Memorial Day: Let's
Have a Cigar On It
For as in Adam all
die,
even so in Christ
shall all be made alive.
-- 1 Corinthians 15:22
They used to call it "Decoration
Day," since Americans would go to cemeteries and decorate the graves of those
who'd fought and died for our country, to honor and remember them.
I thought it was spooky to see
cemeteries decked out with flowers and banners, and hoopla being made around
all those names solemnly etched in stone. What good's a party, for the dead?
Rejoicing doesn't seem to fit this
holiday very well. I'm thinking of the longtime friend, whose young-looking,
fun-loving wife died of cancer this past year, and he sobbed through the
funeral. I'm thinking of the family and friends of the joke-cracking,
much-beloved young local girl who was killed in a freak car crash. I'm thinking
of all those who gave their lives in military service to our country, and of so
many others, young and old, who passed away in the last year. It must be hard
for their loved ones to go to the cemeteries this weekend.
I used to hate going. I knew in my
head, from reading the Bible, that believers would have eternal life. But I
didn't "get it" in my gut, that that was something amazing and worthy of joy.
So, like a lot of people, I was a little freaked out by cemeteries and
gravestones, and basically funeral-averse. And then I heard this crazy story,
from a friend who, like me, had lost her dad:
He was in his 60s, same as mine, and
died of heart problems, same as mine. She had been almost in a trance during
the funeral and for a few months thereafter, going through the motions, receiving
people's condolences, helping her mother go through his things and so forth.
But it was as if she was in shock.
She hadn't really dealt with the fact that he was dead. She knew he wasn't
around any more, and wasn't coming back. He was a believer, so she knew he
wasn't in hell. But this heaven thing. . . . What, did he float up there like a
ghost? How could she be sure? It was all so confusing. Overwhelmed and still
grieving, she back-burnered her questions for a while.
Then came Memorial Day weekend. She
thought she'd go visit his grave by herself. She was whizzing along in her car,
on the Interstate, almost there, when suddenly. . .
. . . she was overpowered by the
aroma of cigar smoke.
Whaaa? She didn't smoke. No other
adults had even sat in her car for weeks. She cracked her windows, but the
aroma remained. If it seeped in from a passing car, it would have seeped right out
again. But it didn't. Where on earth. . . .? Nobody smoked cigars any more.
And then it dawned on her:
Her father had been a cigar smoker.
As soon as that thought crossed her
mind, the aroma was gone.
The incident lasted only an instant.
But it was enough for her to perceive that it wasn't just a coincidence. It was
a message.
Tears rolled down her cheeks. She
was laughing and sobbing and gasping.
Dad! Dad! You're alive! You're still with me!
She pulled off the Interstate,
parked at the cemetery, ran over to the headstone, threw her arms around it,
and laughed and cried and prayed for a good, long while.
Today, she tells the story, shakes
her head, and smiles a big, beautiful Decoration Day smile. That smile of
assurance and peace was all I needed, to help me understand . . . and finally
do what I needed to do, which was to leave grief and numbness behind me, and
finally, rejoice.
So now, when I go out to those cemeteries
and see those names solemnly etched in stone on those graves, I put an imaginary
cigar between my lips. I take a luxurious puff on it . . . and breathe in
deeply the priceless joy of knowing that they aren't really dead! Nyahh nyahh
nyahh, Death!
Now, THAT'S something to party
about.
You came close, Death . . . but no
cigar.
And one day, oh, yes, no doubt,
thank You, Jesus . . . one day my loved ones will cross back from just memories
into reality again . . . because one day, thanks to Him, praises forevermore, I
will see them again. †
