Days like this make me very tired. When you are taking care of a family and everyone looks to you for just the right words, you really want to offer everything you have and everything you are. I’m always happy to be with people when they hurt, but at the end of the day I am usually exhausted.
Ida would have liked this day. She liked sunshine. Since we can’t hug one another or shake hands right now, at least we got to feel the warmth of the sun. Ida would have thought that part was ridiculous. She did love a good hug, and I loved hugging her. Somehow bumping elbows just isn’t the same.
I wish she could have heard what people said about her; she would have liked that part. Her family sure does love her. I told them that you don’t stop loving someone just because they die, and they don’t stop loving you. I tell that to lots of people when they are grieving. I hope it’s a good reminder.
I’m glad I got to know Ida. She’s one of those people that wiggled right into my heart. Her house was a place I always felt welcome – even if I was just driving by. I always knew Ida was in there because the front door would be open and the lights would be on. I wonder who will live there now, and if they will be good neighbors. A house just feels welcoming when the front door stands open. Ida would smile to hear me say that.
Ida had a wonderful laugh – even when laughing made her cough. I know breathing was hard for her, but she never stopped laughing or smiling. A few days ago the ambulance was at her house. We stopped as we drove by, and I climbed up in the back with her. She was happy to see me and smiled. She wanted to talk, but they needed her to be quiet so they could do some tests. I didn’t get to stay with her for very long, but I was glad she knew me. I’m also glad it’s not hard for her to breathe anymore.
I think today was the eighth death in about 45 days. I only preached at five of them, but the others still touched me. Being with families when they are hurting is a really special time, and I am honored every single time I get to serve Jesus by loving other people. Figuring out how to love without touching is difficult, though. Touch is such a small but comforting gesture in the middle of grieving. A pat on the arm, a hand on the shoulder, a hug and even a handshake can be calming and loving. Ida liked when I held her hand and we prayed. I will miss doing that with her.
How do people manage days like this without faith? Ida would say that’s just silly; everybody needs faith. Jesus promises us so many wonderful things, and I’d be lost if I didn’t really believe him. I’ve studied other religions, but the stories of Jesus are really the only things that make perfect sense to me. Ida agreed with me on that, but I don’t remember ever hearing her say Jesus’ name. She always said “The Lord.” I think Jesus is honored she called him that. I wonder what she calls him now?
Whatever she calls him, I know she’s enjoying a warmth far greater than the sunshine today. Over in John’s Gospel, Jesus said he was leaving our earth and going to prepare a place just for her. I’ll bet the front door is standing open. Welcome home, Ida.
Ida would have liked this day. She liked sunshine. Since we can’t hug one another or shake hands right now, at least we got to feel the warmth of the sun. Ida would have thought that part was ridiculous. She did love a good hug, and I loved hugging her. Somehow bumping elbows just isn’t the same.
I wish she could have heard what people said about her; she would have liked that part. Her family sure does love her. I told them that you don’t stop loving someone just because they die, and they don’t stop loving you. I tell that to lots of people when they are grieving. I hope it’s a good reminder.
I’m glad I got to know Ida. She’s one of those people that wiggled right into my heart. Her house was a place I always felt welcome – even if I was just driving by. I always knew Ida was in there because the front door would be open and the lights would be on. I wonder who will live there now, and if they will be good neighbors. A house just feels welcoming when the front door stands open. Ida would smile to hear me say that.
Ida had a wonderful laugh – even when laughing made her cough. I know breathing was hard for her, but she never stopped laughing or smiling. A few days ago the ambulance was at her house. We stopped as we drove by, and I climbed up in the back with her. She was happy to see me and smiled. She wanted to talk, but they needed her to be quiet so they could do some tests. I didn’t get to stay with her for very long, but I was glad she knew me. I’m also glad it’s not hard for her to breathe anymore.
I think today was the eighth death in about 45 days. I only preached at five of them, but the others still touched me. Being with families when they are hurting is a really special time, and I am honored every single time I get to serve Jesus by loving other people. Figuring out how to love without touching is difficult, though. Touch is such a small but comforting gesture in the middle of grieving. A pat on the arm, a hand on the shoulder, a hug and even a handshake can be calming and loving. Ida liked when I held her hand and we prayed. I will miss doing that with her.
How do people manage days like this without faith? Ida would say that’s just silly; everybody needs faith. Jesus promises us so many wonderful things, and I’d be lost if I didn’t really believe him. I’ve studied other religions, but the stories of Jesus are really the only things that make perfect sense to me. Ida agreed with me on that, but I don’t remember ever hearing her say Jesus’ name. She always said “The Lord.” I think Jesus is honored she called him that. I wonder what she calls him now?
Whatever she calls him, I know she’s enjoying a warmth far greater than the sunshine today. Over in John’s Gospel, Jesus said he was leaving our earth and going to prepare a place just for her. I’ll bet the front door is standing open. Welcome home, Ida.