It rained. Oh, how it rained!
A rather unfestive three days before Christmas, the storms were so bad we couldn’t get out of the van to watch the men lower our son’s body into its resting-place. The very best we could do was pull up beside the gravesite and witness the hurried ceremony, if you could even call it that. I could see my wife’s breath on the window from her passenger seat, forming little clouds of moisture as she looked on, reverently. We held hands.
It seemed oddly profane to see our son lowered as the running rain sluiced into the earthen hole. It was made doubly so by not having the familiar words spoken over the descending casket but rather the hasty work of workmen finishing before the hole flooded.
It was December 22 and Christmas felt so far away.
Four years have passed since that driving rainstorm served as the backdrop of one of our little family’s toughest days. It did not, however, drown our hope. Our only child – in spite of trauma, tragedy, and devilish snare – made it home for Christmas by the grace of God.
Funny what you think about in moments of deep sorrow.
The last time I was in Graham’s company on a good day (re: clean and living with purpose) I watched him lead worship at a place called The Garden. Fittingly, it was Father’s Day, and, quite incidentally, a bright, sunny morning.
He was clad in jeans and a white fedora, with an electric guitar cradled around his broad shoulders. There was an array of snaking wires and guitar pedals at his feet. Me, I sat on the opposite side of the platform and just beamed at my boy. With axe in hand, Graham was pretty incredible if I do say so.
I believe my son chose the first song of the worship set as a means of introducing us to himself in terms he could easily have written. I’m going to add the lyrics because it’s important to know what his heart was conveying in that unworldly moment; chiefly, that he was averse to being fake, a kid who wanted nothing more than to “make it home” by God’s grace…in spite of himself.
Here’s how Graham wanted to be remembered. This is what he wanted his mom and I to think about in that driving rain on that cold, December Sunday afternoon:
(Momma & Dad,)
I’m not trying to hide anything
I wear it on my sleeve
I wear it on my sleeve
I’m not trying to be something I’m not
This is all I’ve got
This is all I’ve gotI’m not trying to re-invent the wheel
Just trying to be real
Trying to be real
I’m not trying to say follow me
I’m not the one who leads
I’m not the one who leadsLet me introduce myself to you
This is who I am
No more, no less
I am just a man who understands
Because of You I’m blessed
No more, no lessI’m not trying to prove anything
It’s all about the change
It’s all about the changeI hope you stare just long enough to see
The heart that’s beating here inside of me
Beyond all the things you may think you know
I’m just a kid trying to make it home, that’s it
No more, no lessLord, I want to go home
Nothing more, nothing less
Advent in our household means there’s no higher joy than our kid being home, safe and sound.
Would we love to have our own ‘Maxwell House long lost son home for the holidays waking the parents up with the aroma of coffee’ version of Christmas? A small part of us would, but then it occurs to us: Graham already beat us home.
Selah, beloved.
From us to you, the happiest of Christmases and the joy of the Spirit of Christ – who is our eternal Home – be yours.