No Lamp Bright Enough

Sometimes there aren’t adequate words to describe both the poignantly beautiful or painful happenings in this life.

As a child, my family was privileged to know and call our friends a family in Ohio who chose to live very differently than much of the world. The Burns didn’t drive cars, have electricity, or dress “in-style.” Their home was filled with the smell of kerosene and the simple things of this life — raw and real… flowers in mason jars and kettles on the stove. And their home was filled with love. Real love.

This Ohio family has grown, like ours, over the years — the children now married with children and grandchildren of their own. New homes have been built and furniture made by hand — kerosene still used to light the way in oil lamps that burn pure light.

But sometimes, even for the most non-convententional folks whose light burns with such purity, the darkness blinds. The way is unclear. The night is long.

And such is true today for the Burns. Their youngest, Timothy — who is my sister’s age — and his wife Tammy suffered a great loss last evening. As the sun set over Ohio farmland, a tractor driven by Tammy and carrying several of their children turned over. One of Timothy’s and Tammy’s children — their 18 year old daughter — was killed, crushed by the tractor, and several others were injured. Despite their desire to live set apart from the world, this world’s cruelty found them still and left them broken-hearted.

My heart is broken, too — for a mother who weeps and a father who must somehow muster the strength to comfort, even as he, too, grieves. The little boy who, I remember, had a big smile and an infectious laugh — the little boy who I’ve not seen since I was a little girl — today, despite the sunshine, faces a darkness unbearable. A future unclear — his wife by his side.

One empty bed.

One empty chair. 

No lamp burns brightly enough to show the way through such tragedy. And no words suffice. I simply ask for prayer for a family who needs it at this moment. I ask that, even though they weep, they will find that joy does come — some morning, even if far from now.

Won’t you join me…

Though our words fall short…

Though we may feel inadequate…

Weak… 

“… My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness…” (2 Cor. 12:9).

Kindest Father, please be with these hurting, broken children of Yours. You know better than anyone the pain of losing a child, for Your son Jesus died, too. And Your heart grieved this loss. But through Him, You conquered death and offer us the hope of eternity with You. Give Timothy and Tammy and their family hope and comfort during this time. Remind them that, though weeping endures for the night, joy DOES come in the morning (Ps. 30:5). This I pray…