So I usually attempt to be all literary on this thing, but well, it can be whatever I want it to be. It's me. And what's in my heart...
I worked with Lori at Camp Mundo Vista in the summer of 2006. She passed away on April 25, just a few weeks ago -- and up to this point I haven't been able to express the way it has affected me. So, here is a weak attempt to describe the thoughts I've had recently.
Lori and I were in unit 4 together for most of the summer. I truly wish I had a better memory of specifics, but all I can see is her beautiful big smile -- a genuine reflection of her heart for the Lord and people. Honestly, at CMV I never felt that I truly fit in: it's an all-girls camp, and growing up with 3 brothers, I am often overwhelmed by too much estrogen. I often struggled with true connections and depth of relationships there. But Lori was not one of the rest. She and I both grew up with 5 kids in our families. We giggled over the fun of living in a big family and all the adventures we had with our siblings. Lori loved her family so much -- it was hard for her because she was not with them very much, being an MK, her parents were in the Ivory Coast and she truly missed the people there. Yet, somehow, she always had a family wherever she went. She's just one of those people who finds a home wherever she goes -- she was so hidden in her faith that the body of Christ was indeed her family, and she
became my sister. By "hidden," I mean lost...covered...immersed. She knew the Lord -- there can be no doubting that -- she did not compartmentalize her faith like I so often do. And her love for others was selfless. She couldn't understand the culture of America and the supposed neediness of people who have so much here -- she desired the good of others before herself. She was so helpful to me at camp. I remember one night she needed someone to watch her cabin for a few hours while she took a break, so I sat on her bed while the campers slept until she returned. I loved looking at all her pictures and holding her stuffed animal. Other times, I remember the way she interacted with her campers. Oh, she had such a passion for younger girls to grow in Christ. Her face brightened every time she was able to share scripture with them, help them with crafts, or hold their hands as we all marched down to the outdoor chapel. And I will never forget the way she loved to dance. I remember her telling me that in America people don't praise the Lord like they did in Africa when she was growing up. She told me how open they are there and unashamed of opening up in emotion and even (all the Baptists gasp) dancing! We had dance parties a few times when the girls dressed in their pjs and we turned on fun music. But Lori didn't always pay attention to the girls who were in the center of attention: she went to the ones on the sidelines, encouraging them to get up and let loose! It meant so much to those girls for her to help them break boundaries of embarrassment or fear. And now I smile to think of how she's dancing -- face to face.
That's the phrase that's been in my mind most through all of this: "face to face." It's something I can't grasp. I desire to know the Lord's glory. I can see it so much in His precious creation but stand in awe as this is only a tiny reflection of His beauty. Sara Groves has a song called "Going Home" that reminds me of the whole concept:
I've been feeling kind of restless
I've been feeling out of place
I can hear a distant singing
A song that I can't write
And it echoes of what I'm always trying to say
There's a feeling I can't capture
It's always just a prayer away
I want to know the ending
Things hoped for but not seen
But I guess that's the point of hoping anyway
Of going home, I'll meet you at the table
Going home, I'll meet you in the air
And you are never too young to think about it
Oh, I cannot wait to be home
I'm confined by my senses
To really know what you are like
You are more than I can fathom
And more than I can guess
And more than I can see with you in sight
But I have felt you with my spirit
I have felt you fill this room
And this is just an invitation
Just a sample of the whole
And I cannot wait to be going home
Going home, I'll meet you at the table
Going home, I'll meet you in the air
And you are never too young to think about it
Oh, I cannot wait to be going, to be going home
Face to face, how can it be
Face to face, how can it be
Face to face, how can it be
Cuz this is just an invitation
Just a sample of the whole
And I cannot wait to be going home
This song presents such a beautiful image of the thoughts of heaven -- it's not something explained or logical. It's an understanding that human knowledge cannot grasp the fullness of our glorification through Christ. It's a longing that will never disperse until its fulfillment.
All this to say it was tough for me. One of the hardest weeks I've ever had, to be honest. At first I wondered if it was complete selfishness. And it was in a way -- I was thinking about my own understanding of the world and stuck in a circle of questions and lack of clarity. I had to figure out how to approach the mourning process while still trying to study for exams. Randomly throughout each day, tears began to pour down my freckled cheeks as I thought of Lori and the way her life was an arrow that pointed to the cross. It forced me to examine my own heart and the way I love others. I am so selfish and I don't love others or Christ properly -- I know perfect love is found in the Cross and that we as believers are to reflect Christ's love
because we are loved. And Lori's life was such a reflection of Christ. As I prayed and cried myself to sleep, I didn't have any idea what I was thinking. It just hurt. When I told Dr. Peterman about it, she sent me an email that I'd like to share part of, because I found it to be very true in lining up with my thoughts:
"When a Christian dies, we don't mourn for her; we mourn for ourselves who are left for a while with a hole that doesn't seem it could ever be filled again (it's that startling, wrenching away from this existence that breaks our hearts). But little by little, day by day, prayer by prayer, that empty part left when someone we love is physically gone from this world fills up with those memories and the scriptural hope that life beyond this one is more real and glorious than the best days spent with our dearest friends and family."
I was broken. And now, looking at myself since then, I've already neglected the way the Lord broke me and began to mold my heart that week. I don't really know how else to express my sadness other than this deep bittersweetness. It's hard because of course I don't understand. It's hard because it has forced me to see that pain and sin and hardship is so real -- and has been since the Fall. But it's so close to me this time. Yet, oh, the Lord is so good. He understands the depths of sorrow, and His comfort is abundant. That doesn't mean I shouldn't cry. I can. I do. And I will. And the Lord is using her life -- and death -- in ways that I do not see. But I know. Of course I miss her. I mourn for her family more than anything I think -- I've thought so much about my brothers and sister through all of this. I'm going to miss Joel so much as he's gone for the next two years, and it's hard being away at school too. It makes me want to pursue relationships so much more intensely. I desire Christ to be
everything to me. I don't know how to pinpoint it all, but
to love.
May we all desire the glory of Christ: in our lives now, and in the future of his presence. It truly is beyond comprehension, but we must never neglect the way it makes us tremble.
I
love you.
