Life and Death

Have you ever experienced life and death in a matter of moments?

Recently a friend shared the wonderful news that she is pregnant. She had suspected it for awhile–in fact, she took TEN pregnancy tests until her husband told her to stop spending money on them because she wasn’t pregnant. That may sound harsh, but this IS their fourth addition to the family! Needless to say, hearing the pregnancy was officially confirmed was both fun and exciting. (Their youngest is 5 months. Can you say, “Adventure”?!)

As I was rejoicing with my friend and listening to what she told her husband (which was a big fat, but very sweet, “I told you so!”), I got a message from another friend. While in mid-rejoicing mode, I was quickly slammed with the coldness of tragedy. My second friend had just lost her father. Wow. Life and death. High and low. Joy and pain…all in a very small moment. Who knew one instant could hold so much?

I wrestled with how to process such conflicting information in such a short amount of time. Of course, it’s easy to celebrate the newness of life. But celebrating death feels unnatural, even for people who have the hope of Eternity. The contrast of emotions was very confusing.

This week will be somewhat similar, in that I am preparing to face both joy and sorrow in an abbreviated span of time.

Today my husband and l celebrated as we began the “labor and delivery” process for the home we are building. We officially broke ground today, with a projected due date of October. Just like the Egyptians built pyramids and the Israelites built temples to represent something of importance, our home on Troubadour Lane will stand as a monument of triumph, freedom, and healing for our family. It is more than just a place to live; it marks the birth of a new season for us. To watch as it is birthed before our very eyes is a miracle. Over the next few months we will see our house grow and develop, morphing into what it has been purposed to be: a place of peace, hope, joy and growth for our family and for others. I am in awe to have the privilege of watching it all unfold.

Sadly, only two days after celebrating the birth of my own family’s new phase of life, I’ll be in Charleston with my three brothers, packing up our childhood season as we move our Mom into her new house. We will be dividing up the furniture and moving things that haven’t been moved in twenty years. It seems almost like desecrating a temple. But a house is not supposed to be a museum, and that is what Mayfield has become…a preservation of the way things used to be. The bright side is that with every box we pack at Mayfield, we will have the joy of unpacking at Mom’s new home on Lowndes Lane.

While I know that the structure of a house is not what makes it a home, I also recognize the important role it plays as the backdrop for the stages of life. This weekend my brothers and I will be putting away the set of our childhood, and I am reminded of the same clash of joy and sorrow from a few weeks ago.

So from the delivery room to the funeral home I go, watching as both life and death unfold, awkwardly intermingled.

The “Delivery Room”: Our dirt on Troubadour Lane. Due date of October, 2008.

Childhood home on Mayfield Street. That’s my dog, Norfleet, spread-eagle on the lawn!

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