A Life After Death

Well, it's almost over. I feel like these last 31 days have taken a year to live. Longest month ever. There's a part of me that feels like grandmom died a long time ago- I cannot believe it hasn't even been a month. Then there's this other part that feels like I was just laying in her bed yesterday. I miss it like crazy. It hits me at the weirdest times- usually pulling up to the house. Coming home after church. The routine was always, come into the house and go right into grandmom's room. "Hello beautiful," I'd say. Another life ago. After dinner it'll hit me- I was so used to heading right upstairs to feed her. I just miss her.

But the Lord is good- still such joy. And I haven't been overwhelmed by sorrow yet. Little waves crash, sometimes they look big coming from the shore, but they always come in small and go back out. One anchor= Jesus. One hope= Jesus. One sustainer= Jesus. So thankful.

Anyway, my eyes are fixed ahead. That's where my life is. I can't dwell in what my life was, or how things used to be. It's not my life anymore. Everything is ahead- eternity, Jesus, grandmom...the plans He has for me. He's laid such a foundation in my life- the Rock- Jesus. Just like grandmom, Jesus made me His own.

" Not that I have already obtained this or am already perfect, but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own. Brothers, I do not consider that I have made it my own. But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead,  I press on toward the goal for  the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus. " Philippians 3:12-14

God cares about me. God loves me. God sees me. He sees my needs and He also sees my wants (and He doesn't always withhold our wants from us- Sometimes we act like He's out to get us and never wants to give us things we want- but that's not true).

Anyway, I wanted to share my purse story. I wrote the incident here but to recap- Last Sunday (not yesterday, but the Sunday before) I left my purse containing my Bible, journal, and a book, on the back of my car while I was pumping gas, and when I drove off it fell off on the side of Route 1 (but my wallet or cell phone were in my car- thankfully). Anyway, I came home that day and just prayed something along the lines of, "Lord, for some reason you don't want me to have those things right now. Maybe it's to make me rely on you and not the things you showed me in my journal or in that book or even the verses I underlined in my Bible- but to just rely on You. Anyway, I would really like those things back though, so I surrender my bag to you, but I'm asking you to protect it and get it back to me if it's Your will." I also asked Him to just use this for His glory. Anyway, it may seem random and small and a stupid thing to pray for, but it was important to me, and the Lord knew it.

So Thursday night, I'm getting stuff together for our Thursday Night Girl's study at the church and see a number pop up on my phone that I didn't know. I let it go to voicemail and continued collecting my things. Finally, I got a chance to listen to the voicemail- it was from someone from my church. She goes on the explain how this guy that she works with in Southampton had found my purse and was trying to contact me. He tried to message me on facebook but it wasn't working (I must have it blocked from people I don't know), and so he finally said to this woman, Stephanie, "This is a really weird question, but you know everyone at Calvary, do you know a Tiffany Doran?" And yes she did!!!

Anyway, she gets to tell me the whole story over the phone today, apparently, he goes to church over near my house and had to get gas after church- well of course he never goes to that gas station, but today he had to- and as he's merging onto Route 1, he sees a bag on the median with a Bible next to it!!!! He thinks, "it might be someone from my church!" He can't stop because someone is behind him, but has to drive up at least a mile before he can exit and than he COMES ALL THE WAY BACK TO GET MY PURSE!!! Crazy! Anyway, he sees that there is already a car stopped with their flashers on looking through my purse. For some reason, he still decides to try to get the purse and asked the person if they found that purse! The person goes on the say that there is no wallet in it. He then says, i think it might be someone from my church's, do you mind if I take it? Any they give it to him!!!!

So he gave them to Stephanie today at work and I should have it all back tonight!

Isn't that awesome?
The Lord knew I really wanted those things. He caused me to surrender them to Him. I didn't need them. I think that was part of it- realizing I didn't need them, but I wanted them. And admitting that to the Lord. And He cares about my wants and needs and knows if they are something I should have or not and when exactly to give them back to me if He wants me to have them.

Anyway, it was a good reminder today that He is truly a personal God who cares about and loves me. So thankful!!!!

