Grief

---

We walked into church and were greeted with familiar smiles. It was a typical Lord's day to those who reached out their hands and welcomed us, but we held a secret. We were brand new members of an exclusive club. Few besides our pastor and his wife knew of the recent occurance that had plunged us into this unwanted membership. You see, no one ever asks to be a member of the club we joined the previous night. We were now members of the Roller Coaster Club.
Late the night before, we had said goodbye to our three-month old son as he gave up his battle with Billiary Atresia and went home to be with Jesus. Our pastor and his wife were there to hug us and pray with us. As treasured as their presence was to us, we greived a bit for them as well. They struggled to understand what it was like to experience the death of a child. Their response was typical, I would later discover. Few people know how to respond to surviving parents, especially when the child was very young.
During the service, the junior pastor rose, began to speak and choked. He sobbed before he finnaly found the words needed to announce to the church that the Johnson's youngest boy had died. Oh, the awkwardness of that moment haunts me to this day. I wanted to hug them all and tell them of the peace I had through Christ. The pain they felt was somehow even deeper than mine. how can you explain "the peace that passes all understanding" when you can't explain it yourself? Truly, you barely understand that peace once you have experienced it.
Many tried to talk to us or hug us after church that day, but others simply could not bring themselves to talk to us that morning. Those who still approached us after church with understanding eyes and firm hand shakes were already members of the club. One by one they came and shook our hands that day and briefly shared of their membership. Some had lost a child twenty-five years prior to that day, but we only became aware of the new connection we had with them that day. It isn't something you share often. Non-members don't want to hear about such things. When asked how many children you have, non-members expect you hear a tally of your living children only. If you dare to mention the one whois with the Lord, the room will grow terribly quiet and a cerimonious appoly will follow.
Members, alone, understand. They know the ride; they know all its dips and all its rises. They understand the tunnels and how it feels to come out into the light. Christian members understand the reason you can smile and why heaven is even more of a special place to you than ever before; your little child lives there painfree and full of the joy of being so close to the One who suffered pain once, too.
The dips have grown fewer and farther apart as the years have progressed, but I am forever touched by the greetings I received from older members of the club. They reached out without fear. They knew like no one else would ever want to know the pain and the joy that mixed in us that day.
Someday, perhaps I will reach out my hand and tell a new member about our tiny son, Daniel Ephraim. I will nod and stare into the eyes of that dear person and understand. That understanding will be a comfort that few others can give.
Someday even farther into the distance, I will see Daniel again. I will recognise him and he will greet me. He will be healed and we will rejoice and praise our Lord, Jesus Christ together.
Until that day, I ride the roller coaster of grief. Yes, I still ride it seven years later. The club membership lasts a lifetime. Yet, by the grace of God through Christ, I know that this lifetime is short and the time I will spend with Christ and my loved ones who have gone to Him before me is everlasting.
Then God, alone will end my membership in The Roller Coaster Club, reach out His hands, and welcome me as a member of His family into eternity with Him. The dips and dives of sadness will be gone and I will praise Him forever. Oh, I long for that day!

---

PLEASE ENCOURAGE AUTHOR BELOW LEAVE COMMENT ON ARTICLE