death by Good Friday

you call a soul into flight

while her parents plead with her to stay

just a little longer

Death is hard when it stares you in the face. Especially when it’s a 12 year old girl who went from laughing, talking, and sharing her thoughts and feelings to lying still and motionless, while her mother cries and clutches her hand, no longer able to walk or talk or eventually breathe… all in the span of 2 weeks.

i left the hospital on Friday afternoon with a very real sense that this was not the way God had designed life to be. It almost seemed ironic to celebrate His son’s death and resurrection, to be joyful and thankful, when a precious family was mourning the slow passing of their beloved. A parent is not supposed to bury her child. Something about that seems so wrong and horrid.

But precisely because of the twisted nature of this whole scheme of life, disease, and death, I found myself clinging to hope all the more. Hope is the only truth that makes sense when everything else seems to fail my human intuition. Hope even in the midst of sorrow. I can never make meaning of death, illness, sin, and darkness, but I can make meaning of hope.



Trusting that there is a Bigger, Grander plan. That someday, that Master Plan will be restored and redeemed. So whether it’s in the context of a family grieving over their daughter, or whether it’s in the context of all the dreams and selfish hopes I build over the years that may never be realized, or only realized through blood, sweat, and tears, there is blessing and redemption waiting to be found.

My hope is not in myself, or my own strengths or abilities, but my hope is in Someone not of this world and who is yet, Creator of this world.

She’s still holding on. I was scared she would have passed over the weekend, but she’s still fighting to remain. And yet, her time to pass is imminent. For now, we are offering support in as much as her family is able to bear their grief and loss.

Some difficult lessons have been learned this past [school] year. I can’t believe it’s almost over, and that my school career is practically over. It feels almost anti-climactic in a way.

… to be continued.