Well, I had another job offer yesterday. I feel like I literally wrote that post and next thing you know I'm getting a call from my old school (the school at my church) for a position. Anyway, I'm like so confused at this point. My dad just told me to wait for a month. Next thing you know my mom and him are calling me telling me to take the position- it would be perfect. And sure, of course I'd love playing at my old school/church all day. But...I just honestly don't feel like that's what I'm supposed to be doing. I can't for the life of me tell you what exactly that is, but I really didn't feel like that was it. Besides my dad had just told me not to accept any positions for a month. There's no reason my dad would tell me to do that. That's not like him at all. And it really didn't sound like him now that a few hours later he's practically denying he said it and telling me to take the position at Calvary.




Anyway, I talked it through with one of my pastors and a friend yesterday and went up to the school today and told them no.




So my first week home after seeking the Lord for what's next and I've turned down two perfect positions.

Yeah, I'm probably crazy.




But honestly, I don't know what the Lord is planning for these next few weeks, but it really seems like I'm supposed to keep waiting. It's not the most sane thing I've ever done, but it does seem clear. And like those verses said up there- The Lord never will forsake His children as they follow His commands.

(And on a side note: I'm not saying everyone should just not work and sit at home all day and pray and stuff. It's definitely Biblical to work and not be lazy. But I'm not being lazy- I'm in charge or housekeeping and cooking these days- and I am eventually going to work- or at least do something! haha)

So that's the latest development in the drama that is my life. I feel like a fool turning down these jobs, and maybe I am, but I do feel like the Lord is still saying wait.




In the mean time, besides being the maid of the Doran family, our ESL class is also restarting back up! So please pray- I'm super excited for this go round. We're way more organized and our curriculum looks good. So please pray for the Lord to provide laborers and the harvest! I truly saw His hand in leading this class and I'm excited for us to really rely on Him and seek Him and see Him work with this session. Tomorrow my friend Mariana and I are going to go pass out flyers for the class!

I turned down a job offer yesterday. Yeah, what was I thinking? It was a good 9-5 job, ten dollars an hour, in a company that takes good care of you (sending employees on cruises even!). And I turned it down. At first I thought it would be a great job and really considered it. But when the time came to call the woman back to let her know if I was interested, I honestly broke down over the idea of being a receptionist/office manager and sitting behind a desk answering phone calls, filing papers, paying bills, sending emails. It's not me. I can barely talk to my friends on the phone. I'm the least organized person you'll ever meet (I mean, I lost my speech at my grandmom's funeral!)

I got back on Friday evening (my dad wanted me home before it snowed on Saturday- thought it probably would have been nice to get snowed in up at Old Mill) But I'm not going to update yet on my time away.

Reason #1 I really do need to clean my house up and some other errands so I don't have too much time today to reflect and do that time justice

Reason #2 Yesterday morning I was driving to church with my sister, and my gas tank was on super empty, so I stopped at the closest gas station to my house, pumped ten bucks of gas in, and than went on my way. We got to church, I reached back for my purse- and then it hit me like a ton of bricks- I left my purse on the back of my car at the gas station. Not in but on. Yup. Story of my life. Anyway- thank the Lord that my wallet and cell phone were not in there! But in it was my Bible, my journal (yes, the one from the last like two months!!! Yes my journal from my time away with the Lord!), and this awesome book one of my pastors got for my family by John Ross McDuff. I left church to go look for it and call the gas station to see if it fell out there, but no they had seen me drive off with it on the back of my car- right onto the HIGHWAY, of course. So my brother and I drove up and down the highway looking for it- I found on the median a little ways down a pair of $1.00 gloves that were in my purse and also a little pamphlet on prayer that had been in my purse but no sign of the purse between the gas station and the mall.

So if by some chance, you  picked up my purse, found my Bible, googled my name, and are reading this- um, yeah, I really really really would like it back. And Jesus loves you!

In other news, I was rereading Susannah Spurgeon's Free Grace and Dying Love morning devotions today and this morning  the verse was, "and it shall not seem hard unto thee" (Deuteronomy 15:18)

The Well in the Wilderness

"Dear Lord, I have this morning come to one of the secret springs of sweet waters; an ancient, hidden well in the wilderness which your love, as it were, kept covered up and concealed, till  my great need moved you to open my eyes to discover it it. How precious has your thought been to me, O Lord! How strengthening and refreshing are these 'cold waters to a thirsty soul', which you have thus made to break forth in a strange place! For I thought I was suffering a hard thing, Lord, in the dealings and discipline which you have seen necessary for me; and, though, your grace kept me from openly murmuring and complaining, my inner self constantly cried out, 'this is hard, Lord, this is very hard.'

