Four weeks ago I spent the weekend in a hospital room and watched my dad die a horrible death from a horrible disease.
I would watch him try unsuccessfully to sit up, watch his hands shake from weakness as he tried to hold his own water bottle, watch his lungs struggle for each shallow breath.
I watched these things, and I would plead with God. Please, God, take him soon. This is too much suffering.
And almost immediately, the Father would gently remind me of another - of His own Son. Images of Jesus filled my mind. Jesus, beaten and bloody, bruised and dirty, exhausted and wounded, hanging on a cross.
He reminded me ever so softly that this present suffering does not compare to the suffering Jesus endured. The dying body of my dad isn't even a shadow of the dying body of Christ.
This is why I rejoice this weekend. This is why last night's church service left a heavy weight on our souls. And this is why, as the weekend passes, the joy of the LORD will build in my heart until I cannot carry it any longer and it bursts forth like the glorious Sunday morning dawn!
Four weeks ago my dad left his earthly home on the farm and moved into a new and glorious land that shines bright with the glory of God. He celebrates Easter in the physical presence of those nail-scarred hands and the spear-pierced side. I celebrate here in the Spirit, in the new and living hope given by Jesus on that cross, in full knowledge that I, too, will one day stand at His side and see those scars that bore my name.
He is risen!
3 comments:
Amen! This Easter has been more meaningful for me as well, but for different reasons. It's so awesome to think that your dad is hanging out with those hands.
I'm with Amanda. How amazing to know he's doing the face-to-face thing.
That does give me hope today.
His first Easter in heaven. Frankly I'm jealous to beat the band.
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