Reflecting upon the aforementioned church saga, I realized that much of my emotion stemmed from empathy for the brothers and sisters that enveloped me – a greater depth of empathy than existed before Mom's death.
Tears were shed for the pain that each had already endured, in a myriad of forms. One who embraced me had lost a son to cancer, some eight years ago, just a year after he had gotten married. Another lost her mom to cancer two-and-a-half years ago, the memory still raw. Yet another faces the daily challenge of being married to an unbeliever. The list goes on.
Though the experience itself is not one I wish to repeat, there was a certain beauty about it. The Bible says we are to rejoice with those who rejoice, mourn with those who mourn. I am so grateful to be surrounded by such a solid and supportive spiritual family.
A similar story can be told of my visit to the cemetery the day I left Michigan. I walked slowly up and down the rows of headstones, reading what was written about those who have gone before us.
My heart broke.
Among the saddest were the four-year-old girl, the forty-year-old mother who left four children and a husband behind, the two sisters, age twenty and twenty-one who died on the very same day. Can you imagine?
My own self-pity decreased significantly when I realized what could have been. I have much to be thankful for.
Reflecting upon these two separate experiences, the Lord refined my understanding of the verse that speaks about Jesus getting out of the boat, seeing the crowd and having compassion on them. Can you even fathom the burden that Jesus bore while ministering to such crowds? It was a burden bound by love.
Which leads me to part three …
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