"You have broken every chain, there's salvation in Your Name; Jesus Christ, my Living Hope." ~Phil Wickham

 

I don't go there often. In fact, I can count on one hand the number of times I've visited over the past 20 years. He's not there, and the last memories I have of him in that place involve his dead body in a box being lowered into the ground as the worst and most shocking week of my life came to an end.

But, a few weeks ago, after visiting my mother at the house I grew up in - a place that holds so many memories of him - I took a detour on my way home and stopped at the cemetery.  

It was twenty years ago today - October 6, 2003 - that he left this world in the most jolting and unexpected way. So much has happened over the past twenty years - including the fact that his grandchildren whom he loved so much have all grown up. Three days before Daddy died when I visited him for what was unknowingly the last time, the first question he asked me - the one he always asked - was, "How are the little shavers?" They weren't that little then - two brand new teenagers and a 10-year-old. Since his passing, Caleb was baptized, all three earned college degrees, and all three have married godly spouses. Being an engineer, Daddy would've loved Ryan's analytical mind. He would've loved even more the way Ryan leads his family and serves his church family. I can also see Daddy sitting in his rocking chair, having long conversations about books and the Bible with our preacher son-in-law, Jeff. Daddy would've enjoyed listening to him preach. And Daddy would've adored sweet Julie - her heart for people, and especially the way she loves Caleb, would've made him so proud. 

Then there are the great-grandchildren he never met. In my mind's eye, I can see him patting their heads, snuggling them in his lap, and carving toys out of wood for them. I can hear his laugh that would've come from observing their antics, and I know the phone calls from him would've always begun with the same question about them - "How are the little shavers?" The three in-laws and six great-grandchildren in our Stewart branch of the family have missed out on knowing the man who shaped me more than any other. He is only known to them from pictures and stories. If I view that from a strictly human perspective, I find that incredibly sad. 

Time is a wonderful healer, and twenty years is a long time. When he first passed, I had troubling dreams where he would appear - usually maimed or not himself in some way. But now, when he emerges in my sleep, he's the way I remember him, and there's joy in that. I don't dwell on that awful week twenty years ago, choosing rather to focus on the happy memories and the gratitude to have lived for 37 years under his influence as his daughter. I was so blessed in that way.

A few weeks ago when I visited his grave, I was reminded of the Scripture we had placed on his headstone: "For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, in the same way, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have fallen asleep" (1 Thess. 4:14). So, you see, the cemetery is not such a sad place after all, when you really think about it. His body - along with the bodies of my grandparents, great-grandparents, and other extended relatives who "sleep" there - are all there awaiting the resurrection. Paul wrote to the Corinthians, explaining to them that the resurrection means we are "sown in corruption, raised in incorruption; sown in dishonor, raised in glory; sown in weakness, raised in power; sown a natural body, raised a spiritual body." In 1 Thessalonians, Paul tells us that because of this, we do not grieve as those who have no hope.

So today, instead of feeling sadness at what my family has lost, I feel joy and gratitude for all we've been given. The man whose fingers I see with his uniquely wide, flat fingernails whenever I look at my own hands, passed down so much more than a few physical traits. He taught me to love God and to love His word. He devoted his life to God. And because of Jesus, we have the benefit of knowing where Daddy is now. It's not in that cemetery, but in the bosom of Abraham. He is there with our first baby I lost through miscarriage, and he's there with Granny and PaPaw, and so many friends and other family members who have passed. One day I'll see him again, and I'll even get to introduce him to the family he's gained since his passing. 

Until that Day, I will be thankful - grateful beyond expression for the hope I have in Christ, for the way I was led to know the Lord from a young age, and for a legacy of faith that sprang from my daddy and continues on even now through those he never knew. That's what this life is all about. Living Hope. All because of the love of a Savior. There's truly nothing greater.