. . . carry me

(Originally posted on my facebook page on November 28, 2008.)


“She walked with God until it came time for Him to carry her Home.”--A tribute to my friend Emily Joy.

I have said so many times that I would give back everything that Emily’s death has taught me if it meant she could be back here with us. I would gladly hand over—shove away even—all of the maturity, the insight, the deeper understanding of Him, everything good that has come from loosing her if Emily could just be back again . . . Praise to our God, who orcastrates our lives, for His enduring mercy—that I do not have to choose. Inicially, in the shock, and loss, and grief, there was no question in my mind which I would rather have—Emily or the “personal growth” it had worked in me, the new Abi that no one recognizes. Over time I have still held to that while still struggling to imagine going back to who I was before. Now—my graditude knows no bounds for one simple phrase: “You are God, and I am not.”

Jesus knew what He was asking of us when He said, “If anyone comes to me and does not hate his father and mother, his wife and children, his brothers and sisters—yes, even his own life—he cannot be my disciple. And anyone who does not carry his cross and follow me cannot be my disciple . . . In the same way, any of you who cannot give up everything he has cannot be my disciple.” He knew what that meant. I have never understood it. How could God command that of us if we are called to love one another?

I sit here now in a cubby hole in the kitchen of the restaurant where I work, my hair in my eyes, my heart opened to a tender place, and write, “Anything but Him.” I would give anything BUT Him. In the weeks after Emily’s death, almost nine of them now, the gospel has become so real, scripture has become so real, the undying, amazing, extravagant epic of His Story has become so intensely personal. But in the last two months, as my personal knoweldge of Him grew, it shifted from knowing OF Him into knowing Him, simply knowing Him . . . though I am quickly learning that through the simplicity: how simple, and yet how intricate!

God is so, so close. I can feel Him with me every day—so close it’s almost a physical presence. In tears and turmoil, I am reminded that God will never test us beyond what we can bare. I cannot go back. I cannot EVER go back! In looking at what Emily’s loss has taught me, it would no longer be a choice between Emily and my new self, but Emily and HIM. I know Him now. Her death revealed Him to me. I have always felt a residual loneliness that followed me throughout my life no matter who was near—I miss my friends sometimes, especially now, but I do not feel desolate. It’s not about understanding Him now, but KNOWING, intimately, closely, irreplacably. “Unless a man forsake . . . “ I cannot ever say I would not choose Emily—but I WILL NOT say I would choose against Him. Blessed be the Lord! I do not have to choose. So simple, and yet so extravagant!

I’m reminded of the fiery furnace: “Our God can deliver us, but even if He doesn’t, we STILL won’t bend the knee.” Or Job’s simple defiance to despair, “Though he slay me, yet will I trust in Him.” I can look the worst in the face and say with gentle confidence, “Take it all. Anything but Him.” Emily is gone. Yet I know she would be overjoyed to know that I choose what she would have wanted. That I choose what she chose. And that I want it reguardless of if she did. I want it in my own right. I can just hear her saying, “I hoped this for you too.” Abraham’s sacrifice comes to mind. The one thing that he wanted most was the one thing God asked of him—his son.
Emily is gone, and yet I must release her. I thought I had. I think it has been a process I was unaware of these last sixty-two days. Where I once felt her presence everywhere, now I feel His. Where I once found comfort in remembering what she had hoped for me, I find peace in His delight of me--past, present, and future all at once. As I looked up on the month annaversary and realized I was thinking of her every moment conciously or subconciously, now, at the two month annaversary, I realize He is always on my mind. “This one’s not yours,” I can hear Him say as He has said of so many others I have had to release into His care. I am reminded of my own art, the picture of the man carrying a sleeping child in the light of the cross that I painted four or five years ago. I picture Him standing before me and lifting Emily out of my arms. “Let me carry this. It’s time to let go.” “

Cast your cares upon Him, for He cares for you.”—Emily Joy, one week before her death.

Cast your cares upon Him for He carries you . . . I let go. I give her to You. Carry her.

. . .carry me.