The Parable of the Minivan.

As of late, our little family has been walking through the valley of the shadow of death. We have have lost two of my husband's six brothers within three weeks of each other. The rippling effects of these passings have cast countless circles of hurt which magnify the original pain. We take moment by moment, and for my husband especially, it feels surreal to say "and then there were five" when just weeks ago there were seven. It has been rough. 

And yet, we  have family and close friends whose prayers cast an invisible blanket of comfort...we have the support of those who deeply loved the men who are no longer visible to us...and we have the faith that this part of our life is but a dim reflection of the main act which is yet to come. In an odd kind of way, having our children walking beside us in this has been healthy for them. Death is a part of life. They are, in age appropriate ways, being guided through this wrenching process and with their child-like faith, are guiding Curt and I as well.

Last weekend we sat our young children down at the kitchen table for a family meeting in which to break the news that another Uncle had died. My husband led the discussion, which I found to be remarkable given his raw pain. Of all the rough-n-tough John Wayne displays of manliness he has shown, this show of leadership was his finest yet. I am sharing how he explained the difference between our bodies (temporal) and spirit (eternal) not to showcase his cleverness, but to point to how the Spirit of God can intercede, especially in our moments of weakness, when we ourselves are at a loss. This is what he shared:

Let us say that our bodies--our hands, feets, bellies, everything that has skin on it--is our minivan. Our minivan takes us where we want to go. Others who are traveling with us know what our minivan looks like and can pick it out by the stickers on the back window. We use it nearly every day to take us where we need to go and we count on it starting up when we turn the key. But someday it's going to break down and leave us by the side of the road. We will then hop out and say "Thanks, minivan, for the ride. You've been good to us, but now we will need to walk home."  If the minivan is our body, then our spirit is the one along for the ride. When our bodies stop working, that doesn't at all mean we stop being alive. It just means we go on in another way, different from way we --and others--were used to seeing us go. 

When he was done, the children nodded as though "of course!" and I looked at him in amazement that He had been able to receive such a clarifying Truth in the middle of grief-induced fog. This is what I wanted to put down in words today. 

In such a time as this, even in the pain, the presence of God becomes real because our eyes are opened wide, seeking any little sign of His care. Surely as the sun rises in the East, He sends them and our heavy hearts are lightened with the Hope of what is now and what is to come.

Much love,
Jeane`