Just in the last few weeks three people that I have known have passed on to the next life. The sorrow of those left behind is particularly difficult at this time of year when so much of the activity around us is in pursuit of merriment and cheer.
Yet it is precisely the message of Christmas that brings consolation and hope to the grieving. The arrival of the God-child in our broken world was foretold centuries ago by the prophet Isaiah (Isaiah 9:2,6) and again affirmed in the opening pages of the New Testament:
"The people who sat in darkness have seen a great light. And for those who lived in the land where death casts its shadow, a light has shined." Matthew 4: 16 NLT
And don’t we all have moments when the shadows of life seem to overtake us, shadows of loss, and failure, of pain and regret, dashed hopes, broken hearts. ...And deep within those moments, there’s a longing for light to dispel the shadows. Yes, even today there is light and hope…
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness can never extinguish it. John 1: 5 NLT
Yes and there is more. The wonder and mystery of God choosing to dwell among us, fallen that we are, cannot be explained with logic but only in the language of His infinite and incomprehensible love.
When the Father’s Wisdom wanted to communicate His love
He spoke it in one final perfect Word.
He spoke the Incarnation and then so was born the Son. His final word was Jesus, He needed no other one.
Spoke flesh and blood so He could bleed and make a way Divine.
And so was born the baby who would die to make it mine.
(Excerpt from Final Word by Michael Card)
Now may the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing… (Romans 15:13 NASB).
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Saturday, December 5, 2009
A mournful path
Today the Hester family traversed once more the mournful path to lay a loved one to rest in the Hester Cemetery near Norwalk Ohio. With the passing of Mary Jane Hester my Uncle Bob has lost another wife to the grave and his children a second mother. His first wife Dorothea passed when the children, my cousins Sandy, John and Jim were young children. When Bob and Mary Jane were married, our family was enlarged with her two daughters Amy and Lisa from a previous marriage and my cousins gained a mother.
From the funeral home on East Main Street the procession made its way down Old State Road, past Woodlawn Cemetery where my Great-Great Grandfather Loren Webb is buried, past the reservoir, past the farm where my Grandfather Webb Hester raised sheep, and then cut across past the hospital to Ridge Road.
Like a ribbon furling in the breeze, the procession flowed over the hills and vales of that winding road through fertile farmland. I could not help but think of the generations of my family who had come before us, that had settled here and lived from the land.
The cemetery is surrounded by fields once farmed by my great great grandfather Martin M. Hester and his father Martin, and across the road is the homestead they constructed in 1835 still occupied by descendants. The diaries, letters and artifacts they left behind tell a rich story of labor and love and faith. Many of them came to their final resting place here at this sacred place, a place of deep-rooted history.
I stood with my arm around Sandy watching the pall bearers fulfill their grievous task. And like the cold wintry wind blowing across the hill, a wave of sorrow overtook her at the loss of yet another mother.
Yet the faith of so many of my ancestors is that which I hold in my heart today. "Jesus said to her, 'I am the resurrection and the life; he who believes in Me will live even if he dies, and everyone who lives and believes in Me will never die. Do you believe this?'" (John 11: 25-26 NASB).
From the funeral home on East Main Street the procession made its way down Old State Road, past Woodlawn Cemetery where my Great-Great Grandfather Loren Webb is buried, past the reservoir, past the farm where my Grandfather Webb Hester raised sheep, and then cut across past the hospital to Ridge Road.
Like a ribbon furling in the breeze, the procession flowed over the hills and vales of that winding road through fertile farmland. I could not help but think of the generations of my family who had come before us, that had settled here and lived from the land.
The cemetery is surrounded by fields once farmed by my great great grandfather Martin M. Hester and his father Martin, and across the road is the homestead they constructed in 1835 still occupied by descendants. The diaries, letters and artifacts they left behind tell a rich story of labor and love and faith. Many of them came to their final resting place here at this sacred place, a place of deep-rooted history.
I stood with my arm around Sandy watching the pall bearers fulfill their grievous task. And like the cold wintry wind blowing across the hill, a wave of sorrow overtook her at the loss of yet another mother.
Yet the faith of so many of my ancestors is that which I hold in my heart today. "Jesus said to her, 'I am the resurrection and the life; he who believes in Me will live even if he dies, and everyone who lives and believes in Me will never die. Do you believe this?'" (John 11: 25-26 NASB).
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