While the Blood is Still Warm in Your Veins

Today I attended the funeral of my friend Patrick's parents. Or, should I say homecoming celebration. This was the happiest funeral we've ever been to. These people were truly rejoicing over the lives led and the fact that they departed on to heaven. We went there solely to support Patrick. When we saw him, he was smiling, laughing and carrying on like the Patrick we all know. He wasn't inappropriate or overly joyful, he just wasn't sad. Not at all how you would expect someone to act who has just lost both of their parents. We chalked it up to the reality not sinking in or him trying to put up a strong front for us.

So we walked into the church, or rather we stood at the door. It was so packed. It was a line like a brand new club was opening. I mean, people were spilling out of the doors left and right. I'm guessing there were 2000 people there. The church seated 1196, and there were no seats left, an entire choir, people standing in the back and mad folks in the hallways. Finally, we get close enough to see the sanctuary and we hear the choir singing. We look and see who's leading the choir in song and it turns out to be Patrick's brother. This boy (and I say that, because he is a mere 20) was up there praising the Lord and singing like it was an average Sunday service and not a double funeral for his mother and father. When we finally get seated, he was leading the choir in a song called "Praise is What I Do." This was the only time in the entire service when a tear made it's way to my eye. This young man was up there, right behind two giant pictures of his departed parents singing these words:

Praise is who I am
I'll praise Him while I can
Through the good and through the bad
Through the loss of my mother
and my dad

That hit home. That is when I really realized that if I ever lost both of my parents, they would have to lock me away somewhere. Yet, he was up here singing to the Lord and telling everyone that he and the family were alright because they were prepared and know where their parents went. His 15 year old sister was in the choir stand with him. She didn't shed a tear the entire time. She's only 15. I couldn't believe it.The entire ceremony, I kept my eye on Patrick to see how he reacted. He sat there with the most peaceful look on his face through the entire ceremony. He stood when it was proper, smiled at the memories and shouted when people came to Christ. If it was a front, it was a damned good one. If I was him, the moment someone mentioned the plane crash that claimed their lives, I would have fallen to pieces. Yet the entire family, the entire church family (Patrick's parents were co-pastors) and friends were so at peace.

The reason I wrote about this is because like I said, it's truly the first homegoing CELEBRATION that I've attended. There is no way if I lost both of my parents I would be able to speak, much less sing. There would be no consoling me. I say believe in God, but if my faith were truly strong, I would be able to rejoice in my soul when someone departs from this life. I wouldn't feel any sadness. I wouldn't think of it as a "loss" because when you lose something, you don't know where it is, and my faith would tell me EXACTLY where their final resting place was. But the flesh being in me is SO selfish. I would be so hurt thinking of how they were snatched away from me. How I wasn't ready. How I had so much more to tell them, to do with them. How I still need them. But the family realized it's not when they were ready to let go, it's when He was ready to call them home. I admire their strength and their trust in the Lord. I admire them for not questioning when He chose to call their parents back so soon. I admire them for not breaking down when they realized that 3 of them are under the age of 21 and no longer have parents to provide for them. Their faith seems unwavering, and although there will undoubtably be times of sadness when it sinks in that Dad's not there to ask, and Mom's not there to call, I believe that they will lean on each other and on their beliefs to make it through. That's faith and love. That's something I'm working on having more abudantly in my life.

Rest in Peace Pastors Armour and Shirley Stephenson. I didn't know you personally, but I know that through your children and the many people you were spritual parents to, your legacy of Godly love lives on.