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My dad had two fears: the nursing home and a long-winded speaker at his funeral. He avoided the first; the jury still debates the second.

The call from his apartment [...]]]> I post this article today in memory of my dad, a World War II veteran who was proud of his service. He died in December 2005.

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My dad had two fears: the nursing home and a long-winded speaker at his funeral. He avoided the first; the jury still debates the second.

The call from his apartment building came unexpectedly on Thursday morning. “Your dad has passed out and has no blood pressure.” But when I got there minutes later, he had revived. Flat on his back in the floor, he joked with the paramedics hovering over him.

For a 93-year-old, he did well in the hospital, and we had expected to take him home after a brief stay. But all his systems shut down suddenly on Friday evening, “old and worn out” as he often told us.

Looking back, I realize that he had frequently exhibited a peculiar sense of timing at critical points of life, this one being no exception. Four years ago, for example, he decided that he needed to give up a house for a retirement apartment. Afterward, his health improved enough to extricate himself from all his medications.

Then just a month later he concluded that he needed to quit driving. In picking up the truck keys as he had asked, I was also removing his last grip on independence. But it was time.

He called me the Sunday before his death, worrying that the arrangements for his funeral wouldn’t be handled properly. I assured him otherwise but promised that my sister, Sara, and I would get all loose ends tied up that week. That satisfied him.

Then came the hospital trip on Thursday.

Perfectly alert but seemingly a bit tired, he began asking “Where is Sara?” around noon on Friday. Each time–there were probably a dozen–I explained that she was on her way. When he acknowledged her arrival, I went home to rest. Within a couple of hours, though, he was gone.

Sara, Mary, Barrett and I sat with him in the hospital room for two hours awaiting the arrival of the funeral director. We reminisced and laid plans: I would be the dreaded long-winded speaker.

Beyond that, I wrestled with a peculiar revelation. For from my birth 60 years before until that moment, there had always been someone older in my line of ancestry. But the years had gradually, relentlessly taken all except my dad. And in the instant of his death, I moved to the head of the line.

While he was at the head of the line, Daddy frequently apologized for living so long and for being so much trouble. At such times I assured him, “It’s no trouble. You’re doing the very best that you can.” “Thanks for saying that,” he’d invariably reply.

Don’t those at the head of the line want to be loved and accepted, valued and honored by those lined up behind them? Don’t they want their contributions and sacrifices acknowledged and appreciated? Indeed. I see that more clearly today from my new vantage point.

Though he never spoke to us about World War II for a full 55 years, “The War” was on his mind constantly for the last five. As he lay on his bed, the people, places, difficulties, and distresses of that great struggle marched through his mind with greater intensity than today’s news. He recently confessed, “The War just won’t turn me loose.”

The War finally released him on December 9, 2005. But I wonder this: what will have hold of me until I eventually relinquish my unenviable place at the head of the line? A worthy cause, I pray.

THE HEAD OF THE LINE

The line I’m in that’s been so slow
Moved up one step today;
My turn’s not far away.
On to the front I surely go.
Once far — but now so near –
I see the head from here,
Brought closer with each death, I know.

Copyright 2005 James McAlister

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Bankers and merchants delighted in this new ten-day service. Yet the Pony Express was destined [...]]]> In the early 1860s, mail traveling by Wells Fargo stagecoaches took 20 days for the route from St. Joseph, Missouri, to Sacramento, California. But a single day, April 3, 1860, halved transit time when the Pony Express made its inaugural run.

Bankers and merchants delighted in this new ten-day service. Yet the Pony Express was destined to enjoy a short–but glorious–career. For even as fearless buckaroos streaked from station to station, other stalwarts steadily busied themselves stringing strands of copper, harbingers of greater change on the horizon.

All told, the Pony Express carried 37,753 letters on 308 runs over 616,000 miles. Though historical accounts vary somewhat, a telegraph line connecting Carson City, Nevada, to St. Joseph was completed on October 20, 1861, and two days later the Pony Express pastured its ponies. With the twist of two wires, the world changed again in a single day.

Then on May 10, 1869, at Promontory Summit, Utah, a final spike married the tracks of the Union Pacific Railroad and Central Pacific Railroad. Now connecting east and west, the transcontinental railroad ushered the stagecoach off stage.

Just last week an oak, stable and steadfast for the last 150 years, crashed to the ground, crushing four cars. Its violent plunge to earth sent power lines whiplashing, compelling a young man to eat dirt–or face decapitation. Our son’s close brush with death reminded us: change comes quickly.

