by Leah
Dipascal
" … He will wipe away every
tear from their eyes; and there will no longer be any death; there will no
longer be any mourning, or crying, or pain; the first things have passed away.
And He who sits on the throne said, ‘Behold, I am making all things new.’"
Revelation 21:4-5a (NASB)
I could feel the slow rhythm of his heartbeat as I
laid my head against his chest. Tears quietly rolled down my face as I held back
the sobs that were begging to burst forth from underneath my
heart.
Closing my eyes, I remembered being 5 years old
again with my daddy holding me on his broad, strong shoulders the day he took me
to the zoo. So long ago. Such sweet memories. And, yet, my heart was
breaking.
Lord, not yet. Please. I’m not
ready to say goodbye. I still have so much to say. I want it to be meaningful. I
want Dad to know how much I love him. Not yet, Lord, not
yet.
As I curled up closer, like that 5-year-old little
girl so long ago, I could hear his shallow breathing. Gently I cradled his hand
into mine.
Thank you, Lord, that Dad’s
not in pain. When it’s time, please take him peacefully. But, not yet, Lord, not
yet.
The clock ticks. The moments pass. The memories
linger.
And it is
time.
Having to say goodbye to my dad that day was one of
the hardest experiences of my life. It had only been 15 short months since my
mom passed away, and the idea of losing him, too, was more than I could
bear.
No longer could I hear his voice say, "I love you."
No longer could I call him and ask for his advice. No longer could I see his
smile or feel his hand holding mine.
No longer.
This month marks the 2-year anniversary of my dad’s
passing. Not a day goes by that I don't think of him and my mom. I miss them so
much. I long to be with them again.
But even in the midst of "no longer" here on earth,
there is a ray of hope that shines within me. A knowing. A promise that I
will one day see my parents again.
I find comfort in knowing there is a real place
that has been created by God and prepared by Jesus for each of us, if we accept
His invitation. An extraordinary place of astounding wonder. Greater than we can
fully understand or imagine. A place called heaven.
As I awake to another day on earth of "no longer,"
I anchor my heart in the assurance of what Jesus said in John 14:2, "In My Father’s house are many dwelling places; if
it were not so, I would have told you; for I go to prepare a place for you"
(NASB).
In those moments when the memories return and the
sadness resurfaces, I find comfort and even joy for my parents as I reflect on
the promise of today’s key verse. For in heaven, there is no mourning, crying,
pain or death. All things are made new.
If you’re like me, and you’re missing someone
special today. Someone you long to see again. To hold their hand, to capture
their smile or to simply say, "I love you." And, yet, the realization of "no
longer" looms in the reality of each day that you live without them
…
Can I encourage you with the truth? If your loved
one accepted God’s invitation, then they are not dead but are living in heaven.
In that extraordinary place, of astounding wonder, where pain and sorrow can
never linger.
They’re experiencing joy and peace like they’ve
never known as they celebrate the splendor of their eternal
home.
And there is hope, comfort and assurance for you
today that if you accept God’s invitation you too will see them again one
day.
Heavenly Father, thank You for
creating heaven. A place where we will spend eternity with You and our loved
ones who have accepted Your invitation. Help us live with a joyful heart and
share the hope we have of eternal life with others. In Jesus’ Name,
Amen.
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