Tag: Grief

easter means it won’t always be this way

[4 minutes, 685 words, 2 minute video]

He will wipe away every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; grief, crying, and pain will be no more, because the previous things have passed away.

Revelation 21:4

My wife shared something beautiful with me some time ago that made me think of this passage. She said, “As time goes on, I’m able to feel less and less grief about Graham‘s passing. Don’t get me wrong, it’s still there, but less so as the years go by.”

I thought deeply about what she said and told her she helped me see something I’d given so little thought to. At the end of time, when Christ comes and makes all things new, the pain and heartache of our earthly years will be erased. While we will surely remember each other, we won’t remember our sorrows and sadnesses.

“Pain will be no more.” Every grief, all our tears, and the hard sting of pain will be wiped clean in that New Day.

The grace of Sandy’s lessened grief is a foretaste of the new heavens and new earth. Whatever you’re going through, Easter reminds us it’s not always going to be this way.

The resurrection means we can look forward with hope to the day our suffering will be gone. But it even means that we can look forward with hope to the day our suffering will be glorious.

On the Day of the Lord – the day that God makes everything right, the day that everything sad comes untrue – on that day the same thing will happen to your own hurts and sadness. You will find that the worst things that have ever happened to you will in the end only enhance your eternal delight. On that day, all of it will be turned inside out and you will know joy beyond the walls of the world. The joy of your glory will be that much greater for every scar you bear.

– Timothy Keller, Jesus The King

Joni Eareckson Tada attended a convention during which a speaker invited the people to kneel and pray. Everyone did except, of course, Joni.

“With everyone kneeling, I certainly stood out. And I couldn’t stop the tears.” Her emotional moment wasn’t out of self-pity; she was crying at the sight of hundreds of people on their knees before God. For Joni, it was a preview of heaven!

Sitting there, I was reminded that in heaven I will be free to jump up, dance, kick, and do aerobics. And…. sometime before the guests are called to the banquet table at the Wedding Feast of the Lamb, the first thing I plan to do on resurrected legs is to drop on grateful, glorified knees. I will quietly kneel at the feet of Jesus.

I was blessed to be interviewed for the video at the top of this post that was shown in this morning’s Easter services. Full disclosure: I felt a bit awkward sitting there watching it with everybody else! Plus, it’s not easy to see yourself up there on the big screen. Why didn’t I sit up straighter? Gracious me, I thought I was losing more weight than that! Wow, I’ve really gotten old. Aside from all my wood-hay-and-stubble vanity, I’m very pleased with how it came out.

Those opening words were so important for me to share, and I’m delighted they made the cut. Every morning I wake up, I tell Jesus two things: it’s my honor to do this for You, and please allow me to suffer well — in a way that brings You all the glory.

I don’t love paralysis, but I love Jesus. One day my eyes “will see the King in His beauty, and I will see a vast land…I will no longer see the barbarians…but I will see Jerusalem, a peaceful pasture, a tent that does not wander…for the Majestic One, our Lord will be there…and none there will say I am sick.” (Isaiah 33:17-24, CSB)

I’ll be easy to spot; you’ll find me at the feet of Jesus.

Selah, beloved. A blessed Easter to you.

go home

[5 minutes, 852 words]

A friend passed away unexpectedly this week. I say unexpectedly, but, in reality, Frank had been in a long battle with cancer. Cancer may think it won, but, in the end, Frank did. Frank is free from pain, from endless treatments, from uncertainty, from death.

I only heard about his passing last night as I sat with the men of my Thursday night Bible group. The announcement from our leader caught me like a sucker punch to the gut. Try as I might through worship, I couldn’t focus. Frank had often led our worship before he got sick, and kept with it through much of his sickness. Frank was eighty-two, hard of hearing, and often lost his place in the songs, but we could easily give him grace; Frank loved Jesus more than anything. He also loved the old hymns and many of us old Baptists appreciated his playlist.

Earlier yesterday, before I knew of Frank’s promotion, I was reading from the Gospel of Matthew, chapter nine.

“But so that you may know that the Son of Man has authority on earth to forgive sins” — then he told the paralytic, “Get up, take your stretcher, and go home.”

So he got up and went home.

Matthew 9:6-7

“Get up, Frank. Go home.”

So he did.

My friend had been looking grayer and he’d been losing a lot of weight lately, but none of us thought it was time. My last conversation with Frank was to ask him to pray for me to be able to drink my coffee straight. He said he would. He asked me to pray for him to find some kind of special heat-resistant tape for a computer machine he was building. Mundane stuff. Coffee creamer and computers.

Then he was gone.

His last text to me was two weeks ago:

My dear Bro. Scott, trusting you are feeling better with a successful outcome. Will continue in prayer for complete healing. Your Bro. Frank

I’ve been sick myself lately, but nothing like Frank. I have a gall bladder that has to come out, kidney stones that need blasting, a fluid collection near my spine that needs draining and assessing, and osteomyelitis that needs treating. I only mention these things because Frank was really burdened for me.

I know. I’m thinking it too. A dying man, sad for his sick friend.

I confess that the original idea behind this post wasn’t about Frank; it was about me. More pointedly, how I heard that scripture yesterday morning. It actually happened to Frank, though.

“Get up, Frank. Time to go home.”

I still don’t know what time he departed this mortal coil, but I think it’s pretty cool to imagine it may have been around the time I was writing these words in my Bible notes:

1/28/26

This familiar scripture hits a new way this morning: it is my “Rise in the New Day, Scott, and go Home…because it’s time.”

Lord, I reach out my hands in faith to you.

