Doors are often unnoticed and unremarkable. Within my home, I pass from one room to the next without ever really thinking about it. I enter. I exit. Room after room and door after door, all unconsidered. There have been moments, however, where I realized that walking through a door would change everything. Moments where I knew that crossing that physical threshold would change me, how I live, what I know, who I know, what I think, what I feel… and so I just stood there, caught between what had been and what could be. Sometimes it was mere seconds and other times it was for several minutes. In either case, the thoughts and feelings and weight of reality were greater than the actual time occupied.
The past two weeks have felt a lot like standing in a doorway. It began with receiving notification that my great-grandmother was in the hospital and ended with her funeral. I left home and traveled to Northern Alabama for ten days that were full family, tears, Scripture, rainy weather, biscuits and cornbread. Most of those ten days were spent sitting in the hospital chapel waiting for her to die.
Death is one of those thresholds that brings your scattered thoughts together for a time. For my Granny, death was a release from a tired, ninety year old body and a farewell to this world weighed down by sin and heartache. She longed to be with Jesus, to see His wonderful face. Even in her final days she was talking about His goodness, reminding me of the Psalmist’s words about how He is proclaimed from one generation to the next. Her death ushered her into His very presence and the fullest measures of joy.
An end and yet a glorious beginning…