Some things (Part 3)

I'm sorry that it's taken me so long to finish this up. I've not had time to blog between Samuel's birthday and all of our Easter festivities, both of which will get their own posts in time.

It was late October when the news about our Pastor fluttered around like the leaves falling from the tress. Too many to retrieve, but not enough to pick up and piece together for a clue of what happened. How could it happen? We were in shock. As details were revealed, the situation became worse and worse. I began to draw into myself. Church seemed hokey to me. Why were we there, pretending that something very real was just a fuzzy dream? You see, I spent my teenage years growing up with his daughter. He was my stand in father. I traveled with their family, spent nights in their home, spent days fishing, spent afternoons talking about the future. He was my hero, my spiritual pillar, my friend. I had left once, to find my own way... but when I returned he was there. He welcomed us home. He came to my wedding when I was shunned by those who I had left behind.

And he was gone. I grieved as though he had died, and in a way... he did. My vision of him had died. Even at the time I knew that no one was above the situation. We are but dust. All of us. But I had always imagined him being there. My husband and children and I would come visit after years on the mission field and he would be there. A bit more gray, wearing his glasses more often. There. Standing tall and confident and there.

I still haven't recovered. More times than not my faith wavers that he'll ever come back. I try to imagine him in his new life and I become physically ill. Others who love to glory in the fallen whisper. They make sure that we know the worst, the gruesome. Whispers float on the wind, huddles of people sharing secrets: Did you hear? He's a lost cause... The wife really just needs to move on now. Something drove him to this. It's always the ones that think they're above it...


I didn't pick up my Bible between the months of November and March. I didn't pray (much). I'm now finding healing, and my faith is slowly being restored. Ever so slowly I find myself hoping some days, knowing that all will be redeemed. Other times the aftertaste of bitterness plagues me. Doubt. Fear that my husband could be next, that my marriage could be suffering. After all, bigger fish have been fried.

Some Sundays church hurts. I look up to see him standing in his spot and he's not there. I look over and see his daughter, my dear friend, trying to keep it together and get through the service. I see his wife with an empty spot beside her. I see his 7 year old son lean over and ask his mother where his Daddy is preaching this morning, since he's not home.

Then I see hope in the empty seat, and know that any broken thing that's laid before the Lord will not be unredeemed.