Above all other tragedy in this world, nothing is more
painful than the loss of a very young child.
It will rip the tears from your eyes.
The thought of losing SO much potential, the sadness of missing so much
undiscovered life, how do we find a way to continue on in the face of so great
a loss? Inevitably comes the question of
God’s character; if He exists, how could He allow this? Garion was a Christian, a believer, his
family devout followers of Christ – how does such a random travesty befall
servants of the Most High? We weep at
our loss, and find it hard to take comfort in knowing we will see Garion again
in a perfect world. We believe in this
hope, but it seems so pale in comparison to the loss which is so ever
present. How are we to hope? How does God?
From the viewpoint of the Father we are ALL very young
children. We have no idea of the
potential we have yet to discover. Our
limited view is so blind we are unable to see what we could become. Does God hope for us to turn to Him while we
find ourselves turning away? When we
pass from this world does our passing bring sorrow in Heaven at the choices we
made to ignore our potential, to deny our eternal destiny, and to choose
consistently our path to eternal non-existence?
How does God go on? His sorrow is
not confined to an immediate memory such as ours. He feels the loss of a life across all of
space and time; the painful lack of an existence that chose to avoid Him. When a person such as this passes from the
earth, they seal a fate which God cannot overturn – the sorrow must be
magnified by an order of magnitude in the heart of our Father.
While we sometimes spend our time questioning God about the
tragedy that impacts our lives, He spends His time worrying about the tragedy
we choose to continue to inflict on ourselves.
Our perspective on the passing of a young child is dwarfed by His view
of the passing of anyone who has chosen to reject Him permanently. Sorrow is not unique to humanity. Nor do we have a patent on deep despair. Heaven rejoices at one soul repenting and
turning to Christ – the converse is also true – Heaven weeps at the loss of a
single soul who rejects all invitations of love.
Our sadness and grief center like most things in our lives,
around ourselves. Even our grief tends
to be based in self. Not so with God, He
weeps for the loss of children who will never get to know the source of all
love. He weeps over souls who make a
consistent, determined set of choices away from Himself. He need not weep for Garion. Garion is destined to sit on His knee. Garion is destined to run up on the pulpits
of Heaven and distract the speakers of the corridors of perfection. Garion had the heart of the Father within
him. The love of God showed through the
heart of Garion, plain to see for anyone who looked. So Garion’s fate is not one to question. God knows our sorrow, but finds it hard to
weep, knowing He will see Garion again so very soon. Weeping is saved for those who have not this
certainty.
I am not well liked by the family of Garion. His parents and grandparents do not view me
with sympathetic eyes. My history with
them is far from what I would prefer, and confounds my understanding. It is like having a brother who simply
chooses not to embrace you no matter what you would do, or say. Were heredity or environment hurtles not to
be overcome I dare say Garion would have avoided me at the least, or hated me
as I would have expected, just because everything around him would have led him
to do so. But he did neither. Garion talked with me, shared with me, and
treated me as any Christian would despite anything around him. That was Garion, blissfully unaware, and
completely Christian.
Maybe that is why his passing cuts me to the core. Maybe that is why I feel as though I lost one
of my own children. I shared very little
of his life, saw him only briefly, spoke to him less times than I could count
on fingers and toes. But my grief is
more than I would have imagined. Perhaps
it is confounded because I am unable to share it with his family. Perhaps the real tragedy is that even in the
death of Garion I must be divided from my brother, his father. It causes me to wonder what is so
inordinately different between his family and myself; what is so important, as
to keep Christian brothers from free association? I find it hard to remember a priority worthy
of continuing our separation.
People often speak of the dead as if they knew what they
would have wanted, or would have said in a given situation. I will not dishonor Garion in this way. No one can know the thoughts of the heart of
another human being. And God alone can
judge. But I do make comment on the life
and the love that I witnessed in Garion.
I am humbled by his openness. I
am debased by my own pride when I view his child-like unconditional
acceptance. I would not dare to say what
Garion would have wanted, but I dare to believe his example of loving is worthy
to hold up. I cannot presume to know
what Garion might have said, but I know his words were never cutting, never
critical, never laced with innuendo or malice.
His words were simple, direct, inquisitive, and appreciative.
I accept my distance from Garion’s family as the last thing
I would ever wish on them would be to add to their grief, especially now. But I long for a day when there is no bitter
past to remember. I long for a time when
the priorities that now separate Christian brothers dissolve in the presence of
love, nevermore to reemerge. I long to
see Garion again on streets with no name, paved with cement made of gold. My grief is consoled by the assurance of this
hope. I wonder who consoles our Father
as He watches and witnesses the pain we continue to choose to inflict on
ourselves. I place my hope in a day when
evil exists no more. I put my faith in
our Lord that He will continue to push evil out of my life and save me to
uttermost. And I will honor Garion’s
hope and extend my acceptance, my apologies, my forgiveness, and my love to his
family – and with the help of the Lord, to everyone I encounter. In this I believe I share Garion’s hope …
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