The Grave Conquered

Around this time, last year, I cried the hardest I could ever remember. He was gone, a life not lost, but one which had come to an end. A friend.

Today, another phone call, another funeral to be arranged, another heart cry. He’s gone, a life not lost, but one which came to and end. My grandpa.

Two stories, which tear us humans down. Maybe there’s no more to be torn down, as the story seems all too familiar.

We all know there comes a day, a day where one’s breath is their last.

As this breath is cut off, a chair is taken out, a cold stone is added. Our dinner tables seem as empty as they’ll ever be, and our grave yards appear as full as they could ever get.

Before Christmas, really?

After Christmas, really?

On Christmas, really?

Isn’t losing a loved one already enough?

My heart asks question after question, but resonances still, with that small still voice. Whispering “I’m still here”

“don’t be afraid”

“everything is going to be okay”

That voice I’ve heard before, though I took no notice, my faith then weak you still carried me over, to lie on solid ground.

The contrast is ironic, so much changed in just a year, the way I mourn is different, for God all seems more near.

He hasn’t changed with time, or decided to show up now, but as I proclaim this brokenness, God seems more real somehow.

Am I anguished with anger and soaking in sorrow, or am I now beginning to realize… that this world is not my home…not yet.

But now you, and you, and all of they we knew- now there await, and stand awake, in the dwelling we long to know.

Because death isn’t the end.

And it’s not theirs.

Life everlasting, life ever true, this life we’ve been given- by the cross forever new.

So take it, and keep it, and cherish what you got. Because Jesus has won the battle, cured this disease we have caught.

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