Letting it out
This weekend was the funeral for our Pastor's 16 month old son, "Little Chris". The funeral itself was actually (tho difficult and heavy emotionally) quite a bit more positive than I had embraced myself for. And it makes sense really.
Being a Christian family, the Martinez's had asked that we wear bright colors, instead of Black, for this was a celebration of his little life, and also, sort of a releasing into eternity, was was entrusted for a brief time to them here on earth.
It does makes sense in the mind. As Christ followers, the foundation of our faith is the promise from God, that because of Jesus' death on the cross (as a sacrifice for the atonement of our sin), His Son, we are reconciled to eternal life with Him. Death here on this earthy plain is not the end, rather, just the beginning of the rest of it all.
There were many tears and some laughter too. There was an open mic time, and members of the family came and shared how LC had touched their lives in some way or another. The most profound of all these, was when Pastor Chris's Dad came to the front. A mexican man, he spoke in a thick accent, of how for years and years he was the "rock" of this family, how he wanted his children to be strong, like him, and seeing little Chris and the whole situation unfold, and how Chris and his wife, and the whole family embraced each day. How they laughed and cried together through all the ups and downs of the diagnosis, treatments, answered prayers and finally letting go. All these things had humbled him, had taught him to just smile (as LC had done throughout his whole little life, even during the hard times, it had seemed almost that he didn't even really know he was so ill). His father concluded with tears that "This Rock has been broken, and I give a piece to each of my children."
The really difficult part for me. (Because I had been holding myself together through the power of prayers and by God alone) was after the formal service was over, when we went to the grave site and placed LC in his final earthy place. The gathering was still large (over 50 people, the funeral had been standing room only, prob. about 400) and we stood on a hillside, surrounded by grass, graves and the end of May sunshine and listened the the "ashes to ashes, dust to dust". His little coffin was lowered into a little hole, and yellow flowers were thrown in, covering the white box with yellow. Then Chris and June knelt before that hole, bowed their heads and started to weep.
No parents should see their child covered in flowers -- and yet, this is how it is for them.
It's heavy to think of and now remember, and I'm still processing how I feel inside, I want to move on, get out of the heavy and into the light again. But they will be remembering for the rest of their lives.
There was a lot of leading worship (for me) this weekend too, but truth be told, it was hard for me to pour out, I felt like there was very little left and what I offered seemed half-hearted to me. Even this Tuesday, I really need to be filled. I feel empty.
Till Next Blog ~ love a.
Being a Christian family, the Martinez's had asked that we wear bright colors, instead of Black, for this was a celebration of his little life, and also, sort of a releasing into eternity, was was entrusted for a brief time to them here on earth.
It does makes sense in the mind. As Christ followers, the foundation of our faith is the promise from God, that because of Jesus' death on the cross (as a sacrifice for the atonement of our sin), His Son, we are reconciled to eternal life with Him. Death here on this earthy plain is not the end, rather, just the beginning of the rest of it all.
There were many tears and some laughter too. There was an open mic time, and members of the family came and shared how LC had touched their lives in some way or another. The most profound of all these, was when Pastor Chris's Dad came to the front. A mexican man, he spoke in a thick accent, of how for years and years he was the "rock" of this family, how he wanted his children to be strong, like him, and seeing little Chris and the whole situation unfold, and how Chris and his wife, and the whole family embraced each day. How they laughed and cried together through all the ups and downs of the diagnosis, treatments, answered prayers and finally letting go. All these things had humbled him, had taught him to just smile (as LC had done throughout his whole little life, even during the hard times, it had seemed almost that he didn't even really know he was so ill). His father concluded with tears that "This Rock has been broken, and I give a piece to each of my children."
The really difficult part for me. (Because I had been holding myself together through the power of prayers and by God alone) was after the formal service was over, when we went to the grave site and placed LC in his final earthy place. The gathering was still large (over 50 people, the funeral had been standing room only, prob. about 400) and we stood on a hillside, surrounded by grass, graves and the end of May sunshine and listened the the "ashes to ashes, dust to dust". His little coffin was lowered into a little hole, and yellow flowers were thrown in, covering the white box with yellow. Then Chris and June knelt before that hole, bowed their heads and started to weep.
No parents should see their child covered in flowers -- and yet, this is how it is for them.
It's heavy to think of and now remember, and I'm still processing how I feel inside, I want to move on, get out of the heavy and into the light again. But they will be remembering for the rest of their lives.
There was a lot of leading worship (for me) this weekend too, but truth be told, it was hard for me to pour out, I felt like there was very little left and what I offered seemed half-hearted to me. Even this Tuesday, I really need to be filled. I feel empty.
Till Next Blog ~ love a.
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