 But now you say, 'No, My child, it must not even seem hard to you. Your trust in me should be so perfect, your faith in my love so strong, your obedience to my will so complete, that nothing should seem grievous which I appoint, no trial that I send should frighten or overwhelm you. Have I not always been to you, "a very present help in trouble"? Lord, my heart says, 'Amen!' to your gracious words, and then trust you to work all this loving obedience in me by Your own mighty power. 

'It Shall not seem hard unto thee.' The peculiar trial through which I am now passing, is the very 'it' which must not seem hard to me. God's bow is never drawn at random; he makes no mistakes either in telling the number of 'the stars', or in the measuring out to me the griefs which shall teach me to glorify Him. And, dear reader, if you would find comfort from the words which so comforted me, you must look upon  your present trouble, whatever it may be, and say, 'Lord, this shall not seem hard to me, for I have received so much bounty and blessing from you, I have known so much of your pity and pardoning love, that I dare   not mistrust you, or question for a  moment the divine wisdom of your dealings with me.'

Ah! our eyes are so dimmed by earth's fogs and shadows that we cannot see clearly enough  to distinguish from evil and if left to ourselves might embrace a curse rather than a blessing. Poor blind mortals that we are, it is well for us that our Master should choose trials for us even though to our imperfect vision He seems sometimes to have appointed a hard thing.

Yes, it is in absolute and loving surrender to the will of the Lord that the secret of true rest and peace is found. This  is the alchemy which turns earth's sorrows into heaven's blessings; here is the antidote to every sting, the sure-all of each care, the unfailing remedy for all anxious and restlessness. Dear Lord, if I am your child, trusting, loving, obeying you, how can your will for me seem 'hard?' No, rather, I should joyfully meet and welcome it, well knowing that your love to me, could only send a message of peace, however dark might be the envelope which enwrapped it. 

This comfort cannot apply to troubles which we make for ourselves, and which we sometimes glorify into spiritual hardships, when they are really selfish sins; these are not God's will for us, but our own perverse way, and they bring nothing better than bitterness and tears. But God given burden or sorrow, carried out into the sunshine of His love, and laid at His blessed feet, immediately loses all it's hardness and is transformed into a blessing, for which our soul praises the Lord with tender thanksgiving.

'It shall not seem hard unto thee.' Ah! Dear master, it must grievously pain your loving heart when we, your own redeemed ones, think any of your dealings with us harsh or stern. You have loved us from everlasting, you did not spare your own Son when a ransom was required for our souls, you have led us, and fed us, and cared for us all our life long; can we be so wicked and ungrateful as to deem anything 'hard' which your wisdom and love appoint?

'It shall not seem hard unto thee.' Since this precious text rippled from the pages of God's word, like a 'brook by the way', I have been drinking of it's waters with great joy; when a  trouble, great or small presses my soul, and causes my heart to faint within me, I take another drought from this sweet spring, and soon am ready to say, 'it is no longer hard, Lord, for 'I am filled with comfort, I am exceeding joyful in all our tribulation."'

So my friends up at the Camp at Old Mill finally got back to me (it was the Lord's timing) about me staying up there for a few days to pray and seek the Lord about what is next for me. To be honest, there's a part of me that is excited, and a part of me that is terrified. I'm unplugging. No laptop. No ipod. No TV. No friends, family, pastors (though I will have my cell with me). Just me and God. Which sounds really great until I start to question- will He meet with me? What if I have a panic attack? What if I hear nothing from Him? What if He does say something to me (and it's something hard...)? What if He tells me to keep waiting (how long can I actually be still!)? And the list goes on and on...and yeah, these are some of things that were going through my mind last night as I tried to sleep...and couldn't. I just was having a lot of anxiety about allowing God to be my one source- allowing everything else to dry up. 


