God has a way of teaching us lessons in the most unexpected ways. That was my experience last week.
The experience began tragically. It was about 5:45 Saturday morning when my cell phone woke me. I was at Shocco Springs Conference Center participating in the Trustee Orientation Conference sponsored by the Alabama Baptist State Convention.
The voice on the telephone was that of my daughter. I was excited. Jean was expecting a baby any moment. When she went to the hospital, I was to keep my grandson who is almost 3 years old. But the call was not about the birth of a baby. Jean told me she had just received a call from my mother saying that my father had died about an hour earlier.
Dad had been in declining health for a year. The past week, he had been in a Decatur hospital but his condition improved and he was transferred to a rehabilitation unit in Huntsville. The night before, he appeared strong. But during the night, his heart failed and he died. The doctors warned us this could happen because of his severe heart damage. Still, we were not prepared for the call.
Until recently, Dad had always been strong. His reputation was that of a hard worker. He took pride in his occupation, in the business he ran for a decade and, now, in the appearance of his yard and home. He understood the urging of the writer of Ecclesiastes to find satisfaction in one’s toil because it is a gift from God. Dad found his identity in his work. Now he was dead.
I called my mother who was alone when the hospital reached her shortly after 5 that morning. We talked and cried together. There were other calls to make. A short time later, I was on my way to Decatur to be with Mother and attend to the many details that go with death.
Through the weekend, family, friends and church members from Parkview Baptist Church in Decatur, where my parents are members, surrounded Mother with support. They had provided help and encouragement during Dad’s week in the hospital, also. On Monday, Dad was buried in Lawrence County where he was born and reared. He was 76.
Monday evening I went to bed consumed with thoughts of loss. My father had died. The experience brought back memories of other losses — the loss of my wife, Eleanor, in July 1998 and the death of my only sibling, my brother Darryl who drowned 19 years ago last November. The night was restless. I lay awake much of it remembering Dad and wondering about the future. What would Mother do without my father? They had been together nearly 59 years.
That is when the telephone rang again. It was shortly after 6 a.m. This time it was my son-in-law on the telephone telling me that he and my daughter were at the hospital. Kassidi Lenae Cullen was about to be born. Again I quickly dressed. This time I went by St. Vincent’s Hospital in Birmingham to briefly see Jean and Lon and then to Vincent in Shelby County to keep my grandson, Drayton, while his parents were at the hospital.
All went well. At 12:55 Tuesday afternoon, Kassidi entered the world. That evening I got to hold her for the first time. The next day I took Drayton to see his new sister. With his mother and daddy on each side of him, he held Kassidi and sang her a song he had practiced for the occasion. It was a happy time.
About 1 p.m. on Monday, I had been in the cemetery consumed with grief. Twenty-four hours later I was celebrating life. Again, the writer of Ecclesiastes speaks about a time to die and a time to be born. In that famous third chapter, the writer contends that God is present in both situations and that God is sufficient in the sorrow as well as the joy.
For me there was another lesson — a lesson about life. God calls us to life, even in the midst of death. Jesus died that those who accept Him as Lord and Savior might have life. God’s first gift to us is life, physical life, and He offers us life eternal. The timing of Kassidi’s birth reinforced the lesson that God does not leave us in sorrow but moves us toward life. This is the third time that lesson has been taught in the same way in our family.
My wife, Eleanor, was buried July 24, 1998. My grieving was deep like that of many of you who have walked similar paths. On July 25, 1999, my first granddaughter was born. Jessica is the daughter of my son, Brent, and his wife, Lee Ann, who live in Atlanta. There were tears that Eleanor did not get to see Jessica, but there was no mistaking the call to life. Jessica was life, new life that needed tending. I could not be lost in grief and miss life.
My sister-in-law had a similar experience. November 1, 1981, the day Darryl died, was a horrible day for her. Then 13 years later her first grandchild was born on Nov. 1. Now the day represents life although it can never lose the tinge of pain.
Now Kassidi — the day after death, life. God calls us to life.
On Friday following my father’s funeral, my sister-in-law brought Mother to see her newest great-grandchild. It is her fifth. For her, too, there is call to life. And there is a call to life for all of us who sorrow. God is present. God is sufficient. God will guide us to life which He offers as gift — life in this world and life in the world to come.
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