And this very afternoon, heavy machinery lumbered into the long-vacant lot next door. The growls of great yellow beasts proclaimed instant change to field mice forced to yield habitat to yet another concrete slab.

New temporarily supplants old in a never-ending succession of leapfrogging.

But the greatest change in a single day cannot be called temporary. Propelled by neither twisted wire nor driven spike nor foot upon the moon, its impetus was a single stone, moved but a few brief feet.

Easter is coming soon. If ever a single day wrought dramatic upheaval, that displaced stone and empty tomb give testimony.

The Bible makes this terse announcement: “He is not here, for He has risen, just as He said. Come, see the place where He was lying.” Indeed, a man had come back to life, but such had happened before. But unlike His predecessors, this Man would never retreat to the company of the dead. His resurrection blazed a trail to eternity for an innumerable host to follow–one day.

And in the pattern established by telegraph and railroad, change encompassed far more than simple facts interpreted by eyes and ears. The overriding significance of this singular event resides in hopes yet unseen. Hopes of a meaningful conclusion to life, a new body, a reunion with loved ones, a just reward for labors, a home in heaven….

And for each one who personally embraces the hope of That Day, change is instant–and forever.

Copyright 2003 James McAlister

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That’s the way the phone call began our third week of marriage. But I was newlywed-husband adamant. “Absolutely not! Cats carry germs and suck the breath out of babies. Mother said so. No cats!”

She [...]]]> “I’m so lonely here by myself during the day, and there’s free kitty advertised on the radio. Can I get it? Please?”

That’s the way the phone call began our third week of marriage. But I was newlywed-husband adamant. “Absolutely not! Cats carry germs and suck the breath out of babies. Mother said so. No cats!”

She didn’t seem to hear. “But I’m so lonesome. You’re at work, and I’m here by myself all day. Please!”

“No way! Cats are out!”

“P-l-e-e-e-e-e-a-s-e!”

My family had always been dog people. Like men, dogs are logical, practical. Blundering and clueless perhaps, but stalwart and faithful nevertheless.

Consider Blackie, the bench-legged feist who used to go possum hunting with us. After being sprayed by a skunk one hapless night, he endeavored to solve his problem by jumping in the back seat and rubbing the vile odor onto us boys.

And before human ear could detect an approaching storm, Muff, our gentle Collie mix, would streak around the yard yelping, warning us of danger looming beyond the horizon.

Old Joe, a mutt who showed up after I left for college, developed a penchant for finding misplaced hammers and axes. Then he chewed off their handles to rebuke our carelessness.

Dogs are useful in countless ways.

Not so with cats. They wander about in self-centered oblivion, doing as they please. So we never had a cat, and Mother often cautioned us of their evils.

So when I pronounced, “No cats,” I had an agenda. But when newlywed wife pled, “P-l-e-e-e-e-e-a-s-e,” so did she.

Thus our struggle blossomed from deep, solid roots.

For reasons I’ve yet to comprehend, my resolve unexpectedly weakened, breaking the stalemate. I suddenly, inexplicably relented. “Okay, okay. You can have the cat.”

Exuberance exploded over the telephone wires. “Oh, goodie! She’s under the bed right now!”

And there Punkinhead Julie remained–petrified–for three full days. I eventually accepted the purring kitten, the first in a long line of memorable felines who have rendered themselves indispensable to our well being.

But there were unforeseen complications. Being neophytes, we didn’t realize that our apartment complex forbade pets. So Punkin had to be smuggled behind the building for furtive outings. And having nothing but a bed sheet to use for a leash, we were hardly invisible.

Months later, a painful truth finally dawned: I had been snookered. The outcome of the great cat debate had been determined before negotiations commenced.

Like cats, women apparently fabricate rules that suit them, and somehow the future mysteriously conforms to those constraints.

Though too late to be of much good now, I’ve developed Two Rules for Dealing with Cats and Life:

1. Never pick up a purring kitten unless you intend to keep it.

2. Never give in unless you’re prepared to stay in.

The end may not justify the means, but you still arrive at the end anyway.

Copyright 2004 James McAlister

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HOW TO GRIEVE

“After the first death, there is no other,” [...]]]> These three items have been an encouragement to me in the grieving process after the loss of loved ones, and I’m hopeful that they will be for others as well. Please feel to pass them on. There’s a link to a printer-friendly version at the end.

