Enduring Connection

There will always be dates on the calendar that we will withdraw from our memory bank when we lose a loved one. This week is my husband’s birthday. Like most grave markers, there’s a dash separating his birthdate and date of his death.  There’s a stanza in a poem by Linda Ellis that defines it well:

"For that dash represents all the time they spent alive on earth and now only those who loved them know what that little line is worth"

That space holds a sacredness to the life he lived and the love he left for me and my children. There’s an added element to the date of my husband’s birthday. It was my dad’s birthday, too.

As a 10-year-old little girl who lost my dad too soon, it was my first experience with loss. His death represented my first time at a funeral and first time at a cemetery. My recollection was that my mom, dad, and I were baptized at my church six months before he died from throat cancer. 

The impact of knowing my dad would be going to heaven after he died affirmed my faith and paved the way for my spiritual journey.

Fast forward 17 years when my husband and I were dating, and he told me his birthday.   I couldn’t help but wonder the kindness of God to tie the two men I loved together by the same birthday.  There was a tangible sense of God’s grace in that moment.  

I don’t believe in coincidences. I believe God numbers our days and dates according to His Sovereign hand. This Saturday, March 25, I will remember my husband and my dad and the memories, love, and legacies that remain.   The connection that we still have with our loved ones endures as we continue to remember them.

P. S. My dad's legacy continues. This is my son, Kenny.  He’s named after my dad, Kenny. 

"Grateful Yet Grieving"

FREE ebook by Pam Luschei | Click HERE To Download

New Address

There’s a routine I have when I get my mail. I make piles; the mail I need to open, the mail to throw away, and the mail that I have to look at before I throw away. Yesterday, one piece of mail caught me off guard, it had my husband’s name on it. It was an envelope, and I couldn’t tell whether it was junk or not. Seeing his name on the envelope was strange and unsettling. As I tossed the envelope in the trash, I thought of something else. I thought the name is correct, but the address isn’t. He doesn’t live here anymore. He has a new address.  

 I just finished reading the book, “Imagine Heaven” by John Burke. The book gives vivid accounts of people who have had near-death experiences and gone to heaven. From the reports of people who had glimpsed heaven, the author aligns it using Scripture to accurately describe heaven; the scents, the colors, and the beauty all beyond what we see on earth. Pastor and author, John Piper says, “heaven is a place of unparalleled and indescribable joy.” 

 As I was reading the book, I felt like I was getting a preview of a trip that I’ll be taking someday. After reading the book, I felt like I had a clearer picture of where my husband is now in his new home. I miss him every day, but my grief gives me hope beyond this life. I Thessalonians 4:13, (NIV) “we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope.” Grief and hope can cohabitate. 

 When I was young there was a song, we sang in Sunday School that has these words “this world is not my home, I’m just passing through, my treasure and my hope is placed beyond the blue.” The promise of a new home awaits where our loved ones are. The promise of where we’ll see Jesus and experience life evermore.

"Grateful Yet Grieving"

FREE ebook by Pam Luschei | Click HERE To Download