We start in distress. Shocked at the bright, loud world we are thrust into. Screaming, red faced and searching for a voice that sounds familiar.
And then we live. In the dash between the dates. Childhood, transitions, parenting, laughter, tears, hopes and fear. Failures, disappointments and the blinding flash of a success here or there.
We fall in love. We learn to love. We live to be loved and, hopefully, we find the greatest love of all.
Which is not learning to love yourself. Regardless of what Whitney Houston thinks.
We find that eternal, abiding Love. From a Father, a Brother, a Comforter who knows us. And adores us anyway.
Hopefully, as we are being delivered from this life into the next. We can respond, as my brother Leny is at this very moment, by raising weak hands in worship and speaking quietly to his Master as that moment of being truly born. Of becoming truly alive approaches.
Far more quickly than I ever thought.
He’s ready. The angels are bending near, the fragrance of heavenly incense filling the room. My sister is being held in arms far stronger than I could ever muster. Their children gather around them. Friends and family pray from a distance.
They are surrounded. By such a cloud. All of us bearing witness to the fragile beauty of life and the concrete hope of Heaven.
And in a moment, a twinkling of an eye, Leny’s Deliverer will appear, take his hand and lead him into the throne room of G-d.
There will be rejoicing. Oh, yes. There will be.
But right now I have only tears. This parting truly is “sweet sorrow”.