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HOW TO GRIEVE

“After the first death, there is no other,” wrote Dylan Thomas. That doesn’t mean the ones that come after won’t break your heart, but it’s the first that punches your soul’s passport. Welcome, fellow human, to a different country than the one you woke up to this morning. The air’s different here; so is the scenery. Your knees don’t work so well; in fact, you may want to fall to them.

For a precious little while, you are allowed to be stunned into silence, or to shriek, or to talk—recounting stories of who he was, what she meant to you, and how it all came to an end. Tell those stories. Some people may try to enforce “The Rules,” to wit: Enough of This Drama Is Enough. Ignore them. Besides, if you treat yourself gently and take the time you need, someday soon you’ll hear the faint but steady voice of your own good sense. Play music you love, sit in the sunshine if you can find some, and if anyone offers you a hand, hold it. Let them feed the cat, too, because they want to be useful. If your good sense does not kick in on its own, help it along: scramble some eggs. It will feel strange at first. But if you pretend that scrambling eggs is normal, eventually it will become normal. Soon you can squeeze some orange juice, too.

For some of us the stay in this new country seems endless. But time passes, seasons change, and, truly, would those we grieve for want us to mope? Come with me back into the world. We’ll return to this land someday, all too soon, but in the meantime the garden needs weeding, the bills need paying. Your other loved ones need you. And you, my sweet friend, you could use a shampoo.

—Larkin Warren

GONE FROM MY SIGHT

I am standing upon the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength.

I stand and watch her until at length she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.

Then someone at my side says: “There, she is gone!”

Gone where?

Gone from my sight. That is all. She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side, and she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port. Her diminished size is in me, not in her.

And just at the moment when someone at my side says, “There, she is gone,” there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices ready to take up the glad shout:

“Here she comes!”

…And that is dying.

—Henry Van Dyke

THE ROSE BEYOND THE WALL

Near a shady wall a rose once grew,
Budded and blossomed in God’s free light,
Watered and fed by the morning dew,
Shedding its sweetness day and night.

As it grew and blossomed fair and tall,
Slowly rising to loftier height,
It came to a crevice in the wall
Through which there shone a beam of light.

Onward it crept with added strength
With never a thought of fear or pride,
It followed the light through the crevice’s length
And unfolded itself on the other side.

The light, the dew, the broadening view
Were found the same as they were before,
And it lost itself in beauties new,
Breathing its fragrance more and more.

Shall claim of death cause us to grieve
And make our courage faint and fall?
Nay! Let us faith and hope receive—
The rose still grows beyond the wall,

Scattering fragrance far and wide
Just as it did in days of yore,
Just as it did on the other side,
Just as it will forevermore.

—A. L. Frink

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—–

How should we confront the difficult times life invariably brings? One way is to learn from those who have succeeded in similar straits. Joseph the [...]]]> I post this article in anticipation of the New Year that is upon us. There are links at the bottom for both an audio message and a neatly formatted bulletin insert.

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How should we confront the difficult times life invariably brings? One way is to learn from those who have succeeded in similar straits. Joseph the patriarch faced incredible trials, and his life holds many lessons to give us hope. Let’s look at four.

DELIVERANCE IS COMING

At age 17 Joseph (one of 12 sons of Jacob) was cast into a pit by his brothers, who plotted to kill him. Why? Because Joseph was their father’s favorite, and he singled Joseph out for special favors. Plus, Joseph had two unusual dreams indicating that his family would eventually bow before him in subservience. And they hated him even more for his dreams.

The eldest brother, Rueben, actually opposed the plot and intended to rescue Joseph. Perhaps he might even have furtively whispered, “Don’t worry, my brother. I’ll get you out of this pit and restore you to your father.” But in Rueben’s absence, the others pulled Joseph from the pit and sold him to slave traders bound for Egypt. (Gen. 37:2-22).

Joseph received deliverance alright, but it didn’t come in an agreeable, expected way. What only God knew, however, was that Joseph had an unbreakable appointment 13 years later to stand before Pharaoh, king of Egypt, to effect deliverance for those who hated him.

Has the hurtful sting of betrayal put you in a “pit”? Deliverance may not come when or how you envision it, but expect God to act on your behalf. (1 Cor. 10:13).

