Yesterday, I officiated a funeral service for a friend. Mike was fifty years old, with a grown son and a teenaged daughter living at home. He and his wife had been married 23 years. Less than a year ago, they called it cancer. Chemo, radiation, all the things that you do. Yet, here we are. Sad in a lot of ways.
Mike was a firefighter by profession. And every fire department for 40 miles was represented at the funeral service. The bagpipes played Amazing Grace. The trucks were draped with black. Hundreds of people came to say farewell to a friend and colleague.
I know God loves us. I know He cares for us and provides for us, and is with us in the good and bad times. I can give all sorts of intellectual and theological arguements for when bad things happen to good people. But none of those debates or discussions has the ability to heal the deep wounds of grief, loss, tragedy. And for the life of me, I can not seem to find the words. I cannot give a good reason that a brave and a decent man would be dead of cancer at a young age. Had it been an accident, a tragedy while Mike was saving a child from a burning building, it might be different.
The loss of a friend, a vibrant life-loving good man, hurts in so many ways. The so-called experts say that God has a plan. The well meaning religious folks produce some trite comments like "God just wanted Mike in heaven with Him." And to be honest, none of that kind of talk seems very satisfactory.
There are so few words, and so much pain.
God Bless You, Debbie, Angela, Eric and family.
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