There are some moments in life that will either break us or set us free. I experienced such a moment at my father’s memorial service.
My father was 90 when he was diagnosed with AML, a form of leukemia. He needed weekly transfusions for platelets and blood. Without it, he would bleed and had no resistance to infections. He continued this weekly transfusion for a few months, but as the disease grew stronger the days between transfusions grew shorter and shorter, until finally, his oncologist recommended stopping all transfusions and moving him to hospice care. No matter how the doctor tried to use positive words the message was clear: Daddy would be gone in two days.
My father lasted seven days and then the moment came at 2:35 p.m. on Wednesday, August 17, 2016. The nurse came as soon as she could but, due to traffic, she arrived an hour later. So the official record noted a different time of death, but I knew what the clock read the moment God decided to take Daddy home.
As hard as it was in the following days to parse my emotions and accept what had happened, I worked up the courage to write a message about Daddy’s life. I knew this would please him because he liked it when people knew him personally. I practiced my message so I would not break down while delivering it, and hoped that it would somehow and in some way help his loved ones to experience closure. In truth, deep down, I hoped the same thing for me. It was like tying a bow to a last gift to my father.
As the service progressed, I started to feel uneasy. It wasn’t clear what the order of the service was and things were happening out of order to what was printed in the program. I was told I would be invited to the podium at the proper time and waited for my cue. But no cue came. Then what I feared happened. I heard the words that the program was over. The pallbearers came forward to roll out the coffin and those attending were invited to leave. At that point, I knew I would not be giving the message after all.
What do you do when the vision of what you thought would happen crashes in front of you? How can you move forward when you miss a chance where there is no do over? At first, I sat in my seat feeling like a dagger had been thrust through my heart. And then the most amazing thing happened. My eyes shifted up to the sanctuary in front of me and I saw at the focal point of my vision the cross of Jesus. Then I heard the Lord say to me, “The only message worth fighting to proclaim is the message of the Gospel. Jesus came to die for the sins of the world. That is the message above all messages.” Immediately, the ache in my heart disappeared. I believed the words God spoke to me and knew that no matter what happens in life, we must never lose sight of divine perspective. Life is filled with complexity and drama that can consume us and cripple us with regret, but God desires to set us free to soar in what is fruitful and has eternal significance.
But even still, I couldn’t help but wonder out loud to the Lord, “What about closure?” And immediately, His words from the cross filled my heart: “It is finished.” In the moment that Jesus died, He paid for all the sins of the world. Those sins included sins of omission as well as sins of commission. He paid for all the flaws and all the imperfections and all the dysfunction and all the confusion caused by human imperfection. The only question I needed to answer was whether I believe in Jesus’ declaration. Will I agree with Him that it is finished indeed?
As I embraced those words from my Savior, I was set free. I had written the message as my final gift to my father. God is perfectly able to share my gift with my father in heaven. “It is finished” are the words from my Savior in which I find my closure and healing for my heart. When the vision crashes and I find myself unsure over where to turn, I look at the cross. At the cross, I find my focus and peace.
