Tonight, we’ll gather to celebrate my earthly daddy.
We’ll sing songs about You that Daddy loved to lead back in his day. We’ll listen to stories about how he cared for those who didn’t feel cared for. We’ll bow our heads collectively, thanking You for the love You inspired in him.
And I’ll miss him. And I’ll cry. And I’ll squeeze the hands of family and friends beside me who will miss him, too.
He was her soul mate from the time she was 15 years old, a mere baby. He’s all she’s known for 55 married years.
Even last week, when he was gasping for breath, and in and out of coherence, she would lay down beside him for hours in his bed.
And reach out her hand for his. And he would squeeze it.
She would give him a kiss, and in one of life’s more ironic moments, she would say, “Do you still remember me? I’m Jamie, your wife. I’m the one that’s given you lots of kisses.” And he would try to kiss her back.
He always remembered.
And we would all cry at this love that runs deeper than cancer. Deeper than Alzheimer’s.
So, please, Abba, give her Your special grace in a measure she can understand. Wrap Your arms around her through us, through others, to help her live with this hurt in her heart that she thinks will never heal.
And tonight when we sing “When We All Get to Heaven,” remember that Mama especially wants to get there so she can be with her sweetie again.
There is a love that knows no bounds between life and death, heaven and earth. Thank You for placing that love between my daddy and my mama. It’s an obvious love.
And we give the glory to You for it.
I love You,