Three weeks ago today, our family boarded a plane to head back to the States unexpectedly. My life had just changed in a way that I never imagined possible.

The night before, Wednesday, October 4th, my amazing father-in-law went to be with Jesus after suffering a heart attack. He was only 58.

It’s tempting to ask God questions, many of which I won’t get answers to this side of heaven. Why, Lord? Why did You allow this to happen? Did it have to be right now? Couldn’t we have had a little more time? How does this make sense? What are you trying to do in our lives?

It’s hard to explain how “final” this feels. Ted was just here, and now he’s not.

It’s as if time has frozen.

And yet… time marches on.

We’ve already experienced a few of those dreaded “firsts”: the first Sunday Ted didn’t walk up on stage to play bass at church. The first airport drop-off without him in the driver’s seat. The first time that someone else mowed his lawn. The first pumpkin patch adventure as a family of 10 instead of a family of 11.

Sadly, there will be more “firsts” without him. The first Christmas. All of those first birthday celebrations. The first family reunion. Celebrating the first grandchild graduating from high school.

There’s that temptation again – to face heaven and ask, “Why, God?”

This grief process hasn’t been very linear. I’ve had tough mornings. Mornings where I’m floating in between sleep and consciousness, and my chest just feels so tight. Yet on other days, I look back on precious memories with smiles and fondness. I suppose that’s how it works, though. Beauty and pain, love and loss, joy and sorrow, all intertwined together.

When things like this happen, I assume it’s natural to think about last interactions. And I’m unbelievably thankful! Not only do I vividly remember Ted’s last words to me, but I can also say that they were the perfect bit of encouragement for me right when I needed it.

In September, we were back in the States for a board meeting. I had been worrying a bit that trip – experiencing some anxiety thinking about the future. Ted knew it. When that short time in Indiana ended, Ted and Val dropped us off at the airport where we said our goodbyes. Ted gave me a hug, and he whispered in my ear, “Ang, we’re so proud of you guys. I know there’s uncertainty at times, but God’s got Freedom in His hands.”

At the funeral service on October 10th, Ted’s pastor referenced a verse that is so dear to my heart. It has become “mine” – a tangible piece of hope that I’ve come to hold on to these last 11 years we’ve spent in the DR. Hearing those words again, in this new and painful context, brought some fresh confidence to my weak heart.

I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.

John 16:33

Jesus doesn’t beat around the bush. He calls things the way they are. He states the obvious. Yes, there is trouble in the world. Yes, life is hard. So unbelievably hard.

But – praise the Lord – that’s not all.

“Take heart…”

The night is dark, yet there’s a light that shines bright. Christ has overcome, and death will not have the ultimate victory.

No, I don’t have to gloss over the sadness and the suffering. But I don’t have to camp there either. Both pain and peace can coexist – with my Savior prevailing in the end.

Certainly, if I were the author of this story, I would’ve written this chapter a bit differently from where I sit. But I’ve not been handed the pen. Moreover, I wholly trust the One who’s writing the book. Yes, these pages are peppered with pain – but they’re being perfectly crafted nonetheless.

So while losing Ted may feel final in the moment, how thankful I am that it’s not really “The end.”

The encore is coming. And it’s going to be glorious.

Those who sow with tears will reap with songs of joy.

Psalm 126:5