Waiting to Bloom

 "And He will wipe away every tear from their eyes; and there will no longer be any death; there will no longer be any mourning, or crying, or pain; the first things have passed away."

Revelation 21.4

My mom bought me flowers today.  "Pick some out for your party," she said, standing in front of the buckets of blooms at Trader Joe's. "Whatever you'd like."

I chose daffodils that had not yet opened.  I chose daffodils because they are yellow and happy, but also for practical purposes (and now officially in my mid-30's, I have resigned myself to being practical). They had not bloomed yet.  Placed in the fridge and looking similar to green onions, they can last for many days without opening.  Take them out of the fridge and plunk them into water, and they bloom into sunny frills.  I could take them out closer to the date of my birthday party next week, instead of allowing them to open and hoping they'd last until then. 

The daffodils are not the only things waiting on a happier time.  My friend Gin died three weeks ago tonight. I haven't wanted to celebrate anything, so I delayed the party.  I miss her, and I am sad.  To be honest, I've been bristling at inevitable utterings "she's in a better place," "she's not suffering anymore," or "her struggle is over." While I may roll my eyes at hearing them, it's not because they are cliché - as a Christian, these are very, very real truths to me.  But they haven't been sitting well with me lately because Gin declined and died very quickly.  She faced significant symptoms and pain with her cancer and chemotherapy side effects, but she didn't seem ready to leave this earth; not her husband, her kids, her passion for caring for others. She was able to go to school, bring babies into the world as a midwife, care for her family, cultivate meaningful friendships, and organize fundraising for other friends with cancer, right up until she died.  And so in this way, it doesn't seem that her death was a welcome relief from her disease.

God's Word teaches that He will wipe away every tear from our eyes, and that with Him there will be no more suffering.  And I do rejoice in this truth for Gin.  No more treatments, pain, worry, fatigue, scans, any of that.  But I have still been feeling unsettled, and truthfully, angry, that she has died at age 36.  Alongside countless others that loved her, I have cried, and cried, and cried.  Not a day goes by when she's not on my mind.  Grief is hard work.  It is exhausting and painful. I know this because I am a hospice nurse, but I also know this because I loved her. 

It has started to occur to me this week, through this pain, that Gin has been promised a heaven with no more tears and pain...but it has also been promised to me, and all who love Jesus as their savior.  You don't have to have cancer to feel pain.  The tears God Himself will wipe away are also the tears of disappointment, anger, sadness, and grief that each one of us feels.  We can rejoice for Gin, who has bloomed into life, like my daffodils will be doing next week.  And through our tears, we can rejoice in our own hope of heaven, where pain even this deep will be no more.