Here are some things that have been my comfort:

You have said, “Seek my face.”My heart says to you,“Your face, Lord, do I seek.” Psalm 27:8

The Lord is the one who pursued me. He initiated the whole relationship we have to begin with. He's the one telling me to be still, to get alone, to wait. My response is only to seek Him with all the strength He provides. I'm responsible for that part of it- everything else is on Him. And He's the one who is faithful to begin with. Why do I doubt His faithfulness and ability. Another comfort is the rest of that Psalm and how it kind of sounds like David is kind of having trouble hearing from the Lord in it- asking the Lord not to hide from him, forsake him,turn away from him(9), and the face that the encouragement David ends the Psalm with is:

"Wait for the Lord;be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!" (14). 

He knows that our inclination is to just get discouraged when we're seeking the Lord. That sometimes things don't feel or even look like the Lord is helping us, or answering us, or even there for us. But We're to wait for the Lord.

And "be strong, and let your heart take courage" reminds me of Joshua 1:9- "Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. oDo not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.”" My comfort- The Lord is with me. The same comfort I had in the Valley of the Shadow of Death. "Thou art with me." 

He's a Good Shepherd. "For His name's sake" does He lead me in paths of righteousness. 
And I know that no matter what happens these next few days- "He's a very present help"- my refuge is in Him. My shelter. My fortress. And I know these words mean there's trouble. I know sometimes He leads us into the wilderness. I know there's a war going on and a battle. But He is my refuge. He is righteous. He is victorious. He is able. He is mighty. He is Stronger. He is sufficient. I am none of those things and so I will hide myself In Him. 


Anyway, just some thoughts before I go up there tonight (I'll probably be back this weekend). Please pray for me. I'm pretty certain the panic and anxiety are gonna try to hang around- but I know where to go with them. I think they actually stir me to my knees more than anything else and that's probably why the Lord lets them hang around. "Be anxious for nothing, but in everything, by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God,and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus." Phil 4:6-7.

Facing the Death of Someone You Love by Elisabeth Elliot

It’s gone. I could see the yellow-spoked wheel of the spare tire, perched on the back of a 1934 Plymouth , disappear over the hilltop. The car in which I might have gotten a ride home from elementary school on this rainy day had gone and I was left behind.


“It’s gone.” The trainman stood at the only lighted gate in Penn Station. The train had gone, leaving me behind to figure out how on earth I was to make a speaking engagement on Long Island in an hour and a half.


We’ve all experienced the desolation of being left in one way or another. And sooner or later many of us experience the greatest desolation of all: he’s gone. The one who made life what it was for us—who was, in fact, our life.


And we were not ready. Not really prepared at all. We felt, when the fact stared us in the face, “No. Not yet.” For however bravely we may have looked at the possibilities (if we had any warning at all), however calmly we may have talked about them with the one who was about to die (and I had a chance to talk about the high risks with my first husband, and about the human hopelessness of the situation with my second), we are caught short. If we had another week, perhaps, to brace ourselves. A few more days to say what we wanted to say, to do or undo some things, wouldn’t it have been better, easier?


But silent, swift, and implacable the Scythe has swept by, and he is gone, and we are left. We stand bewildered on the sidewalk, on the station platform. Yet, most strangely, that stunning snatching away has changed nothing very much. There is the sunlight lying in patches on the familiar carpet just as it did yesterday. The same dishes stand in the rack to be put away as usual, his razor and comb are on the shelf, his shoes in the closet (O the shoes! Molded in the always recognizable shape of his feet). The mail comes, the phone rings, Wednesday gives way to Thursday and this week to next week, and you have to keep getting up in the morning (“Life must go on, I forget just why,” wrote Edna St. Vincent Millay) and combing your hair (for whom, now?), eating breakfast (remember to get out only one egg now, not three), making the bed (who cares?). You have to meet people who most fervently wish they could pass by on the other side so as not to have to think of something to say. You have to be understand ing with their attempts to be understanding, and when they nervously try to steer you away from the one topic you want so desperately to talk about you have to allow yourself to be steered away—for their sakes. You resist the temptation, when they say he’s “passed away,” to say “No, he’s dead, you know.”


After a few months you’ve learned those initial lessons. You begin to say “I” instead of “we” and people have sent their cards and flowers and said the things they ought to say and their lives are going on and so, astonishingly, is yours and you’ve “adjusted” to some of the differences—as if that little mechanical word, a mere tinkering with your routines and emotions, covers the ascent from the pit.


