I have read these words of Jesus more in the last two weeks than any other verse in the Bible. I know some of you will say that Pastor Chris always tells us in sermons that he is preaching on his favorite Scripture, sometimes, speaking of his favorites week after week. But in these last days of June, since the 18th (when we gave my mother back to God) and really since the 12th (when I began to fear that the stroke that kept my mom from waking up from surgery would keep her from ever waking up), I have come to find comfort in this simple, ten-word promise of Jesus.

Author Vicki Harrison wrote these words,

“Grief is like the ocean. It comes in waves, ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming. All we can do is learn to swim.”

Never in our imagination did we expect that my mom would not survive the triple bypass surgery scheduled for June 10th. The night before her surgery we gathered together at my parent’s home to pray and have communion together. There was laughter, a few tears, bread and wine, and a prayer for God’s tending and protection. And my youngest daughter – the one who honors her Norwegian roots better than the rest of us – the child who runs from hugs and slips out of handholds faster than we can hold on to her – took my mother’s hand in the middle of the prayer circle and held on tightly throughout the entire prayer. I did not know she had done this, but my mother was so caught by the out-of-character moment for our daughter that she shared the moment in a final conversation with my wife before we said our goodbyes and gave our hugs and spoke words of love one last time. The moment of our goodbye at their house is imprinted on my memory with all the vivid colors of my mom’s sweater – a lingering smile on her face. And when surgery was complete, the surgeon shared words of hope and good news that all had gone exactly as expected. It would only be later in the evening, after they began the process of removing her sedation and beginning to remove the vent that we would find the first signs of a stroke. Over the next few days, the blood clot that caused her first stroke would split into three separate clots and cause a massive stroke. One my mother would not wake up from in the days ahead.

I share all this to give thanks to God for your care – even in our physical distance and separation. We are broken. Shattered for a loss we did not expect. In the days of waiting, before our worst fears were confirmed, I was afraid for the presence of the power of death I could not shake from my thoughts. I have felt the power of death. I have been close to this power that tears away life more times than I want to remember. And yet, in sharing the journey with my dad and my sister, I have never felt so powerless in the waiting. My dad and I were allowed in just briefly after her surgery – and when we entered her room – we held hands – told her we were there – prayed and told her we would see her the next morning. My dad kept vigil by my mother’s bedside. My sister and I were not allowed to go into the ICU. On the day we transitioned to palliative care – my sister and I walked with my father down a long hallway to tend this woman we had loved in this life. A woman who called us “sweetheart” and “honey.” A woman who used our full names when she was frustrated with us. A woman who always looked at my father with love – even when she was angry. We knew it would not last – her anger. Forgiveness came easy to this wife and mother. Now we begin the search for pictures to remind us of younger days. We laugh at our how much better I have aged. Lord I was chunky in earlier days! And my thinning hair before I began to shave my head. Yes, my friends there will be pictures when we celebrate her life. And celebrate her, we will. In whatever way this pandemic will allow – we will celebrate her and give thanks to God for her.

And in these moments of remembering her, I again find myself coming back to the words of our Savior: “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.”

To God be the glory. Thanks for sharing this journey of life and faith with your pastor, who in these long days does his best to honor the title of son to a father who is grieving and a mother who now stands in the presence of our God. Peace be with you.

Pastor Chris

Reprinted from the July 2020 newsletter