neither of us had ever fought with Charis, except for one argument Kristin had with her when they were three. Then came the cousins who were in Merrianna’s age range: Lisa, Matthew, Ethan and Melody. I think to some part of my mind they will always be three year olds running around the farm.

I glanced over a collection of pictures of us ten to fifteen years ago–the way I remember us. Then I walked downstairs to find that my small, slightly annoying male cousins were men wearing suits and ties, and carrying them off quite well. My little sister was taller than me by an inch or two. In fact, I think all of those little three year old girls might have been taller than me. Perhaps most disconcerting of all, Kristin and I did not have a single argument the entire day. The world has changed and become a strange place indeed…

We headed off to the church and most of us cousins who were there practiced “I’ll Fly Away” to sing during the funeral. Roi played the guitar, and all of us, who hadn’t been all in the same place for at least ten years, managed to pull of a decent rendition of the song.

Later, after the funeral, some of us stood around in the kitchen while my mother offered homemade goat cheese to everyone who passed by. I saw my mother’s gestures and expressions on her sisters, and wondered if I have the same ones. I watched my cousins flow through the kitchen, listened to the random, mundane chatter about what large amounts of food we’d been given and how good such and such a cake was and how such and such a distant relative had chatted with so and so at the funeral. I mused on cousins, and considered that perhaps if I had managed to go ten years without realizing I missed them, they could have decency to stay away so I never did have to realize it. Or we could just go with the plan Kristin and I agreed on: Someone needs to get married soon so we all have a wedding to go to and get to see each other again.

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Prologue here.

We had about forty-eight hours notice of Grandpa’s funeral. James was out of town, and scheduled to get home late that night. That left one day for traveling, and only twenty-four hours or so to make plans and preparations, including a night’s sleep. We quickly narrowed our options to driving out, either the whole family, or just Theresa, Moriah, Margary and me. We couldn’t make a final desicion until Theresa talked to James, but we needed to start planning now because we were short on time as it was. So naturally, I pulled out a pad of paper and started making a list.

Theresa and I managed to determine that either way we needed to pack, go grocery shopping, and make sure laundry was caught up. We made a list of food that would be suitable for children’s snacks whether they were in the car or at home with James, and decided to hardboil some eggs. Theresa left for a pre-scheduled visit with a friend and to go grocery shopping. I called Gabrielle.

I dumped on Gabrielle that we were trying to plan a trip to my grandfather’s funeral without knowing what was going on, that I was tired of thinking about death, and that I dreaded having to travel again when I’d thought that the trips were finally, finally, finally over for the year. Gabrielle listened, and prayed with me, and made me laugh over potty-training stories. I hung up feeling better, if not exactly exuberant.

The day blurred past quickly as we determined that the whole family would go and tried to squeeze weeks of travel prep into half a day. I hardboiled eggs, which we ended up forgetting in the refrigerator. I packed my suitcase, trying to find sufficient purple that looked respectable. I’d wavered over the purple, not sure what that side of the family would think I didn’t wear black, but decided it was important that I stick with purple. I checked to cooler to makes sure it was clean. I think somewhere in there I crashed and fell asleep for a while. I made bacon sandwiches. James made it home despite a canceled flight, and in fact arrived home an hour earlier than we’d planned.

We got up early the next day, and got on the road a lot earlier than we usually manage to, even if it was a tad later than our planned departure time. We traveled. There’s not much else to say. It was time in the car again, with little time for stopping. We traveled almost a thousand miles between 7:30 AM Friday and 1:30 AM Saturday.

During that time we tried to figure out the best way to get my parents up for the funeral. My father’s job schedule (and no vacation days provided by the company) didn’t leave any leeway in scheduling their trip. In the end, the short notice made plane tickets extremely impractical, and they drove through the night Friday, not arriving until about 7:30 Friday morning.

I suspect that Theresa and I got a minor case of food poisoning because we were both up several times that night (or rather, early morning) with gastrointestinal issues. (Theresa was also up with Margary, who apparently decided it must be morning when we got there.)

I spent most of the morning with my stomach throwing a royal fit about something or other. It never got around to telling me what the problem was, it just didn’t like it at all. I ate half a slice of bannana bread for breakfast, couldn’t decide if that helped or made my stomach worse, and never got around to eating any more. So there I was, on the morning of my grandfather’s funeral, running on something less than six hours of sleep, with moderate stomach pain, and greeting relatives I hadn’t seen in several years…

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 Last night we got back from a trip to Pennsylvania for my grandfather’s funeral. I decided there were enough different things I wanted to say about the trip and the funeral that I should break it up into several posts. This post sets the stage for the rest.

Early last week I was thinking about some friends I haven’t been in touch with for a while. They were a homeschool family with two boys–probably the first boys I ever actually made friends with. We’d read all the same books, which at the age of eight or so was the only thing that would have compelled me to attempt a conversation with boys my age. A few years later we left the state of Pennsylvania in something of a rush, as some of you already know. While several people slipped out of contact with us, their mother wrote my sister and me on a regular basis for several months, even occasionally sending us boxes of books. I saw them once more when we went back to Pennsylvania. We played Clue and, I’m sure, discussed our favorite books once more.

A year or two ago the son who was my age died in a car accident. I sent them a card and tried to remember to pray for them. Months later I wrote another note, but it didn’t get sent for several weeks, and due to one thing and another in my crazy life, I didn’t write again. So last week I was thinking I really should send them another note. Just let them know that I still pray for them when I think of them, because it doesn’t really get better by the time everyone’s forgotten to send cards.

A couple of days later, a family in our church had a miscarriage. This sounds painfully obvious, but I really, really wanted their baby to live. It was okay, because God is in control, and He knows what He’s doing. But it still hurt.

The next day my grandfather died.

We’d been expecting it, though not necessarily this soon. I didn’t see Grandpa Rhodes that often, or really know him that well. When I first heard that he’d died my first reaction was something like, “Oh. Well, that’s it then. It’s over.” I felt like I should cry, but I didn’t at first. I just felt heavy and really tired of thinking about death. I didn’t want him to be dead. I didn’t want him to be sick. I really just wanted life to keep going, and the strawberry farm to still be there, and my grandparent’s house to be full of cousins who chased each other in endless circles around the main stairs.

So I put on my purple lipstick and went to listen to A Far Country. And then I cried. I cried for my grandpa, and for a little baby I wasn’t going to meet in May like I’d hoped I would, and other little babies I remembered wanting to meet, and for all the other people I wouldn’t see until heaven. I cried because even though I don’t want to go Home yet, and there’s so much here I want to do first, there are days when Home sounds really, really good.

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I have been wanting to write a post about this restaurant we ate at while we were on our trip, but somehow the words haven’t been lining up for me. I was very happy to see then that James had written the post I’d wanted to. Enjoy.

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