How Thin the Veil

There is a veil that separates death from life; and although as we go through our days, we often act as if the veil is made of reinforced steel and concrete, sometimes we see it as it really is:  a veil made of nothing stronger than tissue paper.  A veil that can be torn apart in a second, without a hint of warning.

My awareness of the fragility of this veil has been heightened this weekend by several incidents that occurred.  First, as Jeff was driving to work yesterday, less than a mile from our house, the back left wheel of his Jeep literally started disconnecting from the rest of the vehicle.  Something about the axle and some other car terms...I don't know...it's all Greek to me.  But what I do know is that he was driving, the wheel started wobbling, and the Jeep wouldn't respond to him; but by God's grace, he was able to pull off the road before the wheel completely fell off and before he lost all power in the Jeep.  Also by God's grace, the two guys who had been driving behind him had noticed the unsteadiness of his wheel, so they were on the alert; and when it started coming off, they pulled over, too, and even stayed with him to help him get it pushed back on somewhat as well as acting as a human barrier between him and the (busy) road as he worked on the wheel.  As it turned out, he called me here at home as soon as it happened, I loaded up the boys and drove down to meet him, he called AAA and they sent a tow truck, the Jeep was towed to the home of one of Jeff's customers (who had been planning to take a look at the Jeep that day anyway, because of some other problems it had been having), and all is well.  But the mind doesn't stop there.  Instead, it plays out What Could Have Been.  Jeff could have lost complete control of the Jeep and wrecked it, maybe flipped it, maybe run into someone or something.  Or the Jeep could have gone "kerplunk" right in the middle of the road (which has a speed limit of 55 miles per hour), and a huge milk truck or poultry truck could have been coming around the curve and run into/over him.  Or...well, who knows what else could have happened...I don't want to think about it anymore.

The veil is thin.

Later in the day, while checking Facebook, I saw a request for prayer for a woman whom I don't know but who, according to Facebook, I have several mutual friends with.  Her name is Kara, and she gave birth to a baby girl last Wednesday, but then developed a bacterial infection called necrotizing fasciitis which attacks the body's muscle tissue.  I don't know the details about when exactly she developed it or where she got it or anything like that, but I do know that she's literally fighting for her life as this infection eats away at her body.

It's not unusual to hear of various tragedies through the medium of Facebook or blogging; and to tell you the truth, I usually say a prayer for the person or family involved but then move on.  There are so many needs after all.  But this one hit my heart and did not let go.  I suppose the fact that Kara delivered a baby girl on Wednesday at our local hospital--on the day that Jeff and I were there in that same hospital for our preregistration appointment--makes it more real to me...not to mention the fact that, if all goes as planned, I myself will give birth to a baby girl there in that same hospital in a matter of weeks.  To go from joyful jubilation at the birth of a daughter to death's doorstep in a matter of hours or days is almost beyond imagining.  It pierces my heart; and rather than simply praying once for her and forgetting all about it, I am moved to continue to lift her up before the throne of God who alone can raise her up from her bed of illness and restore her to complete health and vitality.

The veil is thin.

Both of these situations have weighed heavily on my mind yesterday and today, and I was already planning to write a post about them.  But then, one more incident happened...

The weather was so pleasant this late afternoon that, after quiet time, I encouraged Josiah and David to go outside for some exercise and fresh air, and Tobin and Shav and I followed behind, lagging a bit as we got ourselves ready to go out.  I brought the tricycles (that we normally keep in the living room, so the boys can ride around in the house) down to the garage for Tobin and Shav to each have one to ride on the driveway.  Shav got on his, I paused in the garage just long enough to pick up a scooter that was in the way and put it in a better spot, and then I walked out of the garage to the top of the driveway.  And then my heart stopped.  Our driveway is sort of like a capital T; and instead of seeing Shav riding happily in the top part of the T, he was zooming down the driveway...straight towards the road.  Our driveway is fairly long, and he wasn't to the road yet, but there was nothing in the way to prevent him from going all the way down to the road.  I immediately yelled, "SHAV, STOP!" but my heart broke as I realized that he couldn't.  The downward incline of our driveway, which seems so slight to us bigger folks, was enough to propel his tricycle forward at an increasing rate of speed.  The wheels revolved, the pedals were turning wildly, his little feet were sticking out to each side, and he could not get his feet on the pedals to slow them down.  I started running after him as fast as I could (which, if it had not been such a serious situation, would have been hilarious to see, I'm sure); and simultaneously I called desperately to Josiah to run after Shav, too.  Josiah was closer to Shav than I; and not surprisingly, he ran faster.  But even still, he hadn't caught up with him yet.  I was realizing, with the most sickening feeling possible, that I was too slow and that at present speeds, Shav would get to the road long before I could get to him.  Thoughts became prayers; and in that instant, I was hoping/praying/longing for three things: 1) that I would be able to run faster, 2) that Josiah would catch up to Shav, and 3) that something would get in Shav's way and make him turn.

Something got in Shav's way and made him turn.

You could say it was his hands on the handlebars that made it happen.  You could say there was an unseen (to our earthly eyes) angel standing in his path that made him turn.  However it happened, I do not know; but what I do know is that Shav's tricycle turned to the left, spilling him to the ground.

It was the best tricycle accident ever.

He cried, and I savored the sound.  I finished my wild dash to him, held him in my arms, and savored the feeling.  My tears flowed as freely as his, and I savored the release of emotion, knowing that my tears were for The Tragedy That Might Have Been, and not for The Tragedy That Was.

The veil is thin.

This morning, we heard of the death of a 92-year-old woman, the mother of a family friend.  Since her stroke 11 years ago, she had been unable to walk or talk.  Yesterday, the veil was torn, and she slipped through into eternity--in this case, a sweet relief for one who looked forward to walking and talking with her Savior and with other loved ones who had previously gone through the veil.

But with Jeff, with Kara, and with Shav, a powerful voice rises up inside and screams, "NO!  It is not time for the veil to be torn!"

I know that on the other side of the veil stands the One who passed through the veil and then returned to this side, "so that by his death, he might destroy him who holds the power of death--that is, the devil--and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by their fear of death" (Hebrew 2:14-15).  I see Him, not as a careless guardian, accidentally allowing the veil to be torn when it shouldn't be, and not as a vindictive judge, randomly piercing the veil and selecting the latest victim to be roughly pulled through.  I know Him.  I know His love and His mercy and His power and His heart.  But I do not fully know His mind or His plans.  However, this I cling to:  "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose" (Romans 8:28).  Even if the outcome had been different for Jeff or Kara or Shav (and even now, the outcome still might be different for Kara, since she's not out of danger yet), I fully believe--AND CHOOSE TO TRUST--that God brings beauty out of tragedy, and joy out of sorrow.

Tonight, as my mind replays the sight of Shav careening down the driveway, my heart clings to the peace that only God can give, and my body?  Well, it aches beyond belief.  There is a reason why eight-month pregnant women (who never exercise) aren't supposed to run at breakneck speeds, especially when they're wearing dress boots with a heel (a low heel, but still).  My muscles are SO sore; and although I'm definitely eager to meet my daughter face to face, I hope she doesn't come for quite a while...at least, until these aching muscles have enough time to recover before the next big thing they're asked to do!  But with every pang of pain (which happens every time I so much as move!), I'm given the opportunity to express again my gratitude to God.

Thank You, God, for protecting Jeff and helping him get safely off the road.

Thank You, God, for saving Shav and making his tricycle turn.

And please, God, be with Kara and heal her body!

Most of all, God, thank You for holding the veil and for not letting it open for any of us until the right time.  The veil is thin; but in Your hands, it is strong.