So, here I am focused a good bit on planning a rather significant party — a gathering of staff and friends to celebrate the work God is doing through Wycliffe and partners around the world to see that all peoples have access to Scripture in the language and form that will serve them best.
All the while we are appropriately caught up in the grief that comes when a friend and colleague dies — amplified, I think, by the sudden, shocking, senselessness of the “how” in this case.
This celebration and this grief are both expressions of the HOPE we have because the Word became flesh, moved into the neighborhood, took on our sins and bore them to the cross, died and was buried and then resurrected and lives forever. The meaningfulness comes from Christ alone. We do not grieve as those who do not have hope.
Last night I got news that another friend and colleague’s first baby was born just hours before my hearing of it and that baby and mum are well and resting. My heart rejoices in this little life.
The juxtaposition of life and death, of mourning and dancing, of sunshine and shadow can feel wonky awkward. I’m learning, slowly, that in Christ we are not limited to some sort of yin yang balance of opposites, but rather we find a reality that transcends the limitations of time and space. And, embracing that hope, we are better able to navigate well laughter and the tears of our lives this side of heaven.