O Come, O Come, Emmanuel...

So a few weeks ago, I began to hunger for a deeper knowledge of my Father. I started intentionally praying that I could identify with my Brother in a way I never have before. And then I started to think about what it means to identify with J. JC was a man of deep, deep suffering. Throughout his ministry on Earth, he lived life fully. He rejoiced with the greatest possible joy. He mourned with the greatest possible grief. He felt every pain. He knew every emotion. He longed with the most intense possible longing. Isn't it amazing that the Creator of the Universe chose to experience life on Earth in such a real and tangible way? His life was probably as far from comfortable as one could imagine. So when I pray to identify with my Brother, I guess what I'm really praying for is a more uncomfortable life. To know the depth of His love and grace, I must share in His suffering as well. Like Paul in Philippians 3, I must learn to cry "I want to KNOW C and the power of His resurrection, and the fellowship of sharing in His suffering, becoming like Him in His death, and so somehow attain to the resurrection of the dead."

It's a very scary prayer to pray... but rewarding.

I started to pray that, and the Father answered me.

The next week my dear, dear Papa Ed went to the hospital with a blood clot in his lung. Because of his lung disease, he already could not breathe well. He's been in and out of the doctors offices and hospitals for several years, but this time... his lungs weren't strong enough.

He was in intensive care for several days, and could not talk much. After about 3 days of fighting to breathe, he took his last hindered breath. And then he woke up with my Brother, and breathed his first real breath of celestial air. What a beautiful thing for my dear Grandpa...

But boy, has it been hard. I miss him so much, and OH, HOW MY HEART ACHED.... with an ache I don't think I've ever quite experienced before. The ache of not being able to hug him goodbye or be physically there with my family, or attend his memorial service. It seemed so quick and sudden- so unfair. Like he was just taken from me. It was not right in my eyes. My dear, funny, and spunky Grandpa who loved me unfailingly throughout my entire life, has always been one of my biggest fans, and has never failed to put a smile on my face, ever... I couldn't accept the fact that he was dying and there was nothing I could do. I felt so helpless, and my heart just ached... However, though I was far away from home and everything familiar, I was not alone. Though it sure felt like it sometimes when I curled up in bed at night and cried myself to sleep... my Brother never left my side. He never has before in my entire life. And even the times I've been angry at Him, he just sits there and loves me. He's been there.

Over the past couple weeks since Grandpa died, I've felt many times like I have failed this test of my faith. But I am learning that it's a process. Sometimes your heart breaks, but as long as it breaks inside Brother's caring hands, it will only be stronger when He puts it back together. There is a new strength there, that may not have been as obvious before it broke.

My heart is very much still healing. Death is not a natural thing, nor was it ever meant to be. But it has been conquered. I have a hope. A hope that cannot be taken away from me. It is the knowledge that I can be certain I will see Grandpa again. I can hug him again. That he is more alive now than he ever has been. And more than all of that, that my Brother is coming back for me. He's coming back, friends. To some it's a terrifying thought. To me it is a deep anticipation and longing... This Christmas I am praying more than ever, "O Come, O Come Emmanuel...." and thanking my Brother for hearing and answering my prayers and granting me the honor of sharing in His sufferings.