Where Do I Begin?

I don't want to start. I truly don’t want to.

So I delay this task by playing WORDS on my phone. Then move onto Elevate. Nobody sees you. Nobody judges you. My fingers go wild placing the c and the x in the TW square to triple my points.

Then I move on to NYT Connections… the addiction is calming.

My brain is oozing with ideas.

So tell me, where do I start?

It’s today, the 22nd of May.

A reminder to me that God never makes a mistake.

What He allowed to happen that day , twenty-one years ago, was in His perfect plan.

Except we ordinary mortals don't get it. So we mourn, we cry our hearts out. We pace around in a state of absolute shock, as if in a nightmare which will soon end.

Our dream boy, all of 24 years, is called to his eternal home being thrown out of the car at a culvert, driven by a slightly drunk racer, flung onto a corn field. His seatbelt wasn’t on because he was sitting behind and his apartment was just about two roads away. It was Saturday night and the young lads, newly recruited to their jobs, had been celebrating at the bar.

I am far away in another country and the phone rings at 3pm to ask if I was the mother of my son.

It’s a nurse from a hospital in Kansas City.

“Yes, why?”

“Your son just died, ma’am. I’m sorry to inform you.”

“Do you know Jesus? He is my Saviour.” I tell the nurse as if this was the response she was waiting for.

My reply was far too loud and my voice, shaky. Hearing this, my younger girls came running into the room and I held them close to me. I had to tell her about my defender, right?

The nurse had switched off.

“Anish just died. Call Papa back home.”

The dad had just driven off to his post-lunch session at work.

The older one calls her dad and in her strongest voice says, “Appa come back, something happened to Anish.”

I’m in shock. I just hug them. I run through the motions. Her words are whirring in my head.

A nurse just told me from across the oceans that my first born had DIED. Such a cold, heartless word… is this a movie scene? What am I doing so far away from him?

No mother ever wants to hear this. No mother ever should.

The goodness of our darling young man comes to the forefront, in our heads.

He was the perfect brother to his young sisters. He was such a noble son. And so very handsome, he tried to underplay his good looks at times. Finished his college courses well and got a job in a great tech company.

A rising tennis star.

What more could parents ask for?

“Go to church, honey. Don't miss church.”

“Ma, young guys don’t go in this part… I do read my bible everyday, Ma. Don’t you worry. I’m in good hands.”

Sunday mornings he washed his newly acquired, midnight blue Subaru. And parked it safe in the garage. He loved it so much.

Don’t idolize it, son. Only a mama would say such words.

Maaaa, he would grunt.

The young guys would often go to the Formula One racing track and get their thrills. But on this fatal day, his friend drove without control. A little high on his beer.

The others in the car had minor scratches. But my special boy was meeting the Lord Most High. Out in a Kansas corn field.

We made plans to go fly to his home to do the clearing up, collect his memorabilia, and all the necessary paperwork.

My mind was made up to forgive his friend right away.

I told him so in clear words.

"I forgive you because of what Jesus did for me…He died on the cross for me and you, even for this very moment."

The troubled boy didn’t understand a word of what I had said.

No point hurling guilt arrows onto another mother’s son. We could've sent him to jail. But we didn’t.

In four days, the funeral plans were laid out. I planned the entire pew sheet.

Who gave me the strength and wisdom to choose the right Psalm, the right words?

You think it came from deep within me? My bones? My diet?

No way, my friend.

It was entirely the Resurrection power of my Lord.

I chose the songs.. I sang out loud. Partly to fill my girls with a new found confidence that life WILL and CAN go on. Big brother is tasting life with Jesus in heaven. He’s even meeting my dad!

That’s our faith, that’s our hope, girls! Cheer up!

Friends and family started pouring into church. The pew sheets were distributed to all.

It was actually very well done.

Where did I get the ideas? The songs? How does it happen when the mind is a broken mess?

But God had His divine purpose and He was fulfilling them one by one.

The service is about to start.

We were being watched, stared at by some. Genuinely cherished by some.

Multitudinous thoughts playing havoc in people's minds.

Lookit this mama. She ain't crying. Doesn't she realize it's her son who’s lying there. Is she pretending?

Doesn't she care? Maybe she’s spaced out. But then how can she sing so clearly?

The hymn being sung was.. Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?

And me, the mama, was singing with conviction.

'Yes, he’s washed, Yes, he’s washed in the blood of the Lamb."

I pointed to him, lying in front of us.

It was supernatural strength and the voice that was coming out of me.

Not my own.

There was another family that got to the church out of sheer politeness.

Lookit what happened! She’s been praying all these years- such a holy Joe. Why did this happen to them?

Why did God do this to him?

There! Look, the mama doesn’t seem affected at all. Has she zoned out? Does she even realize the hugeness of this tragedy? Doesn’t she care for her boy?

Another prayerful visitor was sure the young man lying so dead had done something terribly wrong.

And so he was facing the consequences.

Her friend, equally prayerful, was of the opinion that a miracle could happen if somebody just prayed.

Nobody prayed. Neither did she.

There coulda been a Lazarus moment.

A faithful brother from far away said, “Don't worry, sis, our boy’s with Christ enjoying the glories of heaven.

The best place to be! Wasn’t he baptized as a believer?”

My old mama wrote from faraway.. ‘Don't be sad, my darling, but cry if you must. He’s rejoicing with the angels in the presence of Christ. It’s the best place to be. We’ll all get there someday.’

Mama me, was crying now, couldn't hold my tears any longer.

The dad showed as stoic a face as possible. What happened to my boy? Did I not teach him right?

Where did we go wrong?

The little 9 yr old little sister felt comforted and at peace. It’s going to be alright. Jesus is great.

The older sibling found joy in Psalm 27.

One thing I ask from the Lord,

this only do I seek:

that I may dwell in the house of the Lord

all the days of my life,

to gaze on the beauty of the Lord

and to seek him in his temple.

For in the day of trouble

he will keep me safe in his dwelling;

he will hide me in the shelter of his sacred tent

and set me high upon a rock.

Everyone hopes they reach the finish line with grace, to run the race as best as they can.

Even at 24, my darling young man had achieved so much.

I knew Jesus died young. So did Stephen. So it was alright.

Heaven can’t be filled with oldies.

Today after 21 years, I can say that tribulation does produce character. To be strong in calamity is a gift from God.

When the question is asked.. Why did this happen to you?

We must say with blessed assurance that it is a way for the unreached to decide where they will spend eternity.

Forgiveness, love, mercy, compassion are the divine gifts that flow through our veins now.

Life is uncertain for everyone. Tragedy is compounded in many parts of the globe today.

But living unto the Lord is something to be grasped for ever and ever.

And so let it be.