As the world so desperately mourned those 7 selected, it waited in disbelief as Ronald Reagan, President of the United States, while quoting Peggy Noonan said so hauntingly and eloquently..."We will never forget them, nor the last time we saw them...as they 'slipped the surly bonds of earth' to 'touch the face of God.'"
I was 7 when I first read these words, and although I didn't quite understand, my brother, who has since slipped, tried to paint a picture of purest goodbye. The gut-wrenching moments of goodbye that rip us from normal and place us in an alternate reality. Our new home...our new normal. It would be many years later, that fateful day he touched the Almighty's face, that I grew to understand.
It appears that 2019 is shaping up to be a very trying year. From the first day, as we said goodbye to my aunt, when just moments before she was giggling Happy New Year to her son, till now when I hear rancid reports of my cousin being discarded in the wilderness as a forgotten rag-doll by a man who obviously doesn't understand tragedy.
These metal-tasting moments have yet again touched my family, and even those so very close to my heart. When he fell, when he broke, when we prayed, and when he slipped and touched the face of his maker, his son couldn't figure out if he should scream, cry, laugh, or just sit in oblivion. Yes, it has been rough.
And yet, in our tragedy...in their tragedy, I see one constant - the face of the Almighty. How remarkable to sit and cuddle our sorrow knowing that only moments before we were of sound spirit and mind. And how yet more remarkable, when we can finally grasp a bigger picture of ourselves being cuddled by the one who gives the stars permission to dance across the sky.
These last few months I have heard myself say, "These things don't happen to us. These things don't happen to our family." It's like we scoff at death and catastrophe as though we are shrouded with a cloak of invisibility. I remember saying the same thing back when Andy left. It is as though I have forgotten and assumed we are the untouchable. We aren't. No one is.
And this all leaves us tired. So. Very. Tired. The horizon still seems too dull and too gray. This lenten season, I am trying more to focus on what has been thrust in my face: memento mori (remember death) Because isn't that what we ultimately succumb to? Trust me, I am no Elijah. So, in my remembrance, I want nothing more than to remember that one day...just one day...God, in his grace, will reunite me with, not only my maker, but also with my brother, and my aunt, and my cousin, and his dad. We will all again walk together.
But before we walk, we must slip the surly bonds. These menacing ties that keep us from the eternal. The ties that keep us here clasping our sorrow out of desire for our normal life because we have daily moments that allow us to forget that we do not belong here. And we were never meant to belong here. We were meant for that eternal. For when we touch the breath eternal, we will one day breathe anew. And one day...we will touch the face of God.
These metal-tasting moments have yet again touched my family, and even those so very close to my heart. When he fell, when he broke, when we prayed, and when he slipped and touched the face of his maker, his son couldn't figure out if he should scream, cry, laugh, or just sit in oblivion. Yes, it has been rough.
And yet, in our tragedy...in their tragedy, I see one constant - the face of the Almighty. How remarkable to sit and cuddle our sorrow knowing that only moments before we were of sound spirit and mind. And how yet more remarkable, when we can finally grasp a bigger picture of ourselves being cuddled by the one who gives the stars permission to dance across the sky.
These last few months I have heard myself say, "These things don't happen to us. These things don't happen to our family." It's like we scoff at death and catastrophe as though we are shrouded with a cloak of invisibility. I remember saying the same thing back when Andy left. It is as though I have forgotten and assumed we are the untouchable. We aren't. No one is.
And this all leaves us tired. So. Very. Tired. The horizon still seems too dull and too gray. This lenten season, I am trying more to focus on what has been thrust in my face: memento mori (remember death) Because isn't that what we ultimately succumb to? Trust me, I am no Elijah. So, in my remembrance, I want nothing more than to remember that one day...just one day...God, in his grace, will reunite me with, not only my maker, but also with my brother, and my aunt, and my cousin, and his dad. We will all again walk together.
But before we walk, we must slip the surly bonds. These menacing ties that keep us from the eternal. The ties that keep us here clasping our sorrow out of desire for our normal life because we have daily moments that allow us to forget that we do not belong here. And we were never meant to belong here. We were meant for that eternal. For when we touch the breath eternal, we will one day breathe anew. And one day...we will touch the face of God.
Comments
Post a Comment