I once opined to Jay if he died first, I did not know what I would do without him. Very matter of factly, he said, “Celebrate that I have made it Home and know that you are one day closer to joining me.”
Good answer. If I get Home first, I hope he will remember his own good advice!
The following was written by Mother Barbara Crafton several years ago, as she reflected on the Home Going of her husband. As always, her writings touch my heart.
FIRST ADVENT
I’ve heard the prayer every year for my entire life, and its first few lines stop me in my tracks every time:
Almighty God, give us grace to cast away the works of darkness, and put on the armor of light, now in the time of this mortal life in which your Son Jesus Christ came to visit us in great humility.
Is there not a chill in the words, beautiful as they are? They are words of stark realism — there are indeed works of darkness in the world, lots of them.
And our life is indeed mortal –we don’t have forever. The child whose birth we await didn’t live to be half the age I am now. Tomorrow is promised to none of us.
This all looks a bit different to me these days. The chill of its honesty is tempered now by the great loss in my life — leaving this life doesn’t seem at all sad to me. “Now in the time of this mortal life” doesn’t threaten. It promises.
My sweetheart has made the journey through this mortal life. I will make it, too. I won’t have to wait forever to lay my life down.
Are we talking about a reunion in which he and I look the same, talk as we used to? A life like the one we lived, but endless? I suspect not.
I suspect that the life surrounding this one is unimaginable to us now. The sweet images of it our imaginations create — our lost loved ones fitted out with wings, our bodies recognizable in just the same way as they ever were — are just that: imagination. I don’t mind that; our imagination is a great comfort.
Besides, how could it be otherwise? How could we know? We didn’t know what life here would be like when we were in our mothers’ wombs. How could we know what the larger life is before we arrive in
it?
There will be more. This is not all there is.
Now in the time of this mortal life….The chill of this wintry Sunday is becoming a thrill.
