Eternity has always been a difficult concept for me. The idea of it sends me into a spiraling anxiety attack. Consequently, death is something that I have always pushed into the far recesses of my mind where I can bury it beneath everyday normal activities. Safely tucked away where it can't hurt me. This only works during the day when I can keep my mind busy with the tyranny of the urgent. At night, when all is quiet except my mind, it haunts me.
What if everything I believe about life and death and time is wrong? What if death really is the end? And even if everything I've built my faith upon is indeed true, then how exactly do I wrap my spirit around an unending story?
As death has crept into my circle I've realized that even when I question my convictions, I inevitably return to them and cling to them for strength, comfort and meaning.
|Teresa's mommy saying goodbye|
|Michelle and Chris Gennaro|
|Me with Heather and her sons, Tyler (left) and Ryan (right) not long after Tyler's diagnosis|
|Benjamin (center) and Meisyn (in pink) at their orphanage|
This is all so broken. This is not the way it should be. My spirit cries out for those gone and those left behind.
There is one common thread that weaves itself through these moments of grief and it is Jesus Christ. In each circumstance, ultimately the glory was His. He made himself known in the deepest, darkest places. There were glimmers of hope and glimpses of peace. Even at the heart of my doubt, I clutch at these moments, grasping for an understanding that will probably never be fully realized here on this earth. Many lives have been moved to deeper faith, courageous choices and a more realized recognition of redemption. They are beacons to me. They are pointing the way... to a place of which I am admittedly frightened but a place where we shall see Him as He is.