Away She Flies

For the past two years, M’s been a part of the church community group I lead. (I’m referring to her as M here to protect her and her children’s privacy.) In fact, my wife and I were acquainted with M and her husband some twenty years ago when we were members at a different church in town. Back then, they had two small children when, tragically, M’s husband was diagnosed with an aggressive cancer that took his mortal life. The kids were just one and three years old, and M spent the next seventeen years rearing, discipling, and educating her children as a single parent.

 

When M joined our spiritual family, she shared that she had cancer. With M sitting there, I remember telling the group, “This really ticks me off.” Others in the group have expressed similar anger since then as we took it all in. The seeming injustice of it all—for M, for her children, for what we believed was God’s reputation. Our theology told us how to situate the pain, but our lived experience was resisting those truths.

 

Despite medical treatment, despite disputations with our Sovereign to keep her nested here, M silently flew off like a dove in the middle of the night, crossed the Jordan, through the veil, and entered the land of her King and Keeper. The gentleman who gave the message at M’s memorial service shared his own struggles with God over the death of his wife several years ago. He shared that he had found comfort in the testimony of Jonathan Evans. Jonathan spoke at the funeral of his mother Lois, who was married to Pastor Tony Evans. He had wrestled with God over his mother’s life and cancer like we had on behalf of M. And here’s what Jonathan said:

“Just because I didn’t answer your prayer your way doesn’t mean that I haven’t already answered your prayer anyway. Victory was already given to your mom. There were always only two answers to your prayers—either she was going to be healed or she was going to be healed. Either she was going to live or she was going to live. Either she was going to be with family or she was going to be with family. Either she was going to be well taken care of or she was going to be well taken care of. Victory belongs to Me because of what I’ve already done for you. The two answers to your prayer are yes and yes. Because victory belongs to Jesus.”

Jonathan’s words echo the Apostle Paul who wrote, “God has not destined us for wrath, but to obtain salvation through our Lord Jesus Christ, who died for us so that whether we are awake or asleep we might live with him. Therefore encourage one another and build one another up, just as you are doing” (1 Thess. 5:9-11).

 

With eyes of faith, there have been sightings along the way of the Good Shepherd’s leading. Last year, M shared that she wanted a natural burial (no embalming, no casket), and a place was secured at Ramsey Creek. The day after M’s burial, a relative texted to us an account of the experience. With very light editing, and with the family’s permission to share this, here’s what she wrote:

 

“We buried M yesterday. There are no words for what the 7 of us did with M yesterday.  M didn't want a casket but she wasn't sure how the girls would take it. As we are trying to decide, [relatives] came in early from their trip and [M’s husband’s] best friend from childhood kind of took over for me helping [one of the girls] go down and handle M's death certificate etc. I was still worried about just a blanket and M laying in a grave. So we ran in M's room and used [one of the girl’s] beautiful pink blanket that she loved and [the other daughter] said can I use [her Dad’s] blue and white one. [One of the girls] and I ran those blankets over to the mortuary so they could meet us at Ramsey Creek and have her ready in the grave site.

 

“We walked to M's grave and I literally could not believe my eyes. They had spread red rose petals all around and put beautiful flowers. The first thing [a relative] said is ‘oh my gosh [M’s husband’s] blanket!’ We sang, prayed, and shared thoughts about M. Then [one of the girls] jumped in to help close her mother’s grave. We all shoveled some dirt and at the end they had plants for us to grow on top. [One of the girls] looked up at me and said ‘It's like mom is alive aunt A. All the flowers are growing from above where she is laying.’ That’s exactly what M would have wanted.

 

“It wasn't scary or cold. It was glorious. On the way there and back we worshipped, raised hands, cried, sang, and then a huge rainbow appears and we literally drove through it. Sun shining light rain and the words to the song playing God's promises. We all had a moment that there are no words for. Your prayers and love have sustained us through this time. I'm sorry for this long message but it helps me grieve and at the same time focus on all that has happened this week and knowing that M would have loved every detail.”

 

That’s right. Those of us who knew M over a span of time knew she resisted fitting in a box. Her faith in Christ was more aligned with parable and poetry than straight doctrine. She learned from Paul and turned it into a cooing love song for Jesus. Fly then, little yellow dove, to your Lord. His hands are now your nest.

 

Because “precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints” (Psalm 116:15).