No one has greater love than this, to lay down one's life for one's friends (John 15:13)
My mother, Barbara, lost her father, Floyd Beaver, during World War II. She was born on January 1, 1945. He died on March 4, 1945 as the Allies were pushing toward the Rhine river. He did know that he had another daughter, and in his last letter to my grandmother it seems he would have called my mother "Babs".
Obviously, my mother never met her father. And since he is buried in Liege, Belgium at the Henri-Chapelle American Cemetery, no one from the family had ever made it over to his grave. That was until 1995, when my father kept a promise he'd made to her to take them there one day.
The day that we made it to the cemetery was filled with great emotion. My mother's sister, my aunt Sandy, came with us. As we found the marker - Plot C, Row 8, Grave 8 - my mother and aunt walked together, holding on to each other, toward the grave site. My father and I walked behind them.
As we came upon the grave, my mother and my aunt knelt down, placing the flowers they had brought, and began to weep. My dad watched and then knelt beside my mother.
I watched as my dad took some dirt he had brought from NC to poor on grandfather's grave.
He then took some dirt from there to take back home to the cemetery, named in his honor, at Emmanuel Lutheran Church in Rockwell, NC, my grandfather's home church.
Before my grandmother died, and before Alzheimer's had fully taken control of her mind and body, my mother and aunt were able to take pictures to her of the grave site. She was finally able to see his grave and see their daughters standing by the grave. My grandmother kept those pictures by her bedside until the day she died.
As we came upon the grave, my mother and my aunt knelt down, placing the flowers they had brought, and began to weep. My dad watched and then knelt beside my mother.
I watched as my dad took some dirt he had brought from NC to poor on grandfather's grave.
He then took some dirt from there to take back home to the cemetery, named in his honor, at Emmanuel Lutheran Church in Rockwell, NC, my grandfather's home church.
Before my grandmother died, and before Alzheimer's had fully taken control of her mind and body, my mother and aunt were able to take pictures to her of the grave site. She was finally able to see his grave and see their daughters standing by the grave. My grandmother kept those pictures by her bedside until the day she died.
As I reflect on that amazing morning, I am mindful that so many families, like mine, have suffered these kind of tragedies. It is humbling to know that so many men and women have made this ultimate sacrifice in defense of our nation's freedom. At it's purest, these acts of sacrifice are amazing acts of love. And amidst their death, we achieved victory. We live and hope now in the light of this victory.
Any such sacrifice reminds us of the love of God and the cross of Jesus. His love for this world led to the tragedy of the cross. Yet, as is God's way, death is turned into victory. And we live and hope now in His victorious light.
This Cross was visible in the sky on the day we visited the cemetery
As we give thanks this Memorial Day for the sacrifice of so many brave soldiers, men and women who put others before themselves, we are mindful that their sacrifice mirrors the model of Christ, where death is swallowed up in the victory of the Risen Lord, where hope sustains us through tragedies to come, and the light of peace reigns always in our lives and in our world.
For your sacrifice dear Lord and for the sacrifices of men and women, we give thanks and praise. Amen.
No comments:
Post a Comment