Lamentations 3:1-9, 19-24 and John 19.38-42
My brother Thom’s birthday was last Sunday, Palm
Sunday. It was the first year I did not
call and sing a horrible rendition of “Happy Birthday” at an extremely wrong time of the morning. It was the first time we did not share our
tradition of reading birthday greetings back and forth (we never got the cards
in the mail, either.) Thom was 12 years
older, the perfect big brother who taught me to ride my bike, swim, and the
beauty of the Green Bay Packer Sweep. He
laughed effortlessly, sang or whistled constantly, and was always surrounded by
friends. He ran everywhere, threw everything,
and most of the time, made that perfect one-handed catch.
Thom contracted polio when he was 17. As this virus swept the Nation; our family
changed. Days melted into months, and
months into years as Thom fought to regain use of his legs and us a sense of
normalcy. A new normal grew around
hospitals, doctors, braces, wheelchairs, physical therapy, beds, stairs,
doorways and bathrooms. I was 5 years
old. When I think of those years, I
think gray. It’s not the dark, oppressive-gray
of cold winter; but the dove-gray of early morning…that velvety-gray, just
before the sun leaks over the horizon.
Never once did I hear “impossible”, “why”, “unfair”, “can’t” or “hopeless”. “Out of the question” was simply not a
viable solution. Thom graduated from
high school with his class; then from the University of Wisconsin; taught high
school math; coached football; married, father of 5; walked with crutches;
never gave up.
Thom died last year.
Yet, the glow of his life lingers.
It wasn’t the life any of us anticipated, expected or ever
predicted. An unknown, undetectable,
microscopic germ changed our path; but not our faith.
We are Easter people.
they are new
every morning; great is your faithfulness.
The Lord is my portion, says my
soul. therefore I will hope in him.
Gretchen Combs, Director of Children's Ministries
