The Flat

I’ve just had a very eventful morning. I had to go to the dentist today, for the third part of a painful root canal. This was most unfortunate, because a former filling had cracked, and a cavity had set in somewhat sneakily. Sneaky because I never felt it until it was too late. The filling protected me from pain, which would actually have been a good thing, as it would’ve acted as a warning. As a result of this whole fiasco, the process has been a little fraught. There were some ‘suspicious’ swellings on my gum, which the dentist was worried about and the unholy word — ‘biopsy’ was mentioned. This has been at the back of my mind for some time. I’ve missed my father, because I’d have ordinarily had him to talk to about this. I hadn’t realized how anxious I’d been until I was given the ‘all clear’ today. I felt my body relax. It was magical!

I then turned my attention to the second problem this morning. As I was driving to the dentist, I heard a flappy sound. I thought something had got caught under my car, so when I parked, I had a look to see what it was. Lo, and behold, my car tyre was flat. There was an immediate sense of missing my dad when I realized the flat. My dad constantly kept an eye on my car and if the tyre had been slightly less inflated, he’d have said. The pang that I felt within me was real. Still, I knew exactly what to do. I called the mechanic in our town, who’s known me since I was about six. He and his sister faithfully served my dad. He said he needed some time to get to me as he was out. No problem.

I decided to get a Grabcar back home while waiting for the mechanic as he did say he’d be late. Again, I was thankful, as I got a ride almost immediately. The driver was grumpy and in all honesty, I didn’t care much for him. It didn’t matter too much, though. I couldn’t wait to get into the house for that effusive Gamora-welcome I knew was awaiting me. That’s when it hit me. I’d left my house keys in the car. My first response was to start and call out ‘Pa..’ That pang hit me again. Papa’s not there.

Everything worked out in that, I got another Grabcar back to where my car was parked, picked up my keys and came home. It’s almost comical, when I think of it. Is this the moment when I’m officially ‘over the hill’?

Gamora’s greeting was brilliant. It was so much needed. The outpouring of love is unmissable. She knows what it’s like to miss.

Easter Sunday had been surprisingly difficult. In the middle of my church, as the service started, I felt the enormity of not having my mum and dad by me. It took a lot of effort on my part to blink back tears. Not that I think tears are inappropriate. I just didn’t want to have to explain them, nor did I want to hear remonstrations of why that feeling was so inappropriate on Easter Sunday. After all, I believe that Jesus’ resurrection means a resurrection of all believers when He comes again. I should’ve been rejoicing and singing out loud, glorying in every single word of praise of my Redeemer. Instead, I was inwardly sad, blinking back tears, and have been in the dumps since.

When I’m sad, I find myself watching some of the Jane Austen adaptations over and over again. I love the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice (1995), I love the many adaptations of Persuasion, and I love Sense and Sensibility with Emma Thompson and Kate Winslet. My familiarity with the dialogue of all of these is somewhat comforting. There’s another dialogue that I find comforting as I watch these. Dialogue with my mum about these books and some of the adaptations that we watched together. I remember such intense discussions, giggling, and just a sheer sense of enjoyment, that feels almost tangible, as I revisit these haunts.

Still, this wave of missing my dad and my mum is washing over me. I cannot adequately express how sadness feels. When the wave comes over me, I feel my senses overcome, and it’s almost as if I’ve been sucker-punched. There’s a sense of difficulty in breathing, and a definite burning in the eyes as tears bitterly push their way out. At the same time, all around me, I see land. There’s a buzz going on. Life on land doesn’t stop. I hear laughter from the land on one corner, some gibber jabber of sorts, all the sounds associated with life moving on. When the wave comes over me, I feel like I lose sight of land.

The only thing I don’t really lose sight of is God. This feels almost inconsistent, doesn’t it? How can someone who’s feeling this intensity of sadness, see God?

I’ve been contemplating on the event Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead, as I’m preparing for an elective on grief for church camp that’s just around the corner. The passage is rich with many, many different points to look at, but for the longest time ever, I’ve been fascinated with John 11:35, which simply says ‘Jesus wept.’ It’s hard to fathom why He’d weep. I mean, he’d just said to Martha, ‘I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die.’ I doubt very much that Jesus needed to be reminded of the gospel point, considering He was, and still is the gospel point!

I believe that Jesus is fully God and fully man. It’s not easy to explain this — it’s not a 50/50 case of God/man or a two in one sort of effect. I lack the eloquence to explain this, though it makes sense to me, deep in my bones. He had to be human, because He took my sin on the cross. I don’t always hold myself in high-esteem and often have to work on issues of self-doubt, but I’m terribly sure that a lamb, no matter how fat or cute (or whatever the standard is), cannot be an equal substitute for me. I am of far more value than it. There is nothing it can do to be sufficient to pay for anything I’ve done. My understanding of human nature, limited as it is, sufficiently demonstrates to me that we really don’t have the best thoughts all the time. We’re not deeply good or pure. Our motives, our words, and actions, betray us, even when we try our best. We’re fallen creatures. It makes sense to me, that only someone pure, far greater than us, can take our place should they want to protect us from the punishment we truly deserve. To this end, from the depths of my heart, I can see why Jesus’ death for us was the one perfect sacrifice. Legally, it makes sense that He can say when believers die, that He has paid for their souls. He demands justice for us. Why He did it when He really didn’t have to, tells me how superior His love is for us.

This is the same Jesus who wept, just before He raised Lazarus. He wept not because He didn’t understand the gospel or the impact of what He came to do. He wept because He was deeply saddened by the sorrow that we go through when we lose. He knew that our understanding of His work, even when it’s being preached to us on Easter Sunday or on any other Sunday, or when it’s screaming out at us from the words of Scripture, doesn’t remove the pain of the loss we feel. His weeping just before He raises Lazararus, is, I think, an outpouring of compassion and sadness that He feels for us because of the brokenness of the world. In His perfect human state, He’s able to reach into the emotion of pain and despair that we sometimes feel the need to shield ourselves from. In His perfect human state, his anguish is brutal. In His perfect God state, He shows a compassion so deep and is moved to tears for the plight of humanity as it grapples with the pain of loss. In His perfect God state, He foresees the pain of separation that the Trinity is about to face, when He dies for us upon the cross.

It is all too much to take in. As I remember these truths, I feel strength within me. I feel revived. My father and mother aren’t with me, but, my LORD is. I don’t have to blink back tears when I’m with Him. I don’t have to smile and say that I’m okay, even when I’m not. I don’t have to gauge how He’s doing before I drop my load on to Him. He’s strong enough to take it. Strangely, as I think about Him, I feel a sense of joy within, knowing that it was my mum and dad, who grew me in Him by His grace. This piece of shared history between us doesn’t end with their passing because He is very much alive. So, I am most grateful for Jesus, and for how He wept. He’s given me space for my tears, which thanks to His sacrifice, are only temporary.

Papa and mummy, whether it’s the dentist, or conversations with the mechanic about how we all were in the past, or at family gatherings, or whether it’s in the middle of full church on a Sunday, where I am surrounded by lots of familiar and loving faces, I still miss you. I miss you. I’m so grateful that in Christ, I can feel these waves of grief, which connect me to you, without them drowning me.