Command it, dear Jesus. Just as you commanded the sickness to leave the centurion’s servant1 and commanded the wind and the waves to stop2. How I long to hear these words. May it be soon. In Jesus name.

Instead, my buddy Frank got the call. That’s okay; my day will come. I’ll just miss turning around and seeing a sweet-natured, smiling Frank in his Sunday spot two rows behind Sandy and me. I’m going to miss how he would light up about what supplements are helping him and all the scientific breakthroughs in cancer research he’d been reading about.

One last thing. Frank and I shared a lively discussion on a recent Sunday about how the joys of heaven will be “compounded” throughout eternity. Frank was intrigued. Any conversation about heaven interested him to no end.

“I’d like to know more about that idea, Scott,” he said. “This discussion fascinates me.”

He asked especially for scripture to help him understand it even more. I shared a few with him on the spot3 with the promise to add more that week.

I texted Frank back on the following Tuesday with a longer exposition, and included a quote I had read that put the entire idea of the exponential increase of heaven’s joys into a beautifully poetic image that Frank and I could see.

“Like waves incessantly crashing on the shore, one upon another, so the ages of eternity future will, in endless succession, echo the celebration of sinners saved by grace, all to the glory of God. There will not be in heaven a one-time momentary display of God’s goodness, but an everlasting, ever-increasing infusion and impartation of divine kindness that intensifies with every passing moment.” (Sam Storms)4

Well, Frank, is it so? Is it like that so far? I think Frank might say something like, “Oh, Scott, you have no idea.” One of these days I will get to, but for now I wait in hope for my time when the Master will say,

“Get up, Scott. Go home.”

And I will.

Selah, beloved.

  1. Matthew 8:13 ↩︎
  2. Matthew 8:26 ↩︎
  3. Eph. 2:7; 3:16-20; Rom. 11:33; 1 Peter 1:4 ↩︎
  4. www.desiringgod.org/messages/joys-eternal-increase-edwards-on-the-beauty-of-heaven ↩︎

making room for the supernatural this christmas

[652 words, 3 minutes]

Luke’s account of the nativity includes the famous “no room” clause that deftly adds to the drama of the story1. When Joseph knocked on the door of Bethlehem Inn, he and his virgin bride, great with child, were turned away and forced to find lodging elsewhere. No room. Adding to their hardship, the Firstborn2 Son of God was more than eager to become the firstborn son of Mary and Joseph, while every jostle and bump on the back of the donkey was no joyride for the young mother-to-be!

Dr. Luke, being an ever so meticulous researcher and orderly chronicler of history, thoroughly interviewed eyewitnesses, organized his sources, dated events by Roman rulers, and employed precise geographical and medical terminology in his writing. Yet this careful historian, so committed to recording every detail, had no problem addressing the supernatural and fitting it seamlessly into his archival record.

In the same region, shepherds were staying out in the fields and keeping watch at night over their flock. Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them…(Luke 2:8-9)

Imagine a respectable journalist reporting on an event of such nature today, and matter-of-factly including signs and wonders in their report as if it was the most normal thing. That’s essentially what Luke did. Visiting angels, angelic choirs, virgin birth, prophecies and fulfillments—all are arranged equally alongside his historical accounting. These supernatural elements are nothing unusual to Luke, and yet they mean everything! Mixed seamlessly with political, socioeconomic, geographic, and historical details are heavenly interventions relayed to us as factual, without disclaimer or apology.

“Without the supernatural, there is no Christmas, and there is no gospel.”

Alastair Begg, Let Earth Receive Her King

The main characters in the First Advent had one thing in common: they welcomed the supernatural to interrupt their ordinary lives. Simeon. Anna. The Magi. And, of course, Mary and Joseph, once the plan was disclosed3. But those who weren’t as welcoming—Herod, the priests, the innkeeper, most of Jerusalem4—had no clue what was happening around them. They missed everything: the visiting angels, the heavenly choirs, the guiding star.

One of the most supernatural Christmases I remember was sitting in our family’s den, listening to Joni Eareckson Tada’s Christmas album as lights from the Christmas tree cast an ethereal glow and the scents of cinnamon and clove filled the house. I silently wept because I had survived a back-breaking fall weeks earlier, and, though permanently paralyzed, was gifted with a multitude of reasons to rejoice. I was home. I was alive. And heavenly peace filled my heart.

You might not have read words like signs and wonders in that paragraph, but I assure you, the palpable presence of the Savior from heaven was as close to me as the reality of that silent night, holy night in Bethlehem all those years ago.

It could have been different; I could have been an embittered, angry young man, crippled with sadness and bemoaning my plight. I could have hurled curses from a hardened heart, demanding to be left alone. Or worse, plotting to take my life. It happens.

Instead, I humbly made room for Jesus. And He supernaturally sang to me through a quadriplegic, and I was healed. Heaven came down, and glory filled my soul. I might as well have heard the Lord Jesus say, “Rise, take up your mat and walk”5 in that moment. Perhaps, in some small way, I did.

Advent begins in darkness, but ends in light. So let it. Anxiety, sadness, loneliness, grief, and despair are all part of the season for many, perhaps yourself. But if you’re open — if you have a room to spare — the heavens will open up and you might just hear the worshiping choir and witness the glory of God6.

Selah, beloved. Merry Christmas!

  1. Luke 2:7 ↩︎
  2. Colossians 1:15 ↩︎
  3. Luke 2:25-32; Luke 2:36-38; Matthew 2:1; Luke 1:26-38; Matthew 1:19-25 ↩︎
  4. Matthew 2:3-8; Luke 2:7 ↩︎
  5. Mark 2:11 ↩︎
  6. Luke 2:9 ↩︎