He was a man of few words; at least that’s what everyone said.
And that’s how I remember him.
His eyes were kind, his voice and his manner gentle.
I remember his smile and his laughter, lots of laughter.
But not a lot of words.
He didn’t talk much, but when he did, it was usually worth hearing.
To say the prognosis wasn’t good was an understatement.
Lung Cancer.
His daughter asked him, “Daddy, are you scared?”
His answer was just three little words, “I’ve faced worse!”
When he said those words, he did not know how the disease would progress and how quickly it would steal his last breath.
He had not traveled that road before.
But he had known pain in his life.
He walked the agonizing road of loneliness that comes when a boy loses his daddy at the age of ten: a lifetime without the one who would have taught him the way to walk, to live, to be a man, to be a father.
He walked the road of overwhelming sorrow when he lost his son at the age of five to a brain tumor. How does one recover from such a sadness?
Certainly, those three little words reflected his pain in the troubles of this life.
But surely no one can face the uncertainty of a devastating diagnosis with words like “I’ve faced worse” without the unwavering certainty that death in itself is not something to be feared.
This world is full of trouble and pain and sorrow.
YES!
We are not promised an easy road.
But for those who know this is not our home, we fix our eyes on the One who has overcome this world,
the One who has swallowed death in victory,
the One who has prepared a place for us to be with Him forever.
And through that lens, we stand firm, letting nothing move us.
Not even a devastating diagnosis!
We can look death in the face and say,
“I’ve faced worse!”
And that’s how I remember him.
His eyes were kind, his voice and his manner gentle.
I remember his smile and his laughter, lots of laughter.
But not a lot of words.
He didn’t talk much, but when he did, it was usually worth hearing.
To say the prognosis wasn’t good was an understatement.
Lung Cancer.
His daughter asked him, “Daddy, are you scared?”
His answer was just three little words, “I’ve faced worse!”
When he said those words, he did not know how the disease would progress and how quickly it would steal his last breath.
He had not traveled that road before.
But he had known pain in his life.
He walked the agonizing road of loneliness that comes when a boy loses his daddy at the age of ten: a lifetime without the one who would have taught him the way to walk, to live, to be a man, to be a father.
He walked the road of overwhelming sorrow when he lost his son at the age of five to a brain tumor. How does one recover from such a sadness?
Certainly, those three little words reflected his pain in the troubles of this life.
But surely no one can face the uncertainty of a devastating diagnosis with words like “I’ve faced worse” without the unwavering certainty that death in itself is not something to be feared.
This world is full of trouble and pain and sorrow.
YES!
We are not promised an easy road.
But for those who know this is not our home, we fix our eyes on the One who has overcome this world,
the One who has swallowed death in victory,
the One who has prepared a place for us to be with Him forever.
And through that lens, we stand firm, letting nothing move us.
Not even a devastating diagnosis!
We can look death in the face and say,
“I’ve faced worse!”
For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain. (Phillipians 1:21)
Last month, my Uncle Aaron went to see Jesus face to face. Photos were taken at the celebration of his life and are for those who were unable to attend. It was a great celebration indeed!
