Charles posted on February 26, 2010 08:07
I was struggling for a title, and I'm not sure this one fits best, but it will have to do. My mind is on 87 and 27 today. It is how I will begin...and end my day.
My previous posting was a devotional thought, and it contained some ties to the current Olympics in Vancouver. Today's thoughts, too, can remind us of the Olympics.
Have you watched any of the races, especially skating? Some are distance races while others are sprints. Two totally different strategies but both with the same goal - winning the prize.
There is a solitary hearse outside my office window this morning and a fairly empty parking lot. As usual, the Kindergarten teacher is concerned about what time the funeral will begin, when it will end, and...will this disrupt Kindergarten pick-up at 11:25 a.m.?
I tell her not to worry, but she worries anyway. But there are only 12 cars in the parking lot - 11 belong to staff members and one to the funeral home employee who is in charge.
By contrast, I have no doubt that this evening I will have trouble finding a parking spot at the funeral home, and I will certainly wait for a long time in line to pay my respects.
My day will begin with 87...and it will end with 27, and by now you probably know what those numbers mean.
87...is Art. In Olympic terms, he was a distance racer. Art was a great guy whose wife died about 12 years ago. They had no children, and Art has only one sister. Don't read me wrong, Art had many friends and was dearly loved, but not many folks make it the great distance that he did, 87 years, so add to that the small number of family members, and you will come out with a rather small number. The love is great, but the number will be small. And, knowing Art for the past 21 years, and his wife, and his best friend, Fuzzy, who also passed away over 10 years ago, I know the finishing legs of Art's race have been rather lonely. He very much missed his wife, and when Fuzzy's wife passed, too, about the same time, it looked as if these close friends and neighbors would become even closer. And for a while, they did - for several years these two guys showed up almost on cue to repair whatever needed fixing in our building.
But then Fuzzy passed away, and Art has been very lonely for the many years since...
27...is Sarah. In Olympic terms, a sprinter. And actually, in real life a 'sprinter,' also. Beautiful, bright, active, very intelligent, a true joy, she excelled at a young age, got out to a fast start and never looked back. Highly successful. The cancer was a sprint, too, striking her while in graduate school in Chicago and running its course in less than one year. Her dad had just told me about it when we bumped into each other in town last fall. She leaves behind Mom and Dad, grandparents, sister, fiancée, and those many many close friends who will be in front of me at the funeral home tonight.
I know that I sound down this morning, but that's not the case. I'm mourning loss because I knew and liked both Art and Sarah - Art as someone I came to know in Bible Class and the 50+ Group, Sarah as one I came to know as a student at CLS. And I mourn for Sarah's parents and wish I could help ease their pain.
The distance racer and the sprinter are both prepared for their race, and that was the case with Art and Sarah as well. I can share with great joy that both remained faithful to the end, and both have received the crown waiting for them with their Lord Jesus. They were made ready at their Baptism as well as set and prepared for the race through Christian training and upbringing. Yeah, maybe I am a bit sad today because, like I said, I'm mourning the loss of a couple of people I knew and liked. But mostly, I'm trying to keep my eye on the prize, thanking God that He graciously granted faith to Art and Sarah...for 87 and for 27, and now for all eternity with Him.