In The Face of Mourning

It's not just every day that you lose someone. If you did, it probably wouldn't hurt so much when they went away. God has graced us with relationships, with knowing people and their hearts for a certain amount of time. And that time with Grandpa ended last Monday.
I am back in Calgary, back to my normal life of going to school, studying, and spending time with friends, but I cannot imagine what it must be like for Grandma. After 57 years of marriage, raising nine children together, watching them get married, being involved in the lives of 22 grandchildren, their spouses and 7 great-grandchildren, and spending every day all day together, it must be horribly lonely without him there.
I got closure about Grandpa's death from two events. The first was during my sleepover with Grandma her first night back at her house alone. We folded laundry together, talked about family and what's important, read the bible and prayed together. She is a remarkable woman of God, and I think all the time about how I would like to be like her, so strong and steadfast, faithful to the God whom she serves out of love. I realized then that there is timing, God's plan that we cannot see but that is slowly being unveiled. I understand that death can be a way that God brings people closer to him in a way that might almost make our loss worth it, if even just one other person is found. The second event I got closure from was the viewing the next day. I thought that seeing Grandpa would be optional, and it surprised me that he was out in the open at the front of the room so much I had to force myself to keep walking to an empty seat. I didn't really hear much of what Pastor Art was saying, but just looking at Grandpa's face made me understand what he was trying to say: Grandpa wasn't really lying there in that box. It resembled him, but the core of what had made Grandpa, Grandpa, had somehow vanished. His face had a slight grin, letting on only a little to the perfect joy he was experiencing that very moment another dimension away. Grandpa is home with the lover of his soul, delighting every moment in the life of utter freedom and peace he now has. I am not joking when I say I'm a little jealous.
Loss hurts, but I decided sometime last week that I would not be sad because a very stable person in my life had disappeared; instead I would rejoice because that person, Grandpa, has been told "Well done my child, enter now into my kingdom" and now walks with Jesus on the same golden road and crystal sidewalk. Or maybe they run along the green meadowy hills outside of heaven's walls. Grandpa loves Jesus, and during his time on earth pursued this love even with his hours of unsleep in the middle of the night. How could I not be happy for a man who has met his passion, who has been reunited with people he loved on earth, with which he now awaits for those who haven't come just yet? Grandma is one of those people who Grandpa is waiting for, but it will only seem like a breath until he looks upon her face as though for the first and ten millionth time all at once.
Living with heaven in mind makes this life seem so short, so trivial, compared to what the joy stored up for us will be like. And for this reason I can be happy in the face of mourning.

Roommates

I thought I would share some pictures of my roommates and I playing squash and playing in the snow. Miriam and I made snow angels in the middle of the road.