Up to Down

  

The girls and I went through a Jerry Seinfeld stage several years back, guffawing at his stand-up comedy and the DVDs of his shows. One of the jokes stuck with me, a clever commentary on children and parents:

 When you’re little, your life is up. The future is up. Everything you want is up.

“Wait up! Hold up! Shut up! Mom, I’ll clean up! Just let me stay…up!”

 Parents, of course, are just the opposite. Everything is down.

“Just calm down. Slow down. Come down here. Sit down. Put that… down!”

I would add one more “up” from a child’s point of view. “Everything I want to get my hands on is… up!”

Before my five grandchildren arrived in December, I babyproofed the house. But short of emptying rooms, I couldn’t hit 100%. I removed breakables and swallowable objects in every room from three feet and down but still heard, “What’s Evelyn chewing on? What’s Micah putting in his mouth?” We’ve removed barrettes, pieces of plastic, tiny bits of broken toys and blobs of sopped paper.

As the days passed, our toddlers became experts at extending their reach higher and higher. Not even the kitchen counters were a safe zone after they discovered a couple of plastic stools. Now the only out-of-reach spots are the mantle and the tops of bookcases, hutches and the refrigerator.

 Car keys, cell phones, ipods, DVDs, candles, phone chargers and other valuables have been heaped high in places we can barely reach. To the adults, it’s a slight inconvenience. To the children, it’s intense frustration. Their days are spent looking… up… and scheming ways to retrieve what looks so appealing from down-low.

The problem comes in having cross purposes. Our little ones judge themselves perfectly capable of properly handling the breakables while we know the truth, that their touch means death to valuables. Interestingly, when we provide substitutes, (toy phones or blank keys), they quickly learn the ploy and toss them aside.

Little children are to us what we are to God. When we look to him, it’s always “up”. He’s higher than we are in all categories, and his decisions to keep certain things out of our reach are always for our good. Just as our kids can’t understand why so many things have to be put up, we get frustrated when God doesn’t rescue us quickly or answer prayer our way. 

Unlike toddlers who whine and reach up indefinitely, I ought to acquiesce quickly and be willing to let the up’s stay up. Because when I’m gazing up with cravings, I’m missing what’s already come down from God, most significantly, Jesus himself. And one day he’ll come down again, triumphing over every evil. 

When the battles are over, a new heaven and earth will also come down. And when that happens, even the frsutrated toddlers will finally have everything they ever wanted.

“Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights.” (James 1:17)

Signature in Stone

I’m about to sign a sheet of 8½ x 11 paper with strange words on it: incised, polished, beveled, sawn, washed, sandblasted. It’s a verbal description of Nate’s cemetery headstone.

Although he died 14 months ago, we weren’t able to focus on a grave marker until the one year anniversary. When we visited the cemetery then, suddenly it seemed imperative to order a headstone. As Nelson said, the one scriptural reference to an unmarked grave is negative: “Woe to you! For you are like unmarked graves, and people walk over them without knowing it.” (Luke 11:44)

As we stood at the foot of Nate’s grave, memories washed over us, and though it’s difficult to design a headstone, we all wanted to get it done. After discussing the possibilities with cemetery personnel then revisiting the site, we went home and put pen to paper.

Our M.O. was to join Nate’s grave to the six family plots adjacent to his. My paternal grandfather, who died ten years before I was born, was the purchaser of the original plot when his family unexpectedly needed a grave. Their little William was only 20 months old when he died of pneumonia, an illness cured by antibiotics today. His name is third-down on the stone, a strong declaration by his parents that he should have died after both of them.

William’s funeral took place at Rosehill Cemetery on a snowy December day, surely the saddest event in this young family’s history. My father, William’s oldest sibling, was 12 at the time, old enough to remember the tiny casket and his parents’ anguish. William’s father arranged to have a photograph taken of their deceased toddler before his burial, the only picture of the son they knew so briefly.

But this family’s story further saddens. The second name carved on the Johnson headstone is William’s mother, who died of TB 15 months after her baby, leaving a widower with three children. These courageous people are a group we want to publically be connected to by designing our nearby stone in similar fashion.

This week the cemetery envelope arrived in my mailbox. Knowing it contained a sketch of our stone, I waited to open it until I could put the visual into my head. Would it be difficult to look at it? Would it be a shock to see my own name there also? Would we be satisfied with our design?

Yes to all of that, difficult, shocking, but also satisfying. We made only one addition, a phrase of Scripture beneath the names as a testimony to the important role Jesus Christ played in the lives of those buried there.

After the headstone has been installed, I’ll eagerly look for the opportunity to rest my hand on its polished granite, look at my children and say (just as my folks said), “Someday you’ll bury me here, too. But remember, it’ll be a good day, because I’ll be with Jesus.”  I’ll point to the letters carved in stone that are from their father’s favorite Scripture, reminding them to keep their eyes fixed on Jesus.

After all, that’s the best possible guidance for any heartbroken person seated in a cemetery in front of a descending casket.

“Let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus… (Hebrews 12:1b-2a)

Just you wait!

A good friend died yesterday. John lived to the ripe old age of 89, a faithful example of Christianity to his children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren and all the rest of us. Although he was involved in the church in unnumbered ways, what I loved most about John was the way he frequently turned up in the middle of a crisis.

For example, he arrived at exactly the right moment to visit my dad in the hospital. None of us knew Dad was going to die that afternoon, but John’s presence stabilized this very emotional experience for my sister, brother and I. His prayer immediately after Dad’s passing is one I will never forget. This was John, always on hand to help with the needs of others.

Yesterday, I missed a call from John’s daughter Connie. Her message told of his death, which we’d known was coming soon. When I pushed the “redial” button, I thought I’d reach Connie’s cell but instead was ringing John’s home. But by this time, his apartment was empty, and I got his answering machine.

When I heard the just-deceased John’s strong voice come on the recording, I burst into tears:

“ I’m not able to come to the phone at this time…”

That sentence tore into my heart with its truth, reminding me again of the wrenching separation death creates between us and the ones we love. Death was Satan’s idea, and by our sin we fell into it.

I think often of the permanency of death’s separation, not throughout eternity but definitely in this life. The deceased are completely unreachable. This might be the core reason we grieve. As I’ve often said about Nate, if I knew I could have a few minutes with him, it’d be something to eagerly anticipate, to enjoy as it happened, and to savor afterwards. A mini-visit, even once a year, would mean so much.

But God has constructed a tantalizing plan whereby we can reconnect with our loved ones. There’s only one difficult hurdle: wait-time. The reunions of our dreams will occur with certainty, but they’ll be on God’s timetable, not ours.

I will be with Nate, and Connie will be with John, but that’ll be just the beginning. Reunions from all human history will happen, beyond our wildest imaginations. We’ll be on talking terms with Adam and Eve, Moses, Noah, Samuel, Jesus’ disciples, Paul and thousands of others.

But best of all, we’ll be in a face-to-face, one-on-one with Jesus Christ, who will be facilitating all the other get-togethers. We know it’ll be beyond our wildest imaginations, because the Bible says exactly that; if we can imagine it, that isn’t it.

The challenge is waiting with grace, staying involved in life until our number of days is completed, and looking forward to those phenomenal meetings with hope.

After that, no answering machine will have the power to make us cry.

“No eye has seen, no ear has heard, and no mind has imagined what God has prepared for those who love him.” (1 Corinthians 2:9)