Oren was tall and broad, full to the brim of God and love and laughter. He worked the land, taught his children, preached the word, loved his wife. Ordinary made extraordinary. How do you end such a life? How do you say goodbye?
I was away when Corey got the news. I drove home and thought about what I could say to my husband, the walking legacy of this great man. You could see Grandpa in his smile... the mischief... ornery - as the family would say... Grandpa lived life with joy and jest. I arrived in the drive, opened the worn wooden door, climbed the stairs to where the light spilled out of the studio and spoke no words. We held each other tight and asked God to be near as we wished for one more day, one more conversation, one more goofy grin.
Life happens and life goes on. We eat, sleep, work and rest. And wonder about it all. We need to think - or better yet, to not. To be still and know. So I wandered up the hill where the sun danced bright over the wide waters, glistening through the waves. My soul was thirsty. Why does water heal?
I walked and listened, the prairie grasses singing with color, swaying in the golden breeze. life buzzed all around. Who taught those seeds to grow? Who breathed into their lungs and grew them into glory?
Rose colored light flooded the fields and the sun lowered into the waters. It went slowly at first, floating orange midair. Then, picking up speed, it burned red and violet and suddenly it slipped beneath the horizon, leaving behind the memory of its colors pale and soft in the sky.
I sat there and thought about how the world turns and the sun sets and it's colors blaze and cool and sink. How we breathe, life happens and God is in it all... When did the miraculous become so ordinary?
There is a God that shines brighter than the sun - who weaves the miraculous into the fabric of our days - who orchestrates flowers to bloom, the trees to bear fruit, the birds to take flight. The symphony of life is rarely heard until the end. But the melody remains in our ears, like pastel colors on the horizon, like the mischief in the grandson's smile. And we know that it's not the end.
The earth spins and the sun slips from view, but its fire burns on. Only our perspective has changed. After a time the color will rise on the other side of the sky, growing fierce and bold. Then suddenly it will happen. A glorious new day.
It will happen in a moment, in the blink of an eye, when the last trumpet is blown. For when the trumpet sounds, those who have died will be raised to live forever. And we who are living will also be transformed....Then Scripture will be fulfilled:
“Death is swallowed up in Life
Where, O death, is your victory?
Where, O death, is your sting? ”
(1 Corinthians 15:52, 54-55)
