I am
a crier. This I can not deny. Dating back to my younger days watching
Little House on the Prairie, I was a sucker for every tear-jerking moment they
put on the screen. And, in general, I
believe a good cry is therapeutic – despite the puffy eyes and raging headache
that usually follow.
There
has been an above average amount of tears shed the past few days. Not on my own behalf, but on the behalf of
others who are experiencing some of the deepest pain life on this earth can
bring. As a family bears the weight of
watching a child live out his last days, I have found very few words that seem
adequate to address their needs. It has
truly been a privilege to cover this family in prayer, and to see the response of
a community to their physical and spiritual needs.
My
head is still pounding from what one friend described as “an emotionally
intense morning”. Despite forethought
on my part, I still ran out of Kleenex. And then I found myself wistfully thinking
about my dad. My dad is one of the few
men who still carry a handkerchief (“hanky”) in his pocket. As a kid, I always thought it was weird. No one else that I knew did this. But, truth be told, there is nothing more
comforting than my dad’s hanky after a good cry. It might not have happened very often – but I
remember very vividly a few times when I was with my dad and the dam just burst
open. And there he was with his hanky
and open arms. No words necessary.
A
hanky doesn’t become useless once its wet – it dries pretty quick and you can
keep using it. No fear of running
out. Once a new one gets broken in and
washed a few times, it becomes nice and soft like an old worn pair of jeans. It doesn’t leave your eyes and nose feeling
like they’ve just been scratched like paper tissues do.
In
an unrelated event – today I have also been dwelling on the word Abba and the
various meanings of that word. Jesus
spoke this word in one of his moments of deepest anguish before being arrested
in the Garden of Gesthemane. People a
lot more knowledgeable than me have likened this term to mean “Father” – but
they acknowledge that there is no good English equivalent to express the true
meaning behind this word. Some have said
it is like the term “Daddy”, while others say that terminology is a sign of disrespect.
As I
think about the anguish Jesus was feeling, and I think about the anguish this
family is feeling - I remember the comfort of the hanky which was often
accompanied by a whimper of “Oh Daddy” .
No other words necessary.