DELAY IS NOT DENIAL

A wealthy Egyptian, Potipher, purchased Joseph and soon put him in charge of his whole household. But when falsely accused by Potipher’s wife, Joseph was cast into prison and laid in irons. Despite his unfair circumstances, however, Joseph’s diligence motivated the chief jailer to make him supervisor of all the prisoners. (Gen. 39:21-23)

Then unexpectedly, when Joseph was 28, two fellow prisoners, Pharaoh’s chief cupbearer and chief baker, each had a puzzling dream. Joseph interpreted and gave the cupbearer good news: in three days he would be restored to his former position. But the baker would be executed. Desiring relief, Joseph implored the cupbearer, “Please remember me to Pharaoh, and get me out of this house.”
But even though events unfolded exactly as Joseph had said, the cupbearer forgot him, leaving him to languish in prison two more years doing his duty. (Gen. 40:1-23).

Perhaps you’ve asked God to release you from a painful trial and believe He’s forgotten because nothing has happened. His delay is not necessarily a denial of your request; the timing may not yet be right. Duty is what we do until deliverance comes.

YOU CAN HAVE A FRUITFUL FUTURE

When Joseph was 30, Pharaoh himself had two terrifying dreams. When none of his wise men could interpret, the cupbearer suddenly remembered Joseph, whom Pharaoh immediately summoned!
Stunned by Joseph’s insight, Pharaoh instantly made him Prime Minister and gave him a wife, who would eventually bear him two sons. The first he named Manasseh because “God has made me forget all my trouble and all my father’s household.” The second he named Ephraim, “For, “he said, “God has made me fruitful in the land of my affliction.” (Gen. 41:51-52).

Able to forget even the treachery of his own brothers, Joseph could look to the fruitful work God had planned for him.

Have bitter circumstances caused you to expect nothing better or different in the future? On the contrary, your future can bear much good fruit—but you must assuredly set aside the bitterness of the past.

GOD’S PLAN IS BETTER THAN YOURS

At age 56, Joseph took his two sons to his dying father to be blessed, but instead of following the customary, accepted procedure, Jacob placed his right hand on the head of the younger Ephraim. This deviation greatly displeased Joseph, who immediately attempted to “fix” his father’s “mistake” by grasping Jacob’s hand to move it to Manasseh’s head. But his father refused and said, “I know, my son, I know…. However….” (Gen. 48:14-19).

Though physically blind, Jacob’s spiritual eyes had seen what Joseph could not see and overrode Joseph’s plan and desire for his firstborn son.

Have your plans not worked out as you thought they should and left you facing outcomes you’d wished to avoid? Perhaps God has said “however” to your plan because He sees what you cannot, and His way will indeed be better than yours in the long run.

Joseph experienced hard times much like ours: jealous betrayals, unfairness, unfaithful friends, tedious delays, and undesirable turns of events. But despite all of these, he grew and succeeded because of an unswerving trust and confidence in God. That should give us hope for ourselves, no matter what we must face.

(Note: A detailed audio version of this message is available here)

Copyright 2008 James McAlister

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The boy asked again. “Please, Jacob. I won’t laugh at you. I really want to hear the story.” The old man finally turned toward [...]]]> They sat side by side on the hillside, silently gazing into the starry sky. Finally, the boy spoke. “Would you tell me about that night, Jacob?” The old man said nothing.

The boy asked again. “Please, Jacob. I won’t laugh at you. I really want to hear the story.” The old man finally turned toward him. “No matter, Peter. The laughing doesn’t bother me anymore. My thoughts just don’t come as quickly as they did 70 years ago.”

“So it’s been that long? Seventy years?”

“More than 70. I was about your age. Just a lad. But I remember… as if it were last night.” He stared nowhere in particular, his mind lost in another time.

“And the others with you, Jacob? Were they older?”

“Yes. I was the youngest–and probably the most afraid.”

Peter paused a moment, then whispered. “Tell me. Please.”

Jacob began, “We were alone on the hillside, watching over our sheep. Just as you and I are tonight. Then instantly, like a lightning bolt from heaven, an angel stood among us. Like a blazing fire, he brightened the whole hillside….” The old man paused as the boy interrupted, each thought tumbling over the next. “Did the angel speak to you, Jacob? What did he say? Were you frightened?”

Jacob was sober in his recollection, as one who had told the story many times. “His message stunned us. After thousands of years, the Messiah had finally come, and we would find Him in a stable in Bethlehem. But He would not be a man, but a baby lying in manger. We were too frightened even to speak. Even Eli, who seemed as big as Goliath to me, could not stand up.”

Peter could hardly utter his question. “Then what happened, Jacob?”

“When the first angel had spoken, the heavens exploded with others–all singing and praising God. Soon they all disappeared as quickly as the light from a snuffed candle.”

“Then you went to Bethlehem?”

