Come Before Winter – Chapter 30 – Invitation to Say Goodbye
December 30th, 2021
2 Timothy 4:21, “Do your utmost to come before winter.”
CHAPTER THIRTY – Invitation to say Goodbye
She crunched across the sidewalk almost like boots on gravel. It was so incredibly frozen and cold, the snow crushed like ice. A wreath of exhaust from the hearse hit the bitter morning air and hung like décor on the wall of life. As she settled into the backseat next to her dad, Mercy realized she’d never been to a funeral, had never seen a coffin, had certainly never been transported in a car with a coffin in the back of it. The fact that her grampa was an arm’s length away was overwhelming, dimming her awe.
She was worried about her dad. He had been silent for too long now. Especially since Gwen had stopped in yesterday; the bombshell dropped like, yes, a bomb, dangling a bone of forgiveness and acceptance and even an honorary wing at a great facility. She’d been nursing her own grief and failed to think about his. He sat, stoic, beside her, his face chiseled with resignation and loss, and suddenly, Mercy could imagine the little boy he might have been when he was sad. ‘Dad, I miss him too. Let’s miss him together,’ she said, reaching out to take his hand. It snapped him out of a time lapse he might have been caught in; she was glad to see his flicker of recognition.
The church was magnificent in its Christmas finery. Oversized black bows tucked into every crevice and tied in the center of windowpanes, while red poinsettia flowers and holly tangled alongside simple fairy lights, seemed so classy and welcoming. The marble benches Mercy recalled from her dream and from Christmas Eve appeared like blocks of frozen ice and a thin layer of frost or snow lay like icing on a cake. Mercy was moved again by the simple beauty of this marvelous sanctuary. She could exist here, the comfort of a dream wrapping itself around her like a fluffy blanket.
Her dad was beckoned into the foyer by Pastor Mark, whom Mercy had met briefly on Christmas Eve. She knew they were discussing the Memorial Service for her papaw, and so she slid quietly away, in the hopes to pray, something she was intrigued by but unfamiliar with. She wasn’t even sure how to begin but Mercy wanted to learn, learn how to pray.
She picked her way down a corridor as if she were following something warm and beautiful. She felt she had been here before, and again, closed her eyes to see if she could picture her memory. Just before Mercy, a door stood partially opened, and as she peeked inside, she almost passed out. Her surprise caught in her chest and ballooned, eating her oxygen. She braced herself up by the carved table that stood in front of her as her eyes scanned the magnificence of the Garden of Eden and walls of the Red Sea standing at attention as hundreds of people walked through, as well as great walls laying in rubble while amazing men stood in victory, praising God.
‘Oh!’ she stumbled, so welcomed by what lay before her, feeling comforted by the warmth pouring from the fireplace. Outside, the windows were decorated by Jack Frost’s artwork, his handiwork on the windowpanes like that of God’s across the universe. Mercy wished she could have shown her papaw this table, but was pretty certain suddenly, he had seen it, nevertheless. She grazed her fingers across the cross of Jesus and almost felt she understood His pain of rejection and loss, and at once felt hopeful for what she now knew as His grace for her. As she left the room, she uttered, ‘Thank you, Jesus, what you have done for me!’
Mercy meandered back toward the foyer in search of the sanctuary. It was nearing time for the service to begin. She and her dad were to be led in by Pastor Mark, and Mercy understood her father was trying to decide if he should ask if Gwen and her mother, his wife actually, Grace, would like to sit with them also. She had no idea what he might decide but she hadn’t wanted to influence his decision either way.
She entered the foyer and it immediately felt warm and comforting, the tealights cheery and dancing. Mercy smoothed the beautiful tulle skirt that buoyed about her, flattered by a velvet top she and Gwen had shopped for last evening. She’d never been dressed so elegantly as this moment, as she bid farewell to her papaw, as she said goodbye. How fitting, the man all her life, man of her dreams, that she would dress like a princess on his behalf. A sad cry fell from her lips, but she swallowed it; she’d been trying to look at her grampa’s passing as a gateway to forever for him and for herself someday.
Suddenly, an arm crossed over her chest and pulled her close while fingers covered her eyes like patches. She felt a pulse against her skin and smelled a familiar smell, but could not wrestle free. Mercy struggled, and then whispered, ‘Dad! Dad! Where are you?!’
Psalm 138:8, ‘The Lord will perfect that which concerns me.’
To Be Continued…
