Remember
Three knocks echo.
My stomach tightens.
My heart pounds.
I can't breathe.
This isn't real.
I grip the door handle.
The soldier's face says it all.
One sentence imprisons.
Thousands upon thousands of stories go on like this.
A husband, son, father...killed in war, sacrificed in battle.
This grief, I only imagine.
This devastation, I do not know.
But I know sorrow.
My hero didn't die for his country but while battling bloody cancer.
Before his fight of a lifetime, his last sermon was entitled "Remember."
Intricate details like this tempt me to scream or sing, depending on the moment.
Walking paradoxes of tragic beauty.
Light in darkness; the broken held.
My dad would have heard us singing through a phone's speaker as we led the congregation at his favourite place that Good Friday evening, while his spirit prepared to leave his body at the hospital.
A little while later, halfway up our driveway, the message buzzed:
"Come now, he's struggling to breathe."
The short drive was too long.
We made our way to the familiar ward and wept and worshipped at his hospital bed—oddly back to the same room where his wild four months began.
It was now a sacred space, just moments after his journey beyond this broken world.
A journey into healing, wholeness, life everlasting.
Life and death require tenacity of perspective.
As we remember lives sacrificed for freedom and families broken over liberty, we also remember those grieving in a million ways.
I remember what my dad protected.
And what he imparted.
With each tender gift of another day, I remember.
We remember.
White crosses, poppies, and waving flags remind us of freedom fought for nations.
A rugged cross, three nails, and an empty tomb remind us of the blood shed for grieving souls.
Symbols of grace, hope, and love.
Reminding us there's always space for tears…
Lest we forget!
And there's always space for joy…
Lest I forget!
When my knock comes from above, I too will open the door with every last shaky ounce of strength, lock eyes with divine love and breathe through my finish line.
Charlene VandenBrink
Charlene strings together soulful words for life’s beauty and struggles.
When not feeding her six children with good books and endless meals, she can be found walking and talking with neighbours, folding laundry while listening to a podcast, or reading and reflecting on her latest stack of books for seminary.
She also cheers on her husband, who runs their Edmonton-based renovation company. They welcomed six children in eight years and are living the dream of homeschooling and traveling life together!