I speak of the “ascent.” I am convinced that every death, of whatever kind, through which we are called to go must lead to a resurrection. This is the core of Christian faith. Death is the end of every life and leads to resurrection, the beginning of every new one. It is a progression, a proper progression, the way things were meant to be, the necessary means of ongoing life. It is supremely important that every bereaved person be helped to see this. The death of the beloved was the beloved’s own death, “a very private personal matter,” Gert Behanna says, “and nobody should ever dare to try to get in on the act.” But the death of the beloved is also the lover’s death, for it means, in a different but perhaps equally fearsome way, a going through the Valley of the Shadow.


I can think of six simple things that have helped me through this valley and that help me now.


First, I try to be still and know that He is God. That advice comes from Psalm 46, which begins by describing the sort of trouble from which God is our refuge—the earth’s changing, or “giving way” as the Jerusalem Bible puts it, the mountains shaking, the waters roaring and foaming, nations raging, kingdoms tottering, the earth melting. None of these cataclysms seem an exaggeration of what happens when somebody dies. The things that seemed most dependable have given way altogether. The whole world has a different look and you find it hard to get your bearings. Shadows can be very confusing. But in both psalms we are reminded of one rock-solid fact that nothing can change: Thou art with me. The Lord of Hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge. We feel that we are alone, yet we are not alone. Not for one moment has He left us alone. He is the one who has “wrought desolations,” to be sure. He makes wars cease, breaks bows, shatters spears, burns chariots (breaks hearts, shatters lives?), but in the midst of all this hullabaloo we are commanded, “Be still.” Be still and know.


Stillness is something the bereaved may feel they have entirely too much of. But if they will use that stillness to take a long look at Christ, to listen attentively to His voice, they will get their bearings.


There are several ways of looking and listening that help us avoid being dangerously at the mercy of our (heaven forfend!) “gut-level” feelings. Bible reading and prayer are the obvious ones. Taking yourself by the scruff of the neck and setting aside a definite time in a definite place for deliberately looking at what God has said and listening to what He may have to say to you today is a good exercise. And if such exercises are seen as obligations, they have the same power that other obligations—cooking a meal, cleaning a bathroom, vacuuming a rug—have to save us from ourselves.


Another means of grace is repeating the creed. Here is a list of objective facts that have not been in the smallest detail altered by what has happened to us. Far from it. Not only have they not been altered; they do actually alter what has happened—alter our whole understanding of human life and death, lift it to another plane. We can go through the list and contemplate our situation in the light of each tremendous truth. It is simply amazing how different my situation can appear as a result of this discipline.


The second thing I try to do is to give thanks. I cannot thank God for the murder of one or the excruciating disintegration of another, but I can thank God for the promise of His presence. I can thank Him that He is still in charge, in the face of life’s worst terrors, and that “this slight momentary affliction is preparing for us [not ‘us for’] an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen.” (2 Corinthians 4:17 , 18) I’m back to the creed again and the things unseen that are listed there, standing solidly (yes, solidly, incredible as it seems) against things seen (the fact of death, my own loneliness, this empty room). And I am lifted up by the promise of that “weight” of glory, so far greater than the weight of sorrow that at times seems to grind me like a millstone. This promise enables me to give thanks.


Then I try to refuse self-pity. I know of nothing more paralyzing, more deadly, than self-pity. It is a death that has no resurrection, a sink-hole from which no rescuing hand can drag you because you have chosen to sink. But it must be refused. In order to refuse it, of course, I must recognize it for what it is. Amy Carmichael, in her sword-thrust of a book If, wrote, “If I make much of anything appointed, magnify it secretly to myself or insidiously to others, then I know nothing of Calvary love.” That’s a good definition of self-pity—making much of the “appointed,” magnifying it, dwelling on one’s own losses, looking with envy on those who appear to be more fortunate than oneself, asking “Why me, Lord?” (remembering the “weight of glory” ought to be a sufficient answer to that question). It is one thing to call a spade a spade, to acknowledge that this thing is indeed suffering. It’s no use telling yourself it’s nothing. When Paul called it a “slight” affliction he meant it only by comparison with the glory. But it’s another thing to regard one’s own suffering as uncommon, or disproportionate, or undeserved. What have “deserts” got to do with anything? We are all under the Mercy, and Christ knows the precise weight and proportion of our sufferings— He bore them. He carried our sorrows. He suffered, wrote George Macdonald, not that we might not suffer, but that our sufferings might be like His. To hell, then, with self-pity.


