Another birthday. She is so beautiful to me. Her 24 years here were short and painful.
I have often questioned God about this, but he has given me no explanations, beyond the dry theological ones I already knew. Although it seems to me that his own time among us was also short and painful, for him. Sometimes the insanity of suffering can shake our faith; make us doubt the love of God. But faith is not meant to be easy in this world. If faith were easy everyone would do it. If it were free, we would all have buckets of it.
We brought her to church most Sundays. She would sit in her wheelchair listening to the music and singing all around her. Various people would often sit with her and rub her hand or her leg; they would sing to her and pray for her. Often, during the quietist part of the service, when we were all taking the bread and the cup remembering the death of Jesus and solemnly staring at our shoes, she would erupt into laughter that echoed in the quiet chapel. Her mother and I would cringe, but no one seemed to mind. It was as if, in that holy moment, with her unseeing eyes, Megan perceived some boundless joy just beyond our vision.
We are all blind here. We are as helpless as Megan. We are feeling our way in the dark. It is faith that enables us to begin to see the true outlines of reality. At the end of this age the light will come on, and only then will we see clearly; only then will we realize that the room we have been standing in all along is far bigger than we ever imagined. Until then? We grieve.
It is ok to grieve your loss. Do not let anyone tell you otherwise. Ignore them when they want you to be “over it,” to be “healed,” what does that even mean? I will grieve Megan for the rest of my life. When I think about her my heart fills with pity, with love, with regret. It spills out of my eyes. I am crying even now as I write. This is proper. This is right. This is the price of love. Some pain is meant to be carried all the way to the end of the road, do not be ashamed of it. Life is magical here, but it is also tragic. This world is like some beautiful shipwreck. That is why we often feel like lost sailors clinging to driftwood, hoping for the storm to pass and the sun to come up.
On warm sunny days we would put Megan outside in her wheelchair. She would feel the sun on her face and the wind in her lovely hair. She would hear the birds singing and the gleeful shouts of children on the nearby playground. We called those days “Megan days.” Now, on days when the weather is perfect, my wife and I will text each other “it’s a Megan day!” Megan would smile and laugh at the wind and the sounds that drifted through her like that unseen joy from another realm. Megan suffered a lot, but she also laughed a lot. Just like the rest of us, only more so.
Grief is real, and it is fierce. But it does not threaten my faith. It tempers faith and strengthens it. it is like an engineering load test for what you genuinely believe about existence. I do not know why God had us carry her for 24 years only to watch her die in our living room as we lay next to her. But I trust him. When God seems distant or cold, when he feels like a stranger to me in this place and my faith grows weak. I remember the friendship and the majesty that I find in his son; the Godman who boldly calls me his brother and is not ashamed of me and my weakness. How can I betray such a king as this? How can I not trust him? He is the one who gave us Megan. He is the one who took her. He is the only one who can give her back. And I know that he will. And I know that he loves her. He went to Hell and back to prove it.
Faith is not easy, but it is worth it.
Happy birthday Megan Leigh, I love you. I miss you so much it hurts.
I will see you when the sun comes up.
“For I am convinced that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” – Romans 8