For such a time as this

My son died November 27, 2006.  What was a joyful time with Nathanael, his lovely wife Lauren, and their precious 3-month old son Jack, turned to heartbreak just days after Thanksgiving.  As Christians, we experienced unexpected blessing, comfort, and even joy in the days that followed.  I am also clinging to the promise of reunion when I get to where Nathan is.  And life indeed goes on.

But I’m learning a difficult lesson these days.  Letting go of Nathan also means letting go of everything he left behind.  See, Nathan was the communicator.  It was through him that we stayed connected to his family.  And I think that’s appropriate; he is after all our son.  But the bulk of our information about Lauren and Jack came through Nate.  Now that Nate has moved on, there is a painful lack of connection.

Our desire was to build that relationship with Lauren, our daughter-in-law that we love as our own daughter.  We wanted to support her and be available for her.  Perhaps we were too fervent in that desire.  Perhaps our expectations were too high.  My greatest fear in losing my son was that I would lose his son too.  Acting out of fear is never a good idea – it often means fear realized.  Perfect love casts out fear.

And so, I find that I am having to let go again.  Lauren is taking our precious now 6-month-old grandson to Bosnia.  She has a heart for missions and I applaud her courage and adventuresome spirit.  Still, I will not have opportunity to see the last living link to my son for nearly a year. 

But God knows my heart.  He knows Lauren’s heart – she whom many revere for her faith and strength.  A young woman grieving her husband, struggling with her own fears and uncertainties, raising a son alone.  My heart continues to go out to her, to want to lift her up, help, encourage.  But even in this, I must let go.  My love and encouragement I must extend with an open hand, not a tight grip.  Perhaps my prayers are the best gift I can give her. 

We are each struggling with loss and coming to terms with a new reality.  Some days are rich with joy and laughter.  Others flow in rivers of tears.  Often it is a mixture of the two.  It is human to want to hang on to that which we love.  I think of what Nathan would want were he here, but I have to stop myself.  He’s not here.  And what Nate would have wanted no longer applies.  Or does it?

God, help me to let go and trust you more with the desires of my heart.  And please help me to not cry so much.