This weekend was a difficult one for our family. I won’t go into the details now or here. Suffice it to say that we have incurred a great loss. But it’s times like these that become opportunities for us to grow individually and together as a family.
Here in southwest Ohio, there are cemeteries sprinkled throughout the countryside. A few of them can be seen from the more traveled state routes, but most of them are hidden between cornfields. Usually, I just drive past them without much consideration, but lately since I’ve been riding my bike to the office, I see their headstones (at 12-15 mph) in more detail. Many of these graves hold the bones of men and women from the 1800s. I am reminded of the brevity of life and how God’s faithfulness has been and will be to all generations.
We had the opportunity to spare our girls the pain of the moment on Saturday, but we chose not to. It’s important for them to experience suffering in life, and for us to hold their hands through it, as collectively we look to God for comfort and strength. What a detriment is done to so many children who are shielded from the reality of life. Those people who now lie in their graves weren’t sheltered. Generations before ours knew pain. The deaths of grandparents, parents, and even baby brothers and sisters was commonplace.
I’m not sure why I chose the subject of death to write about this, for no one died over the weekend. Not a person or a pet. I think it’s because
death is a separation.
And we are experiencing that