This will not be the first I mention size as it relates to time in my entries.
And I doubt it will be the last.
It is proven that our sense of time changes as we grow. Whereas, a year in my childhood was slow, a year in my adulthood passes too quickly.
Time changes as we grow in size, and so does our ability to relate to it. We learn about its intervals and its value. As we become older, we learn the true and sometimes painful fact that is time is irretrievable.
A mosquito evolves from an egg, to larval, pupa, and then finally, into adulthood over the course of a few days. This short lifespan is only days to us, but to the mosquito; it is a lifetime.
And in comparison, we are colossal in size.
We have learned that the universe is infinite and that its size travels the span of light-years. So in comparison, as big as our planet seems to us, our world is no bigger than a grain of sand when compared to the size of the universe. This makes us infinitely small.
So in relation to time and size, our 24-hour day or 365-day trip around the sun is one year to us, but to the universe, it is less than a millisecond . . .
For quite some time, I have been following the struggle of a young boy named Jake. At 14 months, Jake was diagnosed with Alveolar Rhabdomyosarcoma. This is a rare but aggressive form of pediatric cancer, and as a result, young Jake underwent treatments, injections, scans, and medications that would shake the knees of even a grown man.
But he was only 14 months old . . .
“Behold, a son will be born to thee.”
And so it was; a son was born into a house filled with love. And that love never faltered or swayed. Instead, it grew.
The love for Jake grew beyond his mother and father. It grew beyond his older brother, and it grew in spite of hospital stays and doctor visits. Love for Jake grew beyond the size of his home and the size of his town.
It grew infinite in size and immeasurable in reach.
Recently, Jake passed but not before allowing us a moment of his glory.
In a time of self-righteousness, a young boy opened our eyes to truth.
He showed us light in spite of our own darkness.
And that in definition is Angelic
As a father, it is hard to make sense of this.
Like most, I want to shake my fist at the winds.
I want to Question God, and ask him “Why?”
As a parent, I cannot imagine the months of treatment and I cannot imagine the rise and fall of hope.
But as a man, I admire Jake’s strength and courage.
As a man, I admire the strength of Jake’s family and I extend my love to them in my daily prayers.
“In the beginning it is written; who will rise and who shall fall. Who will lie down . . . and who shall rise up again.”
I understand this.
I understand that which comes will eventually return.
And same as it will be for me, it will be for you.
Intellectually, I understand, but emotions have nothing to do with intellect.
And for now, I am just a man that weeps for a friend.
For now, I am a man that weeps for the world’s loss of beauty.
But in truth; the beauty is not lost.
I cannot explain why this happens.
I only know it does.
And I cannot understand why.
I only know that dying is a part of life.
in the end, we all return.
I just wish that Jake did not have to return so quickly.
In relation to time and size, Jake’s life was short.
But his love outgrew his body.
His love outgrew the size of his home and the size of his state.
It outgrew the size of our country, and Love for Jake reached people throughout the world.
As a parent, our focus is to comfort our children.
Our job is to hold them through pain and sickness, and it pains us if we cannot do this.
It hurts when we cannot comfort or hush them.
It is within us to protect, like an instinct.
And it is also an instinct for our children to want us and please us.
I submit there is no struggle more difficult than this. There is nothing harder than laying a child to rest.
But I offer this as a piece of hope.
As the flesh turns to spirit, the body gives up its size in return for an everlasting reach. And in comparison, the spirit is larger than the universe, and we of the flesh are smaller than grains of sand.
Know that the spirit is timeless. It is not those that pass that wait for us; it is the living that wait for them.
And so the process begins. We mourn and we weep.
We live and remember.
But a time will come when we reunite, and when we do, it will be as if we blinked and we never parted.
“In my Father’s house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you?”
Mary Elizabeth Frye wrote:
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there.
I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there.
I did not die.
Perhaps I never truly understood this poem until now . . .
And as sad as it is, I find comfort in its beauty.
I find comfort in the fact that we shall meet up again
Sleep well, Jake
True, you were only a young boy. But now you are colossal in size