“Eli took off first, and I tried to keep up as best I could. We ran from stable to stable until we found the Child.”

“Jacob, the boys in the village say you dreamed all these things.”

“Yes, I’ve heard them. But they are mistaken. We all saw the Child… and touched Him. Flesh and blood are no dream.”

“They say you are just an old man who makes up tales about the Child to sound important. All of the other shepherds you claim were with you have been dead for many years, and there is no one left alive to prove your story. They call you ‘The Last Shepherd’ just to make fun of you.”

“It is true that I am very old and have outlived all the others who ran to Bethlehem that night. But I am not The Last Shepherd, Peter.”

“What do you mean, Jacob? You said that the others were dead.”

“They are indeed. But there was another shepherd in the stable that night who is still alive. He is The Last Shepherd.”

“But who is this shepherd, Jacob? I don’t understand.”

The Child, Peter. The Child. Do you know what He called himself when He grew up?”

“Yes! Now I remember. The Good Shepherd!”

“He is also the Last Shepherd, for no others will come after Him to guard and protect His flock.”

“But can He prove your stories about Him?”

“Tell me, Peter. How do you get your sheep to come to you?”

“I call them by name, and they come. First one, then another, until all are safely in the fold.”

“Exactly. And everyone who sees them respond to your call knows you are their shepherd. And so it is today with The Last Shepherd. He calls His sheep by name, and they gradually go to Him one by one. But a day is coming when He will call out to all that remain, and the rest of His flock will go to Him at once. Then those who disbelieve will begin to understand.”

“When will that be, Jacob?”

“I don’t know, lad. I don’t know. But with each passing year, I long more and more to hear my name called. I hope it will be on a night much like tonight, here on the hillside, guarding the sheep.”

“Could it be tonight, Jacob?”

“Yes, lad. It could be tonight.” And they lay back on the grass… listening… as if trying to hear a distant voice.
—–
“For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.”

Copyright 2001 James McAlister

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Yet even in the midst of the darkness of civil war, Abraham Lincoln cast a ray of hope that the nation might once again have “full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquillity and Union.”

We would [...]]]> In an era not so long ago, our country was being ripped asunder by internal turmoils and differences–much as it is today.

Yet even in the midst of the darkness of civil war, Abraham Lincoln cast a ray of hope that the nation might once again have “full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquillity and Union.”

We would do well to review some key thoughts of Lincoln’s proclamation of October 3, 1863, which set the precedent for our national Thanksgiving holiday.

“The year that is drawing towards its close has been filled with the blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies. To these bounties, which are so constantly enjoyed that we are prone to forget the source from which they come, others have been added, which are of so extraordinary a nature, that they cannot fail to penetrate and soften even the heart which is habitually insensible to the ever watchful providence of Almighty God….

“Needful diversions of wealth and of strength from the fields of peaceful industry to the national defense, have not arrested the plough, the shuttle or the ship; the axe has enlarged the borders of our settlements, and the mines, as well of iron and coal as of the precious metals, have yielded even more abundantly than heretofore … No human counsel hath devised nor hath any mortal hand worked out these great things. They are the gracious gifts of the Most High God, who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered mercy.

“It has seemed to me fit and proper that they should be solemnly, reverently and gratefully acknowledged as with one heart and one voice by the whole American People. I do therefore invite my fellow citizens … to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next, as a day of Thanksgiving and Praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the Heavens. And I recommend to them that while offering up the ascriptions justly due to Him for such singular deliverances and blessings, they do also, with humble penitence for our national perverseness and disobedience … fervently implore the interposition of the Almighty Hand to heal the wounds of the nation and to restore it as soon as may be consistent with the Divine purposes to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquillity and Union.”

As in Lincoln’s day, our nation’s deep wounds beg to be healed. Peace, harmony and tranquillity cry for restoration. Our moral compass pleads for calibration.

Perhaps it’s time to move our Thanksgiving holiday beyond feasting, fellowship and football. Perhaps it’s time to embrace Lincoln’s advice to observe a “day of thanksgiving and praise … with an attitude of humble penitence for our national perverseness and disobedience”?

The results might be surprising–and enduring.

If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land.- 2 Chronicles 7:14

Copyright 2004 James McAlister

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Bulletin Insert

Following is a summarization of the tribute delivered [...]]]> From my own experience, the loss of a child is one of the most difficult experiences we ever face in life. The pain and darkness are indescribably intense, and there are no easy answers to comfort the hurting heart. Can there be any hope in such a situation?

