“Becky….Phoenix died last night.”
These words ring in my ears.
My sweet 19 month old niece had passed away in her sleep, found by my
sister, Beth, that morning.
As we begin to gather together as a family and spread the
tragic news and make arrangements for the days ahead, the waves of grief and shock are
overwhelming. It is surreal at best, crushing at worst. Sometimes I feel like all
the words have been said and other times it seems there isn’t enough time to
say them all.
It’s been a week now.
Looking back, it’s been a whirlwind of family gathering and visitations
and all that happens when a loved one leaves us. But in the midst of this week, time has all
but stood still. I would think hours had
passed, yet a quick glance at the clock bewildered me, revealing only the
passing of minutes. I suppose this is what death does: It
slows us in our everyday busy-ness and forces us to look it in the face. Our family has been forced to look death in
the face much more often than we’re comfortable with in these last 6
months. Death isn’t something we want to
think about, talk about, read about. As
the wisened King Solomon wrote in Ecclesiastes, death makes us contemplate the
meaning of it all. He says in Eccles.
1:13b-14, “What a heavy burden God has
laid on mankind! I have seen all the
things that are done under the sun; all of them are meaningless, a chasing
after the wind.” But he also gives
us the key to finding meaning in life when he advises, “Remember your Creator!” in the last chapter of the book.
I can affirm that my own faith has not been
shaken. God is good. God LOVES us.
He loves Phoenix and Beth and Luke.
I have not once thought things like, “How could a loving God allow
this?” or “God must not exist because how could He with this kind of tragedy in
the world?” or “God must be out to get us because this is just cruel.” But I also acknowledge that it’s only THROUGH
God that I know that I know that I know He is good and loves us and isn’t cruel
and has a purpose that’s higher than I can imagine. This is the kind of faith that only comes
from God – I can’t claim it. I’m looking at Philippians 4:7 in a way I
never have before. It says: “And the peace of God, which transcends all
understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” This is what He does – he gives a peace that
can only come from Him, and in that realization, your heart and mind are guarded. How amazing is His love that He never tires of
showing us the ways He works in detail.
That said, this divine peace doesn’t mean my heart isn’t utterly
broken and aching; my insides feel like they're on the outside. These are the darkest
days I think we’ve walked as a family.
If you are a parent, you can imagine, just as I do, what kind of void
has been opened in the lives of Beth and Luke.
A void that by its nature is empty, yet is simultaneously so very full to
the brim with grief. I’m not going to
“go there” just now, but we all feel the heaviness of that. And I know that the deep sorrow I feel as an
aunt cannot compare to that of a mother with empty arms. I hurt because I feel the loss of my precious
niece, but I also hurt for them and feel powerless to help.
1 Peter 5:10 says, “And
the God of all grace, who called you to His eternal glory in Christ, after you
have suffered a little while, will Himself restore you and make you strong,
firm, and steadfast.” Oh, how I am eager to be restored after suffering! To be made strong, firm, and steadfast. I know He is working, even in this, for the
good of those who love Him. I know this
in my mind and heart and body, but when you’re sitting in a place like this, it’s
so hard to fully embrace.
All my love,
Becky
