Chapter 4:
Weekends growing up and visiting my grandparents’ house in Kansas City brought with it an expected routine of life. Upon waking up in the mornings, scents of turkey sausage cooking in the kitchen filled the air. My grandfather, already having been on his early 5:00 am morning walk with the dogs, was more than through his morning routine to make breakfast well before my siblings and I got out of bed.
Shortly after breakfast, we’d join my grandma for a late morning walk across the lake. My brother and I, too impatient for walking, would roll out the bikes and race through the neighborhood streets and hills. Always being sure to circle back to my grandma and sister who were walking. More contemplative, they had a knack for taking in the houses and scenes of the lake.
Upon returning back to their home, on many days my grandfather and I would work up the routine of throwing the football in the long driveway of their house. I would tell him the route I was running, and he would throw me the perfect spiral almost every time. On other days, my brother and I would pull out the skateboards, riding up and down the long cement driveway, being careful not to fall and scrape our knees at high speed.
On Sunday afternoons, we were Chiefs fans at heart, but the Colts were the team we’d watch on TV. Those years were the down seasons in Kansas City, so we’d mostly fill the void by watching my grandfather’s favorite player, Peyton Manning, throw dimes across the field to Marvin Harrison, Reggie Wayne, and Dallas Clark on the old turf of Indy’s RCA Dome.
Harley Davidson, Tennessee orange, collector rifles, and music from the 1980’s filled my grandparents’ garage with character and style. Old VCR movies, military magazines, and the many dogs and cats my grandparents owned filled the home.
Looking at my time as a kid, I seemed to have the coolest grandparents in the world. But a few moments always stood stark in contrast from the routine and exuberance of the days at my grandparents’ house. Occasionally, as I would pass through their house running from one activity to another, I’d stop only to glance up at the walls of their home. Usually in an unplanned instant, I’d take but a moment to take in the scene on the wall before me.
In those moments, a reality struck forth. The photos in frames seemed but to beckon backwards to a time for my grandparents which was much different than what I had come to know. I’d take a moment to look at those walls and each time I’d be reminded of a reality which had become a normality for my grandparents and my family. My grandparents’ son, my mom’s brother, stood there in photos smiling from his playground days as a toddler. A quick trip to the garage and I would see photos testifying to his high school rockstar moments, and occasionally catch a glimpse of his college days on camping canoe trips with my mom and dad.
The reality was that my grandparent’s son, my mom’s brother, was a man I had never had the chance to meet. A man I had never had the chance to know. A son and brother lost in a car accident one fateful night just a few months before I was born. He was someone I knew about, but a man for which my mom’s family many years later still mourned.
From my mom’s brother, to my grandparents on my dad’s side; these were the ones lost too soon in my family tree. Their faces were the ones who were loved by the people I loved. Their pictures lied in glass and wooden frames. Their lives beckoned backward upon our family walls. Their lives were those of the unbeknownst few, who were known by the people I knew.
On those days passing by those past filled walls, I got a glimpse of one of the most foreign realities to a young kid at the beginning of his life. I was met face to face with the reality of death, its senselessness and silent contempt. As it lorded its power, I learned rather early in life: From death, my family and all of us are not exempt.
What If Death Was Not So?
Death . . . how did we get here? After so much fought for in heaven, all for the sake of the youthfulness of the Divine life. After a woman’s great yes, hinged upon from centuries of humanity’s enslaved anticipation. After a great newness and hope for humanity sprung forth, and after the joy and hope of new life. Now comes death to rally its forces in spite?
Death . . . why did our God allow it to come upon him? Why would the warrior-king who so quietly broke behind enemy lines, risk the immense gift of his life and expose his defenses, solely to be swallowed up by the weapon most destructive in the demonic war machine? Why by death did it have to be?
If we were to think why death, perhaps we’ll need to go back to Genesis again to see just what sort of predicament we got ourselves in. In paradise, when all Adam knew was tranquility, God was sure not to shield Adam from death’s possibility:
“But of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall die." – Genesis 2: 17
The reality of death was first brought up by our Creator. But notice its difference from what we experience today. Death was not brought up as a matter of fact. Rather, it was mentioned to be the fruit of an act. It was an option upon which Adam could refuse. He had the freedom to choose life without death. Death was not inevitable at first, but something God would allow, if Adam were to turn away . . . (To Be Continued)