Why Don't He Write Home?

There’s a poignant scene in the movie, “Dances with Wolves,” in which a gruff old prairie guide walks into, well, the prairie, to, well, “take a leak.” Suddenly, he looks downward, pauses, and squats down next to a pile of bones. At this juncture, he muses to himself,

“Somebody out east is saying, ‘Why don’t he write home?’”

And with this exclamation, he congratulates himself for his whit with a hearty, toothless laugh.

Unfortunately, (especially for the weaseled guide) within minutes he is shot “through and through” with several Indian arrows; the recipient of the same “welcome” his boney friend received.

We have all, at one time or another, wished we might have one more moment with a deceased loved one. And very much like “the folks back east,” in my previous illustration, we could wish our husbands or wives or fathers or mothers or brothers or sisters had the power to circumnavigate the boundaries which separate this world from the next.

But, sadly it is not to be.

Or is it?

Shortly after my father died, my mother was taking a nap, but suddenly woke up, and looked over at a rocking chair in the corner of the room. She claims my father was sitting in the chair, silent, but smiling, and as tangible as he ever was in life. However, after a few seconds, he disappeared.

And oddly enough, upwards of half of all people who ever lost a loved one report having heard or seen something which convinced them they’d experienced a special visitation of the one who “had gone before them.”

As an evangelical Christian I possess mixed opinions about such things, and my faith forbids any active interaction with the dead. However, I am not so faithless or naïve to believe that God might not, on a momentary basis, reassure you or me that our loved ones arrived safely in heaven. I consider such a possibility …probable.

There’s a narrative poem which I have recently come across, and which seems to be gaining a great deal of popularity among them who have lost loved ones. One line, in referring to death, and the invisible presence of them whom we have lost, reads something like,

“Nothing has really changed at all.”

Well, I beg to differ. Everything has changed!

As I was reflecting on this topic this morning, a thought came to me, and a couple hours ago I shared the concept with a friend whose wife died in the past week.

“When such things occur, we are almost inconsolable, but only almost.”

At least this is the case among people of faith. Scripture admonishes us that,

“we grieve not as them who have no hope.”

For our Lord has become “the first fruits” of those who rise from the dead, and if He lives, we can be assured of the continuance of our own lives, and those of our loved ones. And there is every reason to believe we will see them again.

… Almost inconsolable. But only almost.

 

By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 13

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