Good morning…
This week many of us went to one or both of the services celebrating the lives of two faithful men from our Atlanta community.
On Thursday morning at Northside Church, we honored the life of Jim Caswell, husband of Robbie. “Jim lived a full and blessed life,” reads his obituary. “He was a grateful man that loved his life, his family, his career and his church.”
Then yesterday afternoon at Peachtree Road United Methodist Church, we celebrated the ninety-two earthly years of Tom Tate, husband of Martha. Tom’s obituary reads, “He will be forever loved and never forgotten.”
Robbie and Martha now face their first weeks of life without their their soulmates on earth, each after forty-something years of marriage. They will each contend with what author Ron Greer calls “The Quiet House.” In his book with the same title, Ron shares tender, touching wisdom.
“When we lose a husband or a wife, we likely are parting with someone with whom we have lived for years, decades,” writes Ron. “There is a home filled with belongings that were theirs. A home filled with reminders of their lives and our connection with them. As it was heartbreaking to say goodbye to our partners, it is arduous to part with each reminder of them.”
“After some initial straightening up of the house in the weeks following Karen’s death, I left things largely as they were,” he continues. “Every now and then I would put something away or discard an item that will never be used, but there was always a reluctance. Why? Why the hesitation? Every change, every single change, no matter how small it may seem symbolizes that I am further away from when I was with her. Having her things around brings the comfort of the reminder of when she was here. Perhaps it subconsciously creates the illusion that she will be returning.”
On a deeply spiritual level, I believe Jim and Tom and Karen will continue returning to us. In the enduring stories shared. In the many cherished memories. In the mysterious experiences of connection which remind us that the veil between earth and heaven is thin, so deliciously thin.
We who have run for our very lives to God have every reason to grab the promised hope with both hands and never let go. It’s an unbreakable spiritual lifeline, reaching past all appearances right to the very presence of God where Jesus, running on ahead of us, has taken up his permanent post (Hebrews 6:19, MSG).
The song we sang at the end of Tom’s service speaks of the promised hope of our unbreakable spiritual lifeline.
…Sue…
