One treasured day
Yesterday morning, I watched a big cream-colored golden retriever walking with his owner. Trying to walk would be more accurate; the good, old dog was slowly hobbling along while keeping his fixed eyes on his owner, who would stop every few steps and look back and wait for him. I couldn't help but imagine all the times this pup must have run and chased and zipped around grassy fields.
And I thought about how one day, our dog Charlie will be old like this. And my heart started to feel heavy with the simple questions we never quite have the answers for: Why do dogs get old and die? Why can't they always run and play? Why can't we give them as many snacks as they want? Why do we take them from their parents, whom they never see again? Why can't we be with them all of the time, so they are never alone? Why do we live in a world of scarcity, where we do not have all we want and where good things end?
Later that day, my wife and I decided to walk Charlie through a nearby cemetery to a fenced, secluded corner where we've seen other dogs playing. On our way, we passed a row of small, flat headstones. We were heartbroken to see that they were the resting places of beloved infants who had died, some on the very day that they were born.
My wife and I wept, and we thought of our son who we hope to hold in our arms for the first time in just four months. We have decided to name him Lazarus. The name Lazarus is a defiant, blazing reminder that Jesus is the resurrection and the life, radically sovereign over death. We are confident that we are not abandoned, and the story of Lazarus reminds us that Jesus has the power to speak life into the most hopeless of situations.
We eventually made it to the little grassy corner, where Charlie, finally unleashed, ran and leaped after his orange rubber ball in the yielding evening light. Laz, meanwhile, quietly pondered our laughter.