Stories about hope

Easter at my house growing up was a grand celebration of Chocolate bunnies, New clothes, Easter bonnets and Easter dinner with my mom’s best friend and her family. We had a potluck. Stuffed cabbage, potato salad, bean salad, black olives on the table. We ate a lot. Mix in the chocolate and by the time we made the drive home from their house in L.A., I was usually sick to my stomach. Holidays always remind me of my parents. They made such grand occasions out of everything! I don’t know if my kids feel like I felt when I was little. I hope they do. I hope I captured some of the magic I had when I was young.

I love Easter, I love spring, I love that Jesus rose from the dead and conquered the grave. I love that I will see Jesus when I finally get there. I know, us wacky Christians – we say some weird stuff. But I believe I am going to heaven. And I believe I will see Jesus. I also believe I will see my friends and family who left earth way before their time. I will get to see my Dad again. 

I’m going to be real with you all, sometimes life is messy.  Sometimes it’s really hard. We shouldn’t try to act like it isn’t – but a believer faces life in the reflection of an empty tomb. He promised He would be with us. He has risen, just as He said.

One recent Easter Sunrise Service, I was sitting in the front row. Tears were pouring from my eyes. I couldn’t look up, couldn’t sing, just sat there doing business with God. Asking Him to take my sorrow away, asking Him to help me, to restore what was broken. I’m sure the service was lovely, although I don’t really remember much of it. I was safe in the front row. I felt seen by God. I had been here before.

I was 7. Sitting in the front row of my church for the first time, next to my mom. My brother and sisters were sitting either behind me or next to me. We were at my dad’s memorial service. I had a headache. My brain hurt; my heart hurt. My nose hurt from wiping it so many times. 

I don’t remember many of the details from the days and months that had led up to this day.

I remember I was wearing a fuzzy royal blue coat and its pockets were currently stuffed with used tissues. 

After the service my mom was talking to a man from the church. I was holding her hand and my other hand was occupied with trying to find a dry tissue. I remember my shoes. I was wearing my black Mary janes. Likely handed down from an older sister.  

Just weeks before, my dad had been in the hospital. He was sick. I didn’t know how sick, but I know if he had to be in the hospital, he must be pretty bad off. 

Little kids were not allowed in hospitals. And I was too young to see him. 

My brother took me for a walk while the rest of the family went in. Somehow the walk ended at an open hospital window, and I was lifted into my dad’s room. I remember the look on my dad’s face. A tired smile eased across it. He was so thin.

Dad was 6’4” and I loved being hoisted onto his shoulders when the family would go to Disneyland. I had a tendency to wander off so being on his shoulders was the best way to keep me close and so that my mom wouldn’t worry about me getting lost. 

When dad was tired from carrying me, he would set me on the ground and hand me little clackers. I was instructed to clack while I walked. If they could hear the clacking I was safely nearby. 

When he would come home from work, he would drag my sister and I around the house as we sat on his feet arms wrapped around his legs. He would often have to carry my mom down the mountain when we went “Rock Hounding”. She didn’t know she had MS at the time, she just knew that sometimes she just couldn’t walk. He was strong!

But now, here he was. Lying in a hospital bed. Weak from his battle. 

He didn’t talk much, but he did smile. 

Later my dad came home. I was thrilled. Dad must be getting better because he was home. Things would be back to normal. (Or so I thought) 

He had come home to die. 

Melanoma had ravaged his body. Everything the Dr’s tried hadn’t been able to stop the progress. Our hero was losing the battle. 

I remember people praying for him. I remember grown-ups telling me they were praying that my dad would be healed. He wasn’t. 

November 17, 1972 

 One of my sisters came into my room and woke me up. I can’t tell you which one it was. I was just told to get up and go downstairs. 

I saw my aunt holding my sister Becky at the bottom of the stairs. Becky was sobbing. I was confused why my aunt was here and why my sister was crying. 

Into the kitchen I went. 

I found my mom sitting at the dining room table. She had also been crying. Her face was blotchy, and her nose was red. 

One of the pastors from our church was sitting with her. 

She laughed at me when I walked in. 

I’m not sure why she laughed.  

Maybe I was having a really bad case of bed head. Maybe it was a response to her youngest daughter looking completely confused. 

She laughed and when she said, “Your father has died.” Her voice broke, “Go into the living room and tell him goodbye.”

I went to the living room obediently and stared at my dad lying in the hospital bed. He looked like he was sleeping. I couldn’t comprehend anything that was going on. 

I jumped when I heard the voice of one of my sisters who told me to kiss him and say goodbye. 

His cheek was cold. He didn’t open his eyes when I said, “Bye Daddy.” 

It was then that the tidal wave hit. My dad, our dad. Was gone. 

I ran from the living room, up the stairs and threw myself into my bed. The crying I heard now was my own. 

I don’t remember much of that day. I do remember getting out of bed later to look out the window to see the big black car in my driveway. I heard men talking. They wheeled a gurney with my dad covered in a black sheet and put him into the back of the black car.

I don’t remember anything from that moment until the moment I was sitting in the front row of my church, in my fuzzy blue coat, looking at the cross. 

The music from the pipe organ was soothing. The Pastor said things that sounded really nice, and we sang a hymn called “The Old Rugged Cross”. 

As I sat there in the front row, I stared at the cross. 

“I will cling to the old rugged cross. “

I knew at that moment, pockets stuffed with tissues, heartbroken, confused, and incredibly lonely.  I knew that I was going to be ok. 

I sensed in the depths of my 7-year-old heart, that I was loved by God. And from that moment on He would take care of me.  My soul heard “I’ve got you”. I knew HE did. 

Even though He didn’t heal my dad. Even though our family was broken hearted because our light had been snuffed out. I knew He had me. And I could put all my trust in Him. 

“I’m still here” 

Emmanuel, God with us

Our songs declare that at Christmas. Our hearts cry it out today. He is with us! 

He is with the wife in the ICU as she waits for her husband to open his eyes again. 

He is with the Father longing to see his prodigal son walking toward him down the road. 

He is with us!

I’ve believed in God my whole life. Even as that little 7 year old Girl sitting in the front row of First Presbyterian church in Canoga Park (I guess that’s when I figured out the front row secret). I knew He was with me even then. I know He is with me now. I have seen Him move and I’ve seen Him wait. But He has always been faithful even when I doubt. Even in His silence. 

Teachers are always silent during the test. 

My test isn’t over. And that’s ok. I will keep listening, keep watching and keep trusting. He promised to be with us. He proved His promise many years ago.

He died to prove His love – He didn’t stop there. His “It is finished” was only the start. 

A lot can happen in 3 Days. 

So while we wait, if you see me in the front row, with mascara running down my cheeks,. Don’t tell me it’s going to be ok. Don’t tell me to wash my face. Just hand me a tissue and remind me 

“He promised to be with us” 

And because Jesus Conquered death on that day long ago. All will be right in my world. So I will continue to celebrate Easter, I celebrate the fact that I will one day make it to heaven. What a day of rejoicing that will be. 

When we all see Jesus. I don’t think anything else will matter. 

#HeIsRisen

#HeIsRisenIndeed

“And He has said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness.” Most gladly, therefore, I will rather boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me.”

2 Corinthians 12:9