I just read something by author Sarah Bessey as she talked about an Ebenezer, a sort of monument or touchstone that is left along a path or somewhere along a journey. It is a marker or reminder that something happened here. Many times it’s an acknowledgement of one of those liminal times or spaces when God came near or simply that our eyes were opened to God’s presence or work or power in that moment or in that place and we need to somehow mark it, take note of it. Mark that place so when you come upon it again you will remember what happened there.
I received a phone call from a friend today who informed me that the grown son of some good friends of ours, Dylan, took his own life last night. My heart is broken for them, for him, for his sister, for his two young sons. I’m so angry. I’m so grateful that my own two grown kids are still walking this earth and are, for the most part, healthy and happy people. I don’t understand how or why my kids have been spared from tragedies like this and my friend’s haven’t. I am reminded of how fleeting our own happiness is, our own security is - how our hope for the future can dissipate like smoke into the air and life can seem literally without hope it seems, in the blink of an eye. I think many have experienced something close to that at one point or another in their lifetimes. It’s scary…and it’s so sad. I deal with the families of kids who have been in that place and it’s easy for the family to get sucked into that hopelessness and helpless feeling as well.
But even in this hard place of grief and confusion and no clear way forward I take note of this time and this space. I am not alone. My friends are not alone in their deep grief either. Whether we feel God’s presence or not we know God is here in our midst grieving right along with us, arm slung around us helping us to take each painful step forward and, despite the very present pit in my stomach, I know God will continue to be with us all as we go through our days and the reality of Dylan’s absence becomes more and more real.
I can’t help but picture Dylan’s big smile as I think of him. He and his partner and their son used to live right around the corner from us and often walked by our house on the way to the park. He had a sheepish grin that belied the apparent pain that was going on beneath the surface. Dylan struggled in his short life, but it’s his smile that will always stick with me.
My heart hurts to think of the journey our dear friends are starting this day without their beloved son. Much of who I am hinges on words, but there are no words that can touch this pain. So I will keep vigil for my friends, keeping them close to my heart, sending them my love every moment I can, and praying that God continues to carry them and hold them so very close as they meet each new day. I’ve marked this moment, this place in time with this writing. This is my Ebenezer. I will remember you, Dylan. Your life meant something to me. I’m glad your pain is over and you are now able to fully experience God’s great love for you.
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