What Would I Say?

Do you remember in high school when your teacher (probably your History or English teacher) would add as an essay question at the end of a test: "If you could sit down and have a conversation with one person in history, who would it be and what would you say?" I always struggled with that question. There are literally dozens of people I would choose to sit down with. I'd love to sit with Amelia Earhart and ask her what happened on that last flight. It would be fascinating to meet the crew of the Challenger and hear their perspective on the final 73 seconds of their lives. It might require a combination of people, but I would love to find out who really shot Kennedy. If it were possible to have coffee with Mary the mother of Jesus and compare childbirth stories, I might just do that; however, I probably would just sit there in jealousy as she described what it was like to raise Jesus...perfect Jesus. Depending on the day, the list of people I'd like to sit down and have a conversation with is pretty long. Today, my list is relatively short. Right now, I'm thinking about what it would be like to sit down and have a conversation with Andrew.

It's been over four years since I had a conversation with Andrew. Like most people who go through a sudden loss, I had no idea my last conversation with him was going to be my last. I rushed through it and got off the phone as quickly as possible. I had a crying toddler waking up from a bad dream to care for. Lately, though, I have been reflecting on what I might say to Andrew if I were able to talk to him one more time. I would remind him that a piece of my heart will always belong to the bald golf pro-turned plumber from Wayzata. I would tell him that I miss his voice; how he never used our names, rather, he called us by the nicknames he gave us: 'baby', 'maestro', and 'little one'. I would tell Andrew all about his children, how they are such amazing human beings. They are kind, thoughtful, and resilient. They love Jesus, love their family, and love him. They are smart, funny, and unique. I would talk about Mr. M's obsession with all things football and Minnesota Vikings, and how he dreams of playing for the Vikings someday. Little Miss cares nothing for sports; she wants to be in plays, and loves singing and dancing. Her dream is to be an artist and create things to make the world beautiful. They are fiercely loyal to each other, and they miss you, Andrew. 

In reflecting on what I would say to Andrew if I had the chance, what is so interesting to me is what I wouldn't say. I wouldn't tell him how hard it has been, or the pain we endured. I wouldn't detail the sleepless nights, the trauma, the physical and emotional pain, the total upheaval of our world, or the devastation we experienced. It isn't that we didn't go through all that; we did. It isn't that it wasn't real; it was. It isn't that it didn't matter; it did. It isn't as if I don't still experience waves of grief and loss four years later; I do. Omitting these things from an imagined conversation isn't my attempt to forget them or gloss over them as if they never happened. If I had the chance to sit with Andrew and talk to him again, I would simply share my life with him as I live it now. Does that mean I don't have bad days or moments when I am overcome by the sheer gravity of the past four years? No. But I don't live there. I live in hope. I choose hope.

From my earliest moments of understanding, I have always believed in Heaven. Heaven is the place where God reigns and Jesus dwells. It is a place of perfect peace and harmony. Everything that is wrong in this world is made right in Heaven. It isn't some cloud kingdom in the sky where we all transform into cherubs sitting on cumulous clouds in diapers strumming on lutes all day. I don't know exactly what it looks like, but from my own personal study of the Bible, I haven't yet found anything that points to cloud Cupids with mini-harps in the sky. I believe that those people who have made the decision to follow Jesus and make him the Lord of their life will spend eternity with Jesus and God in Heaven. I have believed that my entire life. But let me tell you: the reality of Heaven and the cross of Christ hits way differently when you lose your husband. 

At 10:22pm on November 15, 2019, I held Andrew's hand as his heart stopped beating and his earthly body was declared dead. The doctor turned to me and said, "I'm so sorry. Time of death: 22:22." There was absolutely no bringing him back. The pain of death is in its finality. You can't undo it. From that moment, Andrew was forever gone from my life. And it hurt. It still hurts. Death hurts. Bad. Regardless if I have 50 minutes or 50 years left on this planet, death will still hurt like a son of a gun. November 15th will still feel like a punch in the gut. This is the reality of life on this planet.

A couple paragraphs ago, I said I choose to live in hope. So, allow me to connect this life of hope with my previously dark assessment of our reality on this planet of death. On this earth, on this planet, death is final. Thankfully, my future is not on this planet. No, I'm not jumping on Jeff Bezos's space pod thingy and zooming to the moon. Approximately 2,000 years ago, a man named Jesus (a historically-verified man) lived a perfect life. Imagine being his brother or sister. Seriously. When he was about 33 years old, Jesus was put to death by the Roman government at the behest of the Jewish religious leaders (also historically-verified). He died. He was dead. His mother felt the ache and loss of burying her first-born child. His friends felt the loss of their bestie. Three days later, Jesus was alive. As in walking, talking, eating fish, hanging out with his friends alive. In fact, the post-resurrection appearance of Jesus is one of the most well-recorded events in human history - by both sides (pro-Jesus and skeptical-of-Jesus). And then this Jesus went up into Heaven - alive. He is still alive. He is living in Heaven with his Father, God. Jesus himself said, "Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. My Father's house has many rooms; if that were not so would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going...I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father, except through me." (John 14:1-4, 6)

At this juncture, you may be thinking...ok, this is along the same lines you often write about...how is this different? You're right. I often write about faith and salvation. I write about the most important things in my life. There is very literally nothing more important in my life than my faith in Jesus. What has been revealed to me anew this year bit by bit is the hope and assurance I find in the cross and what it symbolizes. Many Christians will say "hope in the cross" and seriously, what does that mean??? I'll try to distill (I really dislike the phrase 'unpack') what it means for me. The cross is a symbol. When I look at the cross, I see a choice. Jesus chose to be killed on that cross. He did not have to die. When I look at the cross, I see love. Jesus loved me thousands of years before I was born; loved me enough to choose to die so I could choose to love him later. When I look at the cross, I see pain. The cross was the most inhumane way of dying. It was awful. When I look at the cross, I see the anguish of death. I see the smug glee of Satan's perceived victory. I see the cliffhanger waiting until Sunday. I look at the cross and I see the symbol of the greatest defeat in human history, which lead to the greatest victory humanity will ever know. The day Jesus died is called Good Friday, which is the most paradoxically appropriate name ever. On the darkest day of human history, an innocent man was murdered. There is absolutely nothing good about Good Friday...except that without Friday, we can't have Sunday. The cross is the ultimate symbol of 'despite present circumstances, God is still in control'. 

Here's the thing: November 15, 2019 was my Friday. And Friday sucked. Friday was hard. That Good Friday, it was anything but good. Then Sunday happened. SUNDAY happened. And what was Sunday? Sunday was the day that a very dead man got up fully alive, walked out of a very sealed tomb, and dropped a truth bomb in Satan's face. And what was that truth bomb? It was this: Death? Your greatest weapon? The one thing that no one could overcome? I just did. And you lost. I AM the way, the truth and the LIFE. Andrew knew this Jesus. Andrew loved this Jesus. Andrew believed that this Jesus was the Son of God and he was the risen Savior of the world. While I was sitting there holding his hand beginning my Friday, Andrew was walking into his Sunday, fully alive in Christ and fully alive in Heaven. THAT is the hope that I live in. THAT is the hope that propels my life forward. 

So, what would I say if I had a chance to talk to him? I would tell him how happy I am that he is whole and home with Jesus. I would tell him that I would never want to take him away from that beautiful place. I would tell him that we love him and miss him, but he is right where he is supposed to be. I would tell him we are happy, loved, and thriving. And I would tell him to keep of praising Jesus and we'll see him there soon(ish).

"Jesus said to her, 'I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die. Do you believe this?'" - John 11:25-26