i wish this story were fictional

At the bottom of this post are the tags "being the church" and "brighten the corner where you are."

This post is about what being the church and brightening your corner isn't.

After the funeral, he spots someone he hasn't seen in years. He greets her, she greets him. He asks several interested questions about her life. So far so good. As she launches into her exposition, two children approach.

They are two children of the deceased. Rightfully so, he interrupts the woman in order to address them. The woman turns with him, and together they express their condolences.

But he doesn't leave it at that. Can't leave it at that. Stepping close to one of the children--a youth in black with pierced ears and a girl on one arm--he puts his hand on the boy's shoulder and tells the grieving one, "Just remember that if you do what the Bible says, this isn't the end. And you'll see him again, if you do what's right."

(The youth nods, and politeness tugs at the corners of his mouth. But in his eyes is the confused rage of a heart that is wholly misunderstood, grieving, yearning for intimacy...but learning once again that to be vulnerable is to find not healing, but rejection. Judgment based on appearances. And so he turns away from the well-wisher's concept of soul-care, thinking that among these self-proclaimed followers of God, there is no safe haven for the likes of him.)

Having executed his Christian duty, the well-wisher then makes for the parking lot and drives away. After embracing the children a final time, the woman turns to look for him. But he is gone. She guesses that the conversation must be over.

moving is bad for your fingernails...

...I know this, because all my fingernails have broken off over the last few days.

Moving is also bad for sinus health, because one stirs up a lot of dust that one's sinuses are not reacting to in a particularly pleasant way.

It's not just the dust, though. I've cried a lot.

I'm not as scared as I was, though. I think I'm trusting God more, which is a very hopeful, encouraging thing. I'm just sad. I feel like I'm already starting to say goodbye, and I walk around on the edge of weeping a lot of the time now.

On a good note, though, the moving company said they can't come till the 22nd. This means that Ed and I get to go to Jim's funeral on Friday. Personally, I don't have the need of going to funerals in order to experience closure; I prefer to remember people as I last saw them, instead of as a grave site or, worse, a shell in a coffin. But I go to funerals in order to be there for the people who are left. It's something I can do to show respect for the deceased and to share the grief of others. And since shared pain is lessened...

Elsa was really happy to hear that we could come to the funeral. She has asked us to sing, along with Larry and the Springers' daughter Karin. We feel very honored that she asked us. I don't know if we'll physically be able to sing (through tears), but we agreed to do it, and we will at least try.

After talking to Elsa yesterday, I am even more in awe of her faith and of Jim's. And I am thinking more and more about how the death of a Christian is a thing to be celebrated more than mourned. As Elsa put it, Jim is now exactly where he is supposed to be, and he is now doing exactly what he is supposed to be doing. I'm sad that we no longer have his physical presence to brighten up our lives and encourage us in faith...but at the same time, I know that the special essence that makes him Jim is not snuffed out or even diminished. That which makes him Jim is still intact.

As someone else said to Elsa: We have not lost Jim. We know exactly where he is.