A Paradox of Emotion; A Certainty of Truth

I guess it's a bit sad but, until recently, I knew very few saints who had passed on to heaven. Don't misunderstand, I am not hoping or counting -- but this is not something I am accustomed to feeling. I was a legalist. A legalist goes to funerals and says things like, "It's okay, she's with Jesus now," while they wonder if she really is or not, and if they've done enough to get there. Legalists can be fine, moral people, but put them on the unemployment line or sit them next to a heroin addict and you can almost see the facade crumble. I was that person and I gravitated toward other self-righteous people. But for the grace of God. He rescued me, He gave me assurance, and He led me to a supportive family truly "sold out" to Christ. And through that I learned, the humble, the people smallest in stature, when they depart this earth, leave the largest deficit.

In the last five years or so, I have experienced the pain and joy that, I would guess, most Christians feel when a brother or sister has crossed from this side of Eternity to the other. I am working through that right now. Another sweet, sweet soul from our church has gone to be with Jesus. And that is not some polite colloquialism, I know she is with Jesus. I know she is whole; I know she was, the second her body ceased to function. And that is the paradox: grief and comfort, death and life.

One of the first times I remember feeling such a conflict of emotion was when an aunt passed. She'd become ill, and I wanted to visit her; but, life happened and I never made it. I had wonderful memories of her. The impact she had on me in my childhood was one of God's grace; she was His light to me. The genuine article. Her death meant I would never see her; I would never tell her just what she meant to me; those closest to her would never again find inspiration in the love for her Lord which never wavered even as her illness progressed; and those she ceaselessly prayed for would no longer see their names formed on her pleading lips. BUT, she was whole, she was healed, and she was with the One she loved the most. Mourning the loss, but rejoicing in her gain.

The next few years brought more deaths and the absence of more authentic servants of God. Pain as deep as joy. Gratitude as powerful as the desire to know why. Hard-working, Sword-wielding, lovers of Jesus, taken from us far too soon. Their surrender to the Lord now complete. Saints with cancer, confident God would heal them. And He did, the moment they passed from this world. Fathers responsible for the spiritual welfare of the young children they would leave behind, now standing in the presence of their Father, the One who personally cares for the fatherless. And those taken suddenly, leaving behind spouses in shock, employees out of work, tickets which would remain unused, clothing still in the dryer, projects unfinished and debts yet to be paid -- the very definition of how life can change in an instant. It changed for us, but oh how it changed for them!

And now, my dear Ruby. I knew her heart. She was so gentle and kind. She was never about pretense and I knew her to be always, in all ways, humble. She had things she wanted to see, and people she wanted to tell about Jesus. She was kind enough to ask me for prayer, to share with me some of the areas in which she believed she fell short and some of the ways she believed she was unqualified. And her smile, which I will miss tremendously, was as sweet as she was. I know it's even sweeter today.

I'm guessing every Christian feels this way at some point -- uncertain how to feel, caught between sadness and joy, longing and existence. Right now I cling to it all, knowing that God created me with an entire range of emotions, in His image. And He has promised to be my comfort. In life and in death.