On Eagle's Wings

Summer 2008

It has been a long while since I blogged.  But today is an important day, more important than the other trivial things in my life that "require" blogging.  It's important to remember.

I was reading my daily devotional this morning.  Of course, my life, my thoughts, my worries, and all those things I hold closest to my heart , they are somehow related to the message du jour.  Every time.  Each entry seems to lay the details of my life out for me to examine.  His Word weaves its way into my seemingly "complicated" life and reminds me gently that those complications are meaningless, not worth the worry.  His ages-old Word brings meaning and strength to a plain Sarah Jane's life.
 Every.  Single.  Day.
And today was no exception.

Two years ago today, a loving wife of 60 years and seven grown children said goodbye to him.  The bitter cold prairie winds blew cold and fierce for those days we spent with him in the hospital, below-zero wind chills and the crystals from an icy blizzard freezing on our eyelashes and in our noses as we came and went.  The night was blacker than black.  I will always remember those frigid Nebraska days -- they were a metaphor for Dad's struggle and the difficult battle he fought those last few days.

 The morning before his death, our town was blanketed in snow and ice.  It was beyond cold, and the road crackled beneath the tires of our car.  But that morning was very still.  And quiet.  And white.  It was pure and peaceful.  Another metaphor?  Maybe.  Yes.  I will always believe that it was.

Waiting was hard, but it was a blessing, too.  Such a precious blessing.  He knew we were there.  He heard all our voices...all of them.  And we were each able to spend time with Dad, sharing the gifts that are unique to each of the eight of us:  profound and complete devotion, bravery and decision, brilliance, tender care, fortitude, tenacity, reverence, and perception.  HE knew we were there, too, waiting on His perfect timing.  Waiting for Him. And He allowed us that time.  To grieve.  To care.  To love.  To feel the certainty of His presence.  To pray.  To say goodbye.  Again, such a rich and meaningful blessing, one I will always be thankful for.

Although I wasn't always aware of it while growing up, Dad always tried to find the gift amidst the struggle.      He always had something he was saying he was thankful for.  While he wasn't always positive about life, Dad managed to find the gifts of joy in the little things.  He was faithful and patient.  More patient than I could ever be, I think.  For him, too, waiting was hard.  Painfully hard.  God allowed him to experience the harshness of the trials that were his life.  He endured.  But I think it changed his way and gave birth to his faith, teaching him profound reliance upon God.  And in that he found many blessings. 


Today the words of my devotional spoke to me in a way they never have before.  And leave it to today's Words, on January 6, to be full of such meaning and intensity for what was in my heart as I woke this morning.  I am thankful for the gift, for the promise, that these Words offer.  They brought eternal life to a man who was ready to live again.

"Even the youths shall faint and be weary,
And the young men shall utterly fall,
But those who wait on the LORD
Shall renew their strength;
They shall mount up with wings like eagles,
They shall run and not be weary,
They shall walk and not faint."
Isaiah 40: 30-31

Shortly after my dad died, I read something in a book about the souls of the dead taking flight in birds. Whether this is true or not, I don't really know, but I liked the idea.  It was comforting to think of my dad, who hadn't walked alone in more than five years before his death, who hadn't run in more than 30, soaring freely through the air.  A few days later, I was doing dishes at my kitchen sink when, out of nowhere, a bright, red cardinal flew in and landed right on the windowsill.  It looked straight at me, just inches from me, and cocked it's head.  I was absolutely awestruck.  I couldn't take my eyes off the intensity of his feathers.  I stood there, having a silent, tearful conversation with that bird, instantly knowing that it was Dad.  He flew off and about the yard, landing on different branches, flitting from tree to tree, pausing briefly at each stop to stare at me.  I think he was trying to tell me, "I still see you and I'm watching."  For whatever reason, chance or coincidence or whatever, I will always believe is was him.  That same bird visited for several weeks, always choosing to land on one particular post on my deck railing.  He always stared at me before flying off.   After several weeks, I didn't see him anymore, but there was a whole slew of birds -- chickadees, bluebirds, tiny sparrows, and others I can't identify -- that would land on that same deck post, day after day, and stare at me.  Now, when they stop and perch on the post, or sometimes the chairs of our deck table, or on the windowsill, I am reassured that his long wait and his many trials, his struggle to walk, his patient faith, earned Dad two beautiful, graceful wings on which to soar for all of eternity, without struggle and with His promise.

Loving you and remembering you and thinking of you today and always, Dad.
I know you're watching.
XOXO
Rabbit