Following is a summarization of the tribute delivered by Karen Gottsponer at the memorial service for her infant daughter, Rebekah Joy Gottsponer, who passed away on October 13, 2009. In it you will see great hope expressed even in the midst of overwhelming sorrow. I trust this will be a help to others who might find themselves in similar circumstances.

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Dale and I and our family want to thank you all for being here to support us during this time.

We are thankful for the time that God gave us with Rebekah Joy. I was so blessed to have had the privilege of carrying her for almost 37 weeks and blessed that the kids and Dale had an opportunity to place their hands over my belly and pray over her these past few months. Today is about honoring her and giving glory to God for her sweet little life.

As we have been ministered to this week by so many, we have come across numerous verses that have touched our hearts and have spoken life into our weary souls. Looking back, we realize that God in His tender mercy was drawing us toward Him and preparing us for what we would be facing.

As the reality of Rebekah’s passing began to seek in, I spent time in the hospital bathroom crying out to God to fill my hurting heart as only He could. I didn’t know if I could face another moment without my sweet baby girl. I felt that our hopes were lost, our dreams unfulfilled and our plans unfinished. But God whispered in my heart that this was not true. If this is what we believed we could not make it another day but would just crumble into a heap of despair.

Our hopes are not lost because we know we will see Rebekah’s sweet little face one day!

Because of Rebekah’s passing, our faith is being tested as never before. Do we believe everything we say we believe? It’s so easy to pray and praise God when our world is right. However, what will we do when things don’t go as planned? We now know we must cling to His word because He is really all we have. I was reminded of these verses: “These two things cannot change: God cannot lie when He makes a promise, and He cannot lie when He makes an oath. These things encourage us who came to God for safety. They give us strength to hold on to the hope we have been given. We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, sure and strong.” (Hebrews 6:18-19 NCV).

As women came in our hospital room with stories of their own losses, Dale and I realized that we too could “rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep” (Roman 12:15 NAS) because we had “been there” and felt that same grief.

And even though I have a baby book at home left uncompleted, God has reminded me that Rebekah’s sweet days were ordained in His book before one of them came to be. (Psalm 139:13-16).

We are scared of the “firsts” that are coming. The first time we are asked how many children we have. The first day Dale goes back to work. The first time we go back to church without Rebekah. The first time I am asked by someone who doesn’t know our loss, “How is your newborn?” Though these unknowns frighten us, God “will lead the blind by ways they have not known.” (Isaiah 42:16).

Dale and I had thought a lot about the tone we wanted this memorial service to take. Do we celebrate? Do we grieve? Do we mourn? We eventually decided that we wanted friends to see that we do indeed grieve for our little baby—so deeply from a place in our hearts we never knew existed.

But we also wanted them to see that we grieve with hope: hope of seeing sweet little Rebekah’s face again because we are in Christ. (1 Thes. 4:13-18). We can honestly say we can praise God through this storm. These past few days, His word seems sweeter, His grace ever present, His love surrounding.

We have been blessed in so many ways this past week: To know for sure the cause of little Rebekah’s death. To have a wonderful doctor who cared for me throughout my pregnancy and prayed and cried with us at the end. To have friends that immediately rallied around us and cried and prayed with us. To have a dear hospital staff member to take care of Rebekah when were not able and to minister to our weary hearts. To have friends that cared for our children, taxied them around, played Monopoly with them, took them out for shakes. To have children who helped run the household, cleaned bathrooms, greeted guests. To have family members who came with love and coworkers and neighbors who called, provided meals, shed tears, wrote words. And much more.

Thank you all from the bottom of our hearts. Thank you for walking down this path with us the first few days as we stumbled along. Though we know we have to walk alone now, we are reassured we aren’t really alone, for God is with us every step. And we know He will also bring people along our paths when we need them to help us in this journey.

May God show you how much each of you means to us. Thank you, and God bless you.

Copyright 2009 Karen Gottsponer — www. gottjoy.blogspot.com

THE HOPE

I weep for you my little one,
My heart is full of whys:
Why snatched from me so suddenly?
No answer satisfies.

I’ll never fully comprehend
The darkness in my soul,
But from my pain—and dawning bright—
A wonder now unfolds:

That God could take my deepest hurt
And from its depth extract
A hope in Him, a confidence,
A love that knows no lack.

Not even death with all its sting
Could ever steal from me
The wondrous hope we’ll meet again
And share eternity!

In Memory Of:
Rebekah Joy Gottsponer
October 13, 2009

Copyright 2009 James McAlister — www.james-mc.com

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