They (whoever that is) say that “time heals all wounds”. I’m not so sure about that. Ten years ago today Matt made his final journey. I’m still waiting for that pain to fully heal.
This morning dawned bright and clear.…and quite cold by Texas standards. We are enjoying a few days at a nice, but small RV park south of Tyler Texas. This is not our first time here. This was our very first stop when we left on our JOURNEY OF A LIFETIME just over three years ago. It was here that “Cowboy Bob” and “Cowgirl Sparkle” made their first appearance as Granddaughter and Poppi danced around the heated indoor pool. It was while we were here that our FIRST RATTLE OUT OF THE BOX showed up a bit early, bringing grandchild #2 into our world… and into the NICU.
All semblances of that struggle are now gone. Today held an early morning walk in the cold sunshine for Keegan and Poppi. Soon a small twig in the hands of both became convenient substitutes for swords, and a friendly fencing match ensued. A couple of more corners and the Miracle of the Morning showed itself as clear as the brisk air beneath the cloud free sky. Instantly, and without warning, the twig that had just stood in for a sword was magically transformed into a baseball bat. It was a miracle for anyone who would see. The “almost three year old” squad himself at an invisible home plate and announced: “Ball, Poppi, ball!”.
I immediately knew what was expected of me. A split second later the unmistakable crack of a “bat” broke the early morning silence and found both Keegan and Poppi staring towards left field. The imaginary ball I had just pitched cleared the unseen fence and sailed effortlessly into imaginary bleachers and into the hands of a cheering fan. If you have read TEARS IN BOTTLE or experienced THE GREATER JOURNEY, you know exactly where my mind was transported to at that very moment. And then the real magic happened. It was a true “miracle of the morning”.
Truth told, there had been no baseball. There was no actual crack of a bat. After all, the bat was nothing but a small twig. This early morning in the RV park was totally silent except for the enchanting song of the morning birds. There was no crowd to roar. It was merely that tiny twig in the hands of a small boy with a giant imagination. Yet my Grandson had experienced all of it… and so did I. Faith, you see, is the “substance of things hoped for, and the evidence of things not seen”; or in this case “things not heard” either. I simply had to be willing to “see the unseen”.
Reality is that I will never again sit in the stands and actually hear the crack of a baseball bat as that stout little catcher sends yet another one soaring over the friendly left field fence. I will never watch him block the plate awaiting the inevitable collision…all while smiling. Likewise, I will never again stand beside that same young man on a church platform watching and listening as his voice and guitar licks soar over a different horizon. If I choose to exercise faith however, I can hear both just as assuredly as my Grandson Keegan heard the cheering fans on this cold morning. After all, the key to genuinely grasping the Kingdom of God in this world is discovered by becoming like a small child.
Twig still in Keegan’s tiny hand, we rounded the last curve in the concrete roadway and ”The VIrge” came into view. As I looked, I saw that old RV parked on a seashore, in an open field in Indiana, in a moss covered state park in South Georgia, in the mountains of Southern California and dozens of other places where this Journey has led us over the first three years. True, they weren’t really there either, but I could see them just as surely as I had just seen the imaginary ball fly into pretend bleachers.
It is no doubt an unfortunate reality that time does not heal all wounds, but to all of our friends who are walking our road, let me assure you of this. It does make the pathway easier. Easier, that is, if you choose to look through eyes of faith. There is hope out there for you, but you must choose to accept it. You must welcome its warm embrace. If you choose instead to wander in the wilderness of anger, bitterness or blame, hope will leave you stranded there all alone. The choice is up to you.
Its a shame that many of the older hymns are no longer heard in our churches. Outdated lyrics? sometimes. The sentiments however, are rarely so. Those tunes are tangible evidence that others have walked our same path as well, often hundreds of years earlier. In the words of one of those hymns you may not have heard in a while, we find the reality of when all those wounds will be healed.
When the trumpet of the Lord shall sound
and time shall be no more.
Do you see it? The wounds that time cannot heal will all be healed on that day when time itself shall cease to exist. On that day loneliness will be obliviated, every broken heart will be mended, every inequity made right, and every tear wiped from our eyes. To you all over this country who share our’s, or a similar Journey of grief, I offer you this. The biggest miracle of the morning for me was when I rounded the last bend and discovered hope. This same miracle is available to you as well. It has always been there. We simply have to be willing to look past our pain, beyond our bitterness and through eyes of faith.
For me, it was essential that I experienced this morning’s “home run” with the faith that reminded me of the next line of that same old song:
And the morning breaks eternal
Bright and fair…
And therein lies the real “Miracle of the Morning”… the reality of a promised, soon to come “eternal morning”.