Out of the Ashes, Beauty will Rise

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I awoke this morning.

It was raining. Have I ever told you that I adore the rain? Of course I have. Probably more times than you wanted to hear. However, hearing the rain this time was different.

Today I was going to a funeral.

Now, before you start to worry, my family is doing well, as am I.

I’ve had a student who’s been absent for a week. You see, his cousin died. My student, I’ll call him Joey, was taking it pretty hard. On Thursday after school I went to visit him.

He told me about the funeral on Saturday. I didn’t want to go. He wanted me to.

I awoke this morning.

The rain was cascading down, and building in the gutters, sweeping over the tops like a waterfall. It gurgled in the downspouts and coated the sidewalks with a glorious infestation of worms – slowly growing mushier. I ventured out into the sullen weather, and gazed up at the melancholy clouds. I couldn’t help thinking how much I didn’t want to attend this funeral.

It was going to be wearisome; after all it wasn’t even a year ago.

The clouds began to clear away as I drove up to the funeral home in the next city. A train blocked my path at one point, forcing me to find an alternate route. A detour for roadwork forced me to take another pathway yet again. Traffic on the freeway and in town was so congested that it very nearly made me late.

It was as if all of the obstacles that could have been put before me were; all of the warnings not to go on.

And yet I drove.

I arrived at the funeral home, and for a few moments I just sat in my car. I didn’t want to go in. I thought of my student, and drug myself from the confines of my car, where the sun was now breaking through the ashen gray haze above me.

I went inside.

The familiar smell of funeral home, and the sight people dressed in black – all of which speaking in hushed tones - was a reflection of another funeral. It was like sliding down a cheese grater.

It was reliving it all over again.

When the service ended, I saw my student. I spoke with him briefly. I put my arm around him and gave him a small hug. And then we stood there, saying nothing. After a couple of moments he looked up at me and smiled.

He told me he’d see me on Monday. He rejoined his family.

I drove somewhere not home in a veritable depression. It weighed down upon me, and like an unwelcome visitor, just wouldn’t leave.

I turned on music to match my mood, which probably didn’t help, but it made me feel worse, which in turn started to make me feel better.

Steven Curtis Chapman once wrote:

Last Day on Earth

I pull over the side of the road and I
Watch the cars pass me by
The headlights and the black limousines
Tell me someone is saying goodbye
I bow my head and I whisper a prayer,
"Father, comfort their broken hearts"
And as I drive away there's a thought that I
I cannot escape, no I, I cannot escape this thought
I can't get away

Oh, if this should be my last day on this earth
How then shall I live?
Oh, if this should be the last day that I have
Before I breathe the air of Heaven
Let me live it with abandon
To the only thing that remains
After my last day here on earth

If this should be my last day here on earth
If this should be my last day here on earth
If this should be my last, last day here on earth

And if tomorrow comes to find me
Looking in the face of Jesus
Will I hear Him say the words "well done" ?

If this should be my last day here on earth
If this should be my last, my last day here on earth
'Cause this could be my last, this could be my last
This could be my last day



It is now night.

I write.

It feels better.



Mom's whole story is here and here. Just know that in the second link the posts are from newest to oldest, you'd probably want to start at the bottom.

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