A Light of Surpassing Greatness

Not uncommon for me to see, hear, feel supernatural encouragement from the Holy Spirit, I believe with all my heart in the scripture that says, "If you seek Me, you will find Me when you search for Me with all your heart." (Jeremiah 29:13).  With eyes wide open, this summer I delve into the memory, the words, the sights and sounds of my story and God is along for every sentence. Writing a memoir of the grief and healing I've experienced in God's amazing grace, He continues to reveal His unrelenting Holy Spirit of comfort and affirm all He is guiding me to be as a minister in the faith. 

 About 15,000 words in, I've reached THE "chapter"--pathway where the trees breathe promise, where my mourning dawns anew, a chapter about butterfly angels on a mercy mission. 

~View to Heaven~

I am just finishing the chapter when the hard-working man comes home, ready to set himself up to view another world on a not so flat screen and sit for the evening in a worn, so worn and tired love seat. 

The blinds need adjusting; a filter to move the rays where they need to be, so we can see. He makes that move, ready to settle in. 

Are we blind to what needs to be seen? 

...And I am finishing up the chapter in the lowered light of the summer day, on the dining room table where the bread is served, where the cup is filled. 

I'm back there, back to those days of the unrelenting heaves of grief. I'm back to the worn tennis shoes, the overplayed music and the dark park with its illuminated spider webs and shadowy trees in the pre-sun, star fading mourning of mornings. 

The words finish up and I know this miracle once again, so wanting to capture the Truth of His Love, the end story that never ends. My heart is full and it feels glorious. 

The living room is quiet as the hard-working man showers off the day's labor and I stretch up to saunter into life in the evening with him. Looking up, I see into the living space, the light filtering in a perspective unseen before. 

I call out to the hard-working man, "come take a look at what is happening...hurry, before it changes."

The light is streaming in and hitting the wall across the room, the wall where a shelf holds the earthen vessel of ashes of our first born, the shelf that holds the sanctuary of his life. 

The light dances, filtered through the jasmine vines outside and the blinds. 

But I am not blind, for I see the trees, I see the butterflies, the sunflowers, the hummingbirds...

I see and know the Cross, where we can see the Light and Eternity coming together to make Perfect Sense. 

I've seen the dead, and I've seen lives arise from the dead and live with a new found purpose. 

I watch as the light shifts and paints on the canvas of my shelf-holding wall of love and I grab my cell phone. 

I capture the lit up heart, a heart-light. 

and wings of angels...


II Corinthians 3:6-7 the Apostle Paul tells us, "For God, who said, 'Light shall shine out of darkness,' is the One who has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ. But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the surpassing greatness of the power may be of God and not from ourselves."

I am moved to tears of gratitude, of worship in that very moment. 

The hard-working man comes down the stairs one painful step at a time and he sees my excitement over...light and shadows and walls,  ...and says, "cool!"

The light, still moving, turns the corner and pierces the space where my thoughts come to rest , where my head bows frequently. It spills onto the chair I sit and read His Word, basking in His inspiration and promises throughout my day, where hearts in friendship bonded for eternity. 

 The light brings Love, an affirmation, for the Holy Spirit whispers to me that God is the Light of this moment, and He is the light for all moments. 

What do we see in His light?  A revelation of His eternal love for us, as unworthy as we are, He came to be our Light and remove all of our darkness. 

Amen. 

I saw the Light, I accepted it into my own darkness and I know the Light is Good. 

II Corinthians 4:18 ...While we look not at things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen; for the things which are seen are temporal, but the things which are not seen are eternal. 

The sun set, yet the Light in my soul, in my son's soul shines for eternity, of that I am sure without any shifting shadow of doubt. 

The hard-working man calls me the next day and wants to talk about the light,  --and the wall and the shelf, as he is thinking about it in his hard-working days upon days.  

God stirs up a heart to want more of Him and again I am warmed by a new sunrise. 

My memoir continues...and I am in awe of His goodness to me, overwhelmed by the Light. 

Psalm 27:1 The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? 

John 8:12  Again therefore Jesus spoke to them, saying, "I am the light of the world; he who follows Me shall not walk in the darkness, but shall have the light of life." 

Amen. 

Sunrise Swallowtails

We only moved a mile away from a place of great sadness to a new home, a place where we hoped healing lived as well.   Four months previous, our oldest son went home to Heaven after succumbing to a chronic kidney and lung condition.  Forced to pack up Tim’s things a little earlier than I was ready for, the boxes remained closed; memories tucked away and out of sight.  The new house gave us walls freshly painted and an ordered tree-lined street populated with playing children—all boys.  I pondered the additional pain of the sights and the sounds.  Summer break left me with more idle time to function, trying to do ordinary things in a straightjacket of hurt. I slept, cried, prayed, and wrote in my journal.  I felt deeply, I talked with God continuously, and I mourned. 

God, listen.

