In My Daughter's Eyes
Saturday was the funeral for our oldest church member. Clara was 87 years old, her husband had died 16 months before, and her health had been especially declining in the last six months. She was the matriarch of the church, the treasurer and Sunday School secretary.
I had teared up at the hospital when I went with her son and grandsons in to see her in the recovery room where she had died, and to clear out the hospital room of her effects. I went through the visitation on Friday night with the family and friends with no trouble, and encouraged them to the best of my ability. It helped that Clara had written instructions that her funeral and visitation were to be closed casket. During the funeral, I was able to get the audience to chuckle a couple of times as I talked about Clara, and I also presented the Gospel.
I was fine at the grave side service too; the weather was breezy and rather cool, but not freezing. I read and spoke from 1 Thess. 4:13-18:
"13 But we do not want you to be uninformed, brethren, about those who are asleep, so that you will not grieve as do the rest who have no hope. 14 For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so God will bring with Him those who have fallen asleep in Jesus. 15 For this we say to you by the word of the Lord, that we who are alive and remain until the coming of the Lord, will not precede those who have fallen asleep. 16 For the Lord Himself will descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. 17 Then we who are alive and remain will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air, and so we shall always be with the Lord. 18 Therefore comfort one another with these words."
Fine that is, until I looked into the eyes of my daughter, SonnetJoy. Her Spiritual gift is compassion; she feels very deeply, and with great empathy, the suffering and emotion of others. SonnetJoy was leaning into the arms of her husband, ThePendragon, and weeping quietly. That's when I nearly lost it. My throat began to close, my eyes watered, and I momentarily lost my focused concentration, which is so necessary for preaching. I had to look away as quickly as I could, clear my throat, and press on. It worked. I have learned that I cannot look into my daughter's eyes when emotions, joy or sorrow, are running high.
Labels: Dying well