In Their Footsteps

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Something breaks. I think to myself, Dad
would know how to fix this. I reach for the phone. And then I remember.

Oh. Right. Dad died.

For all the saints
who from their labors rest,

Who Thee by faith
before the world confessed,

Thy name, O Jesus,
be forever blest,

Alleluia! Alleluia!

All
Saints Sunday. It’s the day when we remember
those who have faithfully served the Lord

and gone on to be with Him. Like my
mom. And my dad.

Hardest
church service of the year. Why is it that I look forward to it with such eager
anticipation, even though I know I’m going to cry through the whole thing?

I
belt out the lyrics of the beloved hymn, swelling with pride as I envision my dear
loved ones among the saints of the ages. The verses tug at my heart, leading me
on a journey of memory and loss and love.

O blest communion,
fellowship divine,

We feebly
struggle, they in glory shine;

Yet all are one in
Thee, for all are Thine.

Alleluia! Alleluia!

A
sudden swelling of anger lumps in my throat. Anger that they are there and not
here. I know they are happy where they are. Mom is back to the way she was
before cancer stole her sunshine. Dad’s knees work right again, and his
migraines are gone, and he doesn’t miss Mom anymore. They wouldn’t want to come
back to that pain, to the pain of a sinful world.

I
don’t care. I want them here. I need them here. I need them to take care of me.
I need them to come watch their grandchildren play in the band concert and help
me decide what color to paint the kitchen. I need those people, and it is not
fair and not right that they have been taken from me.

Those
cheerful alleluias make me furious.

And
when the fight is fierce, the warfare long,

Steals
on the ear the distant triumph song,

And
hearts are brave again, and arms are strong.

Alleluia! Alleluia!

The
fight gets fierce. I want to bend, concede, huddle in a corner.

And
then I picture my mom’s busy fingers, never stopping to rest as she gently
nudges me to where wisdom lies. I hear my dad’s voice, telling me what I need
to hear even if I don’t want to hear it.

I
hear them from a distance, calling to me from the past that is part of my
present; be strong, my child. Be courageous. Follow in our footsteps as we
followed in those of our Savior. You are not alone.

And
I raise my head and press on.

From
earth’s wide bounds, from ocean’s farthest coast,

Through
gates of pearl streams in the countless host,

Singing
to Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,

Alleluia! Alleluia!

I’m sure Dad’s deep,
booming voice and Mom’s gentle alto blend beautifully with the heavenly choir. But
it seems heaven must encompass so much more than singing. I picture Dad shaking
hands with Noah and cracking jokes with Martin Luther. Mom would be chatting
with her former students and giving my best friend’s mom a hug.

Heaven is such a
fascinating mystery. It could be anything, really. We know only that it will be
joy in the presence of our Savior. And joy can wear so many faces.

The
golden evening brightens in the west;

Soon,
soon, to faithful warriors cometh rest.

Sweet
is the calm of Paradise the blest.

Alleluia! Alleluia!

I was driving out in
the country one day when my oldest child was in preschool. He bounced in his
seat and pointed out the window with excitement. “Mama, look! There’s heaven!”

We were passing a
cemetery.

Where do people go when
they die? A cemetery. But oh, my son, there is so much more than that. There is
more than a hole in the ground. There is life beyond life, untouchable,
unfathomable. I believe it. I want you to believe it, too, son. There is more. Because
of Jesus, there is so much more.

Grandma is there. And
Grandpa, and so many other people I want you to meet. Separation is not forever.

It feels like it
sometimes. When I long and hurt and weep and ache, that emptiness they’ve left
behind feels like it will never be assuaged.

But they are there,
safe, content. And we, here, can wait. With joy in the waiting,
forward-marching, following in their footsteps. And then…..

And then we’ll see them
again. Because of Jesus.

Alleluia, Alleluia.

Stanzas quoted from “For All the
Saints” (Public Domain)

From
the version by William W. How, drawn lovingly from The Lutheran Hymnal

First published in The Alpena News, November 16, 2013

In Their Footsteps

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