On the other hand, though, I'm plagued by grief and unanswerable questions. A very beautiful, courageous, and outstanding woman, mother, friend, and wife passed away last Friday. She was intricately connected to my family in multiple ways, even to the place where I currently work. What I'm saying is her influence is far-reaching, as is the weight of her death.
Her journey was wrought with pain and suffering these last four years, and so it is merciful that her body is now fully restored; she is whole and free in heaven with Jesus. No one will deny the graciousness of that. She was courageous in the face of debilitating illness, and her gorgeous smile and sparkling eyes lasted when other body functions were lost. But this loss is so great for this community, for any and all who knew her. She was what I would call, somewhat cornily but nonetheless wholeheartedly, a faith warrior, a total servant.
Attending the Celebration of Life services for her today, I walked away with a very hard question, one that I don't know can be answered by a person. It's not as simple as Why? because I know that question is never the right one to ask. The answer there will always be because we live in a fallen and imperfect world.
As Christians, we often hear people say when a beloved Christian passes away that God will use the witness of their life and death, perhaps, to His glory. As I listened to the wonderful memories of this fun-loving lady, I kept coming back to this thought and subsequent question:
Her life was such a living ministry to those around her. As one of her friends said, "To know her, was to love her;" it was impossible for it to be otherwise. How, then, can God be glorified more in her death than He was in her life?
I find that so hard to imagine, as her life was filled to brimming over with her love and devotion to Jesus, and thus to others. I know it is so hard to see outside of this pain, but how could more good come from this?
I long, as many do, to see what God will make from this tragedy. I truly long for His glory to be shown, for people to be drawn to them because of Jan's life. I want to see that, perhaps to saysee, good has come. That seems pretty selfish. But then, most of our feelings and emotions are selfish right now. We don't wish her back in the state that she left. That would be cruel and unjust. But we miss her. We loved her company, her sense of humor; we were loved by her through her love of Christ. And that, my friend, is no small love.
The words shared at the services today were beautiful, recalling her tremendous character in every facet. I found myself drawn to an illustration her husband shared...an image he's been considering amidst his pain, one he longs to understand fully, though as yet, he does not. If life, more specifically suffering, is a tapestry, a work of art, quite often the parts we see of it in daily life are the reverse side. The part that looks like tangled threads, knots, and chaos. It's not pleasing to the eye; it's almost unpleasant. But what if we could see the other side, the true picture, the beautiful work of art that has been made. Would we approach these trials, this suffering, this confusing life of pain, differently? What would that image tell us about God, about ourselves and who we are in His plan?
This may all be quite incomprehensible. I'm still processing. Watching friends and family grieve for someone is hard, and because I live far away, today was my first time being able to process it all with others. Knowing that children, in the twenties, have lost a mother is heart-wrenching. When they are friends, it's devastating. But we do have hope, and Jan's wish would be, as her husband said, that people come to know Jesus through this, that people seek after Him and devote their lives to Him because of all of her incredible testimony and courage in hardship.
That is our hope.
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