My father is one of seven. He has three sisters and three brothers. When he was young, his youngest brother died as a teenager. Just two years ago, his older brother died from liver failure. Today, my father spent the evening with his only remaining living brother.
Today, my father told me that his only living brother has three months to live.
My uncle, my dad's last living brother, is dying from cancer.
Dying.
Seeing that it's almost Christmas Eve, I realize how the holidays are always a time to embrace family and close friends. I'm constantly reminded of how joyful my friends seem when their facebook status reads "home with the family" or "there's no place like home" at this time of year.
Family, family, family.
I myself wasn't always one who viewed family as a priority, until my dad began to hassle me about it when I was a teenager. I frequently remember him telling me, "love your brothers, because they'll be some of the closest friends you'll have."
Now, only 22, now, as I begin to "jump into the real world," now, as I watch my family mourn over broken relationships, death, and regret, I cannot be more thankful for my father's instruction.
Family is so important.
Friends are so important.
People are so important.
And yet, relationships are risky.
Yet, why does death have to hurt so bad?
Why is it so difficult to watch the tears in my father's tears eyes and not wonder why this pain has to exist?
At what point did God see it as essential to end the lives of what He's created?
To think, that one pours so much time into loving someone else; spending time with them, helping them, listening to them, creating memories together, to one day have to either leave them emotionally, physically, or in both ways.
But, Jesus is all about relationships.
Isn't it interesting how Jesus calls us "follow him" into one of the most risky investments that we can make? Jesus calls us to love others, full well knowing the pain that it can cause when we're separated from those relationships.
I wonder if Jesus ever had to watch 3 of his brothers die.
I wonder how Jesus felt while looking into the eyes of those that battled death.
I wonder how Jesus used the sorrow and compassion that he felt for others for something better.
And then there's this offer of eternal life.
Jesus says, "I tell you the truth, whoever hears my word and believes him who sent me has eternal life and will not be condemned; he has crossed over from death to life"
(John 5:24).
Eternal life.
Family.
Dying from cancer.
My dad is spiritual giant and someone I deeply admire because of his relationship with God. He's often challenging my family, particularly my brothers and I, to treat each other well. He often hopes for opportunities to hug each of us, no matter how embarrassing it may seem. He always speaks to us with guidance, wisdom, and love. So, today, naturally, when my father shared his news, every ounce of my insides were bursting to cry with him and hold his hand and tell him, "everything will be okay! I love you, dad! Trust the Lord!"
Yet, I couldn't.
It was too uncomfortable.
Instead, I choose to sit and listen to every word or thought or story that my dad wanted to share. I offered to do the dishes with him. I chose to spend as much time as possible around him.
Good, I thought. But not great. Why didn't I cry with him or hold his hand?
I don't want to ever loose my family members and friends and then regret that I didn't spend enough time with them or that I didn't know them well enough. I especially don't ever want to regret sharing the news of receiving eternal life with them. This past week in church, a video of Penn from magicians Penn and Tailor was shared. Penn, an atheist spoke on the topic of sharing one's faith, posing "how much do you have to hate someone to not proselytize?" (Note: proselytize means to introduce someone to one's one religious faith. It had me guessing for awhile!)
I like to think that I don't hate anyone.
But sometimes-lots of times-proselytizing, like embracing family members, is uncomfortable, even with those that are closest to you. Listening and spending time with people will always be ways to show them love. I hope, though, that I can somehow be brave enough to risk the discomfort of embracing them and telling them, "I love you! I love you!" so that I can show my family and closest friends the most absolute love possible while spending time with them one earth.
And then, if my family and friends whom I love are not believers, perhaps my love for them will open doors for them to consider Jesus's invitation to everlasting life.
Perhaps then, one day, my friends, family, and I will all be able to embrace everlasting life, just as Jesus promises.
[This is an annual Christmas Tree Cutting picture from 2006 with both my dad and my uncle. Please ignore the stubborn child in the front left. He did not approve of the Christmas tree.]
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