A Day for Remembering

"Eat this in remembrance of me."

"Drink this in remembrance of me."

Remember. Recall. Revisit. Remember.

This is mine. I did this for you.

Remember.

Is this perhaps the greatest calling any of us have?

To remember means it matters. To remember means it happened. To remember gives it value. To remember.

What is life without remembering?

I said to the boys this morning, over our Oatmeal Breakfast Cookies, "Guys, today is a pretty special day. It's called Good Friday."

"It's a good Friday? So we don't go to school? Is there a surprise??"

Hmmm. Not that kind of good.

"No, you'll still go to school. And your teachers will talk about it there, too. It's called Good Friday because it's the day we remember that Jesus died on the cross for our sins."

"But he didn't really die," Tyler says.

"Yes, he did, buddy. He really did."

"No, because he came back three days later."

"That's the miracle of it. He came back to life three days later, and that's how they knew he was really Jesus. That's how we know we can trust him, how we know we can go to heaven if we just believe in him and ask him to forgive us for our sins."

"So he came back to life on Sunday?"

"Yes, Tyler. He did."

His face lit up. "And so Daddy can, too! Tucker! Daddy will come back to life on Sunday and we can see him again!!"

Oh, sweet child. One good answer leads to three more questions.

"No, baby. Daddy's not coming back. Jesus is the only one who could come back to life. That's what makes him Jesus... he's the only one."

His face drooped to a gentle frown.

"I know, buddy. I wish Daddy could come back. But he can't. He just can't. But we can remember him. And someday we can go to him, if we believe in Jesus, too."

I am torn by sweetening the story of salvation (as if it can get better?) by telling the boys that Daddy is with God. And they can be too, with Daddy and with God, if they make the same choice Daddy made. I don't wish to entice my children to faith by saying that's the only way they'll see Daddy again, but I can't deny the truth: it is the only way. The only way they'll see Daddy, and the Only Way at all.

I don't wish to make heaven about Daddy. But we can't deny that the man who used to sit at our dinner table, in that chair right there, now feasts at a table in heaven. It's a truth of our family. He's there... and that somehow sweetens the deal. He's the most tangible piece we know of the next place we're promised.

I think every day about where Robb is, what he's doing, what is happening in his new, perfect world.

And on this day, as I am called to remember the cross, the gift, the magnitude of it all, I wonder what he's doing there. How do they celebrate Good Friday in heaven? What happens? My mind can't even fathom... but my husband is there.

And so I remember. I remember Robb. I remember grace. I think bigger than what I have lost; I think of the hope I have.

It's Good Friday. Jesus died on the cross.

I have hope to see Robb again; I have hope at all.

I try to remember.