Hope in death

My Father died an unbeliever

   Here is a picture of my Dad and I. A picture I never even knew existed, until this fall when my

Uncle presented me with it. I cherish it, I have it next to my bed on the end table. It is to me a

precious, earthly possession, which I know has no value eternally. 

   

   When I see this photo, my heart hurts, and it rejoices. It rejoices in life, and it hurts in death.

It makes we want to jump into the picture and share the gospel with my Dad!

I want to share with him how much Jesus loves him and that He died for him and that he needs

to repent and live his life for the Lord! I want to bring him to church and sing songs of praise!

I want him to know the joy I know because of who Christ is!

You see, my father died an unbeliever, a painful tragic death. A death that could have been

prevented had he chose not to stick needles in his vein or

drink another drink. 

   To bring themselves comfort, some may say different, that he knew who God was, but doesn’t

the serpent also knows who God is and believe in Him. My father’s life showed no fruit, no

repentance, and no love for our Creator.

   I may talk highly of my Dad, to honor his name. I realized though that hiding the truth even in

honoring your parents, is lying and lying is a sin, and sin never brings honor. I don’t know 100%

that my father is in hell, or 100% that my father is in heaven, the truth is,

there is only a 50/50 chance.

   I have slight hope in scriptures such as “The thief on the cross”  in Luke chapter 23.

When we find that this wicked man’s heart was regenerated in the last moments of his life,

and his sins were completely forgiven and he was promised eternal life in paradise.

Or in the fact that God’s mercy is incomprehensible.

In Romans 9 he says to Moses: “I will have mercy on whom I will have mercy and I will have

compassion on whom I have compassion.

So then it does not depend on human will or exertion but on God, who has mercy.” 

   

   It’s hard to have hope in the maybe. 

   Maybe God chose to give mercy and compassion to my father, maybe he didn’t ...

   What if he is in heaven? What if he is in hell? What if he hadn’t been abusive?...

   Why did he have to use drugs? Why wasn’t I raised by a Godly father?...

   I have found no real hope in the maybe’s. It’s been hard to process the maybe’s.

It’s been hard to grieve the maybe’s. It’s been hard to understand the maybe.

It’s been hard to not be angry in the maybe’s. 

   I have found no real hope in the what if’s. It’s been hard to process the what if’s.

It’s been hard to grieve the what if’s. It’s been hard to understand the what if’s.

It’s been hard to not be angry in the what if’s.

   I have  found no hope in the why’s. It’s been hard to process the why’s.

It’s been hard to grieve the why’s. It’s been hard to understand the why’s.

It’s been hard to not be angry in the why’s.

   I think it’s not just hard, but  impossible to have hope in the maybe’s the what if’s

and the why’s, because this is not what God calls us to have hope in.

I realized this year, that I will NEVER have full confidence in the eternal state of my father

or any other family members I have lost throughout the years.   

True hope and joy 

    My true hope however, is not defined by what eternal existence my earthly father has,

but the eternal existence that my Heavenly Father has! 

   Whichever the truth of my earthly fathers eternity, I can still have joy! Not in his suffering,

or the loss of someone I loved dearly, but because of the suffering Christ endured on the cross,

the loss of God’s only begotten son.

Joy in the resurrected Christ seated at the right hand of God!  

   My joy is great because I know that there is no injustice with Christ! None at all!

Not even in this! 

Romans 9:14 says: “What then shall we say? Is God unjust? Not at all!” 

   I count this trial in my life as joy! I count this trial in my life as one that has allowed the Lord to

give me perseverance.  I count this trial in my life as a reason to be thankful.

Thankful that through this loss and the grief that I do have, that God has shown me life! 

He has given me a hope and joy that I can not fathom! He has given me confidence,

and hope in my future glory with him.

He has been the perfect Father, in my fatherless life.

23 years 8 months 9 days 12 hours 17 minutes 10 seconds

The iron gates are open on each side of the cemetery.
 This all too familiar call.
My heart beats a little faster when I am here.
Perhaps in hope.
Hope of one more memory.

 One more smile.

 One more moment where my life was standing still.

 I drive down the same path each time.
 My grandmother I never knew on one side.
Precious babies from broken families on the other.
Straight ahead I see the building where Daddy's body was last exposed to the light of this earth.
The smell in that room has never changed.
 It takes me back to the day we laid his body to rest.
The faint purple hue of his skin and his lips.
The way they laid his arms across his body so naturally.

As if he were only sleeping.
This is the last image I have of my father.
I park my car where I always do.
 I open my door and step out into the ever-present breeze that lingers here.
 Looking down I slowly walk up to his plot.
The stone, faded and weathered from the passing seasons throughout the years.
Ninety five seasons to be exact.
Looks as if no one has been here, as if no one remembers.
No matter how dim the stone becomes.
When I look at his name, it is so bright.
 Like this is the only stone ever laid in this yard.
STEVEN E.COMPTON
 It jumps out and pierces me.
 The constant dull ache is awoken.
Becomes more than I can bare.
 I quickly contain all that is within.
I've sat on this hill more than a dozen times.

 In this same way, silenced
Hiding my pain.
Holding back the deep groans from within.
Careful to never shed a tear.
Feeling the crushing weight of my pain.

The pain that began so many years ago.

All the things he has missed.

All the smiles he has given up.

All the laughter he has silenced.

The innocence he has stolen.

Wincing, I look away.

I notice the big sturdy trees.

They were just young saplings, as was I the first day I stood on this hill.

My head began to spin...

Watching this beautiful life unfold.  

A young girl dancing in a field of daisies

Her lace lined blue dress flowing around her.

Something happened, something changed

There is now this dark presence creeping upon her.

Waiting to suffocate any joy she may encounter.

For years she tried to feel.

Even allowing feelings to become an idol.

Willing to do or say anything.

Just to get a glimpse of what it was like.

It was never real.

She shed a tear.

Then laughed and cried again.

Muscle memory took over.

She choked back what was coming to the surface.

Looking around making sure no one was watching.

I was watching.

I saw something she couldn’t see.

Each tear she shed was slowly lifting the darkness.

Her beauty was shining through the cracks.

Something strange is happening to me.

Something is dripping down my face.

Did it rain? No.

I cried.

I cried because I was sad.

I shed a tear, a real vulnerable tear.

I don't feel sad for this though, I feel joy!

This girl I see dancing around in a field of daisies, it is me.

Out of fear.

Fear and shame.

I hold back my tears.

Causing me to also hold back my joy.

It's keeping me from being vulnerable.

From sharing the deepest parts of myself.

Who God created me to be.

The Lord is redeeming me.

Through one tear.

He is allowing me to feel again.

I am overjoyed.

I know I have many more tears to shed.

This is a process.

Part of my sanctification.

I am thankful He is walking with me through it.