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Bonus BlessingBy Alissa Clark I’m trying to get in the spirit of Thanksgiving, but to be honest, it’s hard this year. I have a lot this year for which to be grateful. I know that. This year I got engaged and then married, moved to a great new apartment in a great new neighborhood and made dozens of new and wonderful friends. I’ve had a steady income and lots of new opportunities for work and ministry. I’ve wanted for nothing. But this year has one big, ugly black mark on it, and I sometimes just can’t see past it. I lost my dad, age 47, to leukemia complications on Aug. 30. He had been in remission for a year, but at the beginning of August he was re-diagnosed. The prognosis was great. We all realistically expected a tough recovery—but we did expect a recovery. I was packing to go upstate on the Wednesday morning, the 30th, to finish getting ready for my wedding on Saturday when my mom called me. She simply told me that he was with Jesus. Only three days earlier, I’d chatted with him on the phone about the ice-cream maker someone sent us from our wedding registry and the Mexican food we’d just had for dinner and what restaurant I would take him to when he came to visit. Suddenly, instead of going out for pedicures and coffee with my bridesmaids, I was planning a funeral. Instead of spending a few quiet days with my family, I was hosting a houseful of people from morning until night and trying to run interference for my mom. I canceled the big church wedding, and we were married in the back yard a few days later, with some friends and family around. I know grief is normal; I know it’s healthy and right to have hopeful sorrow in such a great loss of a great man. I know that it’s good to celebrate my dad’s life. I sang Michael Card’s song about “Joy in the Journey” to the 600 people who came for his funeral, a song that he and I sang at my high-school graduation five years ago. And I am glad I have a husband who cries with me for the grandpa our future children won’t know. All these emotions come easily to me. But thankfulness? I’m having trouble with that. And not just thankfulness, but trust in a God who says He wants the best for me and then takes my daddy away from me, who seems to nastily time it three days before he was going to walk me down the aisle. I sometimes feel as if I should be dodging lightning bolts from a vicious Zeus-like figure on high, not imagining myself cradled in the palm of a loving God. I’ve been more frustrated with myself than anything over these emotions, knowing that it’s revealing in me a much more human outlook than I want to own. I want to take solace in Scripture, but I keep finding admonitions like “Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts ... And be thankful ...” (Colossians 3:15, TNIV) and “So then, just as you received Christ Jesus as Lord, continue to live in him, rooted and built up in him, strengthened in the faith as you were taught, and overflowing with thankfulness” (Colossians 2:6-7). I think, yeah, but they didn’t have to deal with this. So I’ve been dreading Thanksgiving, sitting at a table that overflows with turkey and stuffing and cornbread, thinking about all the things I should be thankful for, and really just asking all the “Why would God do this to us?” questions. I’m dreading it a bit less, though, after this weekend. I went to visit my mom for the first time since the funeral and wedding, and my dad’s mother drove out to visit, as well. We heard a few weeks ago that the burial plot was ready, so after church my family and I headed to the national cemetery in Saratoga. It was already a solemn occasion, and the cold, windy, rainy weather contrasted sharply with Saturday’s warmth and sunshine. We found the cluster of headstones, in rows and columns, and set out to find the right one. I spotted it first, and we all walked over slowly. Under the name, military rank, date of birth and date of death was the epitaph we chose two months ago: FULL OF FAITH, LOVE AND SONG. We all stood silently, tears filling our eyes as we shivered in the cutting, driving wind. The tears running down my cheeks mixed with the cold rain, and I suddenly felt as if God was showing me that although He chooses to do things we don’t like, He weeps with us in our pain. My grandmother, sobbing silently, set the dozen red roses down that she’d brought. She said they represented passion and love, and that was him. We huddled at the foot of the grave and prayed together, then started back for the car. I was picking my way across the cemetery when my grandmother caught up to me. Then she said something I never really expected to hear. “You know,” she said, “I always felt like he was a special extra gift that we had for a while. Like a bonus. I didn’t know it would be so soon, but I’m so thankful we had him for that long.” He’d always been the compassionate, artistic, big-hearted one, the one who spent his life providing for us, who sent medical equipment to Africa, whose favorite pastime in all the world was to play his guitar and sing praises to Jesus. A special gift? A bonus blessing? Perhaps. I can be grateful for such a heritage as that. I don’t think Thanksgiving will be any easier for any of us. And I know I’m not the only one to lose a dearly loved one this year. So I’m watching and listening for what blessings God has put in disguise. I still can’t really understand—but I am starting to see His love peeking through the clouds. Alissa Wilkinson, 23, is a newlywed freelance writer living and working in New York City. When she grows up, she hopes to be like both her Fathers. Read her blog at www.tomandalissa.com. Back to Top |
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10.24.06 Discussion on the topic of beauty taking questions from the book Captivating by John and Stasi Eldredge... |
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Gift Ideas By Cara Davis When you give someone a personal gift that reflects their taste and personality, you are tangibly showing that person you know them and love them for who they are. Love Your Neighbor By Ben Irwin For those of us who call ourselves followers of Jesus, maybe it’s time we re-evaluate what it will take for the Church to be a compelling force for good in the world. Feedback Readers share responses to this week's articles. |
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