I made a discovery of a small park with huge sycamore and pine trees just a few houses down within my community.  The summer mornings found me awakening at 4:00 A.M. needing to talk with God and feel my son’s spirit.  I grabbed my music and with my tennis shoes tied, walked out the door to this park.  Around and around I walked the path that took me through the trees, around the pool and through the grassy areas.  Sometimes I counted the laps; eighteen, nineteen, twenty. Other times, I just sang the songs of sweet hope playing in my ear.  All the time I talked to God.  I asked Him all those hard questions. I told Him all my fears, my doubts, and I poured out my brokenness.  I longed for comfort and a sign that told me Tim was good, perfect, eternal.

 God, show me.

The sun began to rise from the east. Dark gray, to a lighter gray with a tinge of tangerine and pinks, the stars still twinkling in the dawn, the trees now silhouettes of grace.  Then I saw them.  Were they leaves floating down?  No.  They glide with direction, yet carefree. They float with purpose, yet relaxed. Butterflies.  Big yellow and black Swallowtail butterflies awoke with the morning’s first light to follow my footsteps.  Many flew ahead of me, some behind, some overhead.  This happened every morning that I walked.

God, delight me.

That whole summer, when and wherever I allowed my self to go, a Swallowtail butterfly gracefully flew into my path.  It fluttered into my vision, and angel from God; my son saying “Hi, Mom.”  The second summer after Tim’s death, I became proactive in a foundation that raises funds specifically for his particular chronic kidney condition.  Meeting with the coordinator at a restaurant, a butterfly also met us at the walkway and then followed us up to the entry door. We sat at a table facing a window.  While I ate and made plans for our upcoming fundraising walk, the butterfly relentlessly flew back and forth past the window.  “Well Tim, I am sensing a happy feeling from you about what I am doing here.”

God, heal me.

Four and a half years now, a day does not go by that I do not think about my son.  I await the first appearance of the butterfly in spring, but it always catches me off guard as I am gazing thoughtfully out a window, or walking to retrieve the mail.  Ministering to my soul, their beautiful wings dance to a song filled with music of promise--and I am comforted.  Like the butterfly, a worm who once crawled on his belly, barely inching forward, God wrapped His arms around me, held me tight until I felt OK enough to face the world again, and then let me fly.  Seeing His plans all from a different perspective now, my hope is to ask God to share this same hope with others who mourn, that their same comfort will arrive on Angel’s wings and a prayer. 

God, use me.

Employed with the local school district, I work as an instructional aide at a high school.  It began as any other day.  Spirit Week and Homecoming events filled this week’s calendar of activities. The news came as I sneaked in a few seconds late to second period. The stoic calmness of these normally hyped-up 12^th graders for Foods class was palpable. “Something happened,” I quickly calculated. Indeed this tragic news stunned me as I gazed upon the heart-broken students sifting the information. A well-known, popular student and member of both my 2^nd period and 4^th period classes passed away in his sleep the night before.  I looked over to his chair across the aisle from my own in disbelief, Ellis’s seat empty.  Within another minute, our principal entered the room and relayed a confirmation. Then, she asked me to step outside.  With an encouraging hug, she spoke kindly expressing her concern for my own well-being.

“I understand you lost a son and if this day is difficult for you…” she spoke.

“I am good, really,” as I sniffed and wiped away my tears.  “Thank you, but I want to help. Can I help?” 

“Yes, dear. Come with me,” she instructed. 

I spent the next two and a half hours in a room designated for grief counseling. I helped spread out butcher paper on tables and dumped out colorful markers.  Water bottles and tissue arrived along with a constant stream of weeping classmates.  They gathered in circles hugging each other, unable to take it all in.  Walking over to a table, I shared how writing out my thoughts, my memories of my own son, in a journal, helped me.  I handed a felt-tip marker to a student and asked him to write a note to Ellis. And so it began. Without going into detail, I shared as a mother who experienced the pain of a son dying.

 “These words you write are precious and a gift to Ellis and his family; these memories keep Ellis alive in our hearts.”

 Nine tables with the tear-stained butcher paper memorials came alive with colorful stories, memories, song lyrics and expressions.  A group of about eight girls sat outside the room on a picnic table, mascara stains across their cheeks, trembling with grief.

“Can I tell you a story?” I said.

Huh? What? Not comprehending what I said.

“Can I tell you a story?” I said again.

“Sure,” as they looked quizzically to one another.

My butterfly story, how God sent me angels in black and yellow to guide my grief walk and how now they bring me a “Hi Mom,” I calmly shared. Within a minute, these girls were engaged and the sobs softened. 

“If you ask God to help you with your pain, He will. Something will remind you of your friend Ellis and every time you think of it or see it, you’ll feel warm inside and remember him with a smile instead of a tear.”

Their heads now lifted, they thanked me for my story and we shared more hugs.  I walked inside the room and found a black marker and a yellow crayon.  A big butterfly now flew across the butcher paper memorial. 

In II Corinthians 1:3-4, the Apostle Paul tells us, “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort; who comforts us in all our affliction so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.”

I am eternally grateful for my angel butterflies, a beautiful creation of God and a gift to remind me of God’s personal love for us all.  Sometimes all you need to do is look up to see Hope.

Coleene VanTilburg

October 28, 2011