The next thing to do is to accept my loneliness. When God takes a loved person from my life it is in order to call me, in a new way, to Himself. It is therefore a vocation. It is in this sphere, for now anyway, that I am to learn of Him. Every stage on the pilgrimage is a chance to know Him, to be brought to Him. Loneliness is a stage (and, thank God, only a stage) when we are terribly aware of our own helplessness. It “opens the gates of my soul,” wrote Katherine Mansfield, “and lets the wild beasts stream howling through.” We may accept this, thankful that it brings us to the Very Present Help.


The acceptance of loneliness can be followed immediately by the offering of it up to God. Something mysterious and miraculous transpires as soon as something is held up in our hands as a gift. He takes it from us, as Jesus took the little lunch when five thousand people were hungry. He gives thanks for it and then, breaking it, transforms it for the good of others. Loneliness looks pretty paltry as a gift to offer to God—but then when you come to think of it so does anything else we might offer. It needs transforming. Others looking at it would say exactly what the disciples said, “What’s the good of that with such a crowd?” But it was none of their business what use the Son of God would make of it. And it is none of ours. It is ours only to give it.


The last of the helps I have found is to do something for somebody else. There is nothing like definite, overt action to overcome the inertia of grief. The appearance of Joseph of Arimathea to take away the body of Jesus must have greatly heartened the other disciples, so prostrate with their own grief that they had probably not thought of doing anything at all. Nicodemus, too, thought of something he could do—he brought a mixture of myrrh and aloes—and the women who had come with Jesus from Galilee went off to prepare spices and ointments. This clear-cut action lifted them out of themselves. That is what we need in a time of crisis. An old piece of wisdom is, “Dow the next thynge.” Most of us have someone who needs us. If we haven’t, we can find someone. Instead of praying only for the strength we ourselves need to survive, this day or this hour, how about praying for some to give away? How about trusting God to fulfill His own promise, “My power is made perfect in weakness”? (2 Corinthians 12:9) Where else is His power more perfectly manifested than in a human being who, well knowing his own weakness, lays hold by faith on the Strong Son of God, Immortal Love?


It is here that a great spiritual principle goes into operation. Isaiah 58:10-12 says, “If you pour yourself out for the hungry and satisfy the desire of the afflicted, then shall your light rise in the darkness and your gloom be as the noonday. And the Lord will guide you continually and satisfy your desire in scorched places, and make your bones strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters do not fail, and… you shall be called the repairer of the breach, the restorer of streets to dwell in [or, in another translation, ‘paths leading home’].”


The condition on which all these wonderful gifts (light, guidance, satisfaction, strength, refreshment to others) rests is an unexpected one—unexpected, that is, if we are accustomed to think in material instead of in spiritual terms. The condition is not that one solve his own problems first. He need not “get it together.” The condition is simply “if you pour yourself out.”


Countless others have found this to work. St. Francis of Assisi put the principle into other words in his great prayer, “Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace. Where there is darkness let me sow light, where there is sadness, joy…. Grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console…. For it is in giving that we are pardoned; it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.” The words of this prayer were like a light to me in the nights of my husband’s last illness, and I wondered then at the marvel of a man’s prayer being answered (was I the millionth to be blessed by it?) some seven hundred years after he had prayed it. St. Francis was most certainly during those nights in 1973 an instrument of God’s peace.


Perhaps it is peace, of all God’s earthly gifts, that in our extremity we long for most. A priest told me of a terminally ill woman who asked him each time he came to visit only to pray, “The peace of God which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 4:7)


I have often prayed, in thinking of the many bereaved, the words of the beautiful hymn “Sun of My Soul”:


Be every mourner’s sleep tonight
Like infant slumbers, pure and bright.


There they are—six things that, if done in faith, can be the way to resurrection: be still and know, give thanks, refuse self-pity, accept the loneliness, offer it to God, turn your energies toward the satisfaction not of your own needs but of others’. And there will be no calculating the extent to which


From the ground there blossoms red
Life that shall endless be.