We just got back from Jennie’s funeral and the kids are in bed for a much-needed rest. I was the eternal optimist who thought that it could be possible to participate in the service managing the two little ones by myself (Doug was helping lead the service so he was seated up on the stage), but it was not to be. We actually lasted a bit longer than I expected, but nap-less Aaron started making noise so we went out into the entryway, which was this tiny tiled foyer that opened out onto a busy street. Needless to say, there were few good options for a busy two-year old, and after Aaron puked all over my shoulder and Mercy starting washing her shoe in the drinking fountain, I decided that we were not going to be able to stay for “Daddy’s songs.” We made an ungraceful exit and, with the help of a young black gentleman, got safely into our car.
On our way there, I had told Mercy that we were going to a special church to celebrate Jennie’s life. We happened to arrive at the church as the hearse was pulling up. We were inside claiming our seats in the back row when the casket was carried into the church. As if on cue, Mercy turned to me and asked in a loud voice: “Where’s Jennie?” With teary eyes I handed her the beautiful program that was filled with color photos from Jennie’s life.
I did not hear Kevin’s eulogy, nor did I hear the other sharing from Jennie’s family and friends, but I was struck by the unique way that our church family testified about Jennie’s life. Our presence there said something about the God Jennie loved and about what life with that God looks like, on earth as it is in heaven.