Precious Joseph Peabody, whom I blogged about months ago after his diagnosis with a brain tumor at the tender age of three, passed away this past Thursday. He had celebrated his fourth birthday Wednesday. Conor and I have just returned from the visitation. To say I felt like an idiot trying to articulate anything of worth to sweet GIllian and Allen is a vast understatement. They will probably remember little of this night and be anxious to forget what they do recall. Allen's sister, Jennifer, reiterated to me what I knew for the first time - and, I pray, the last - almost a year ago when we handed our sweet Copeland over to the funeral home: death is horrid. Ugly. Evil. It's truly wielded in the fires of hell, meant to bind us forever in hopeless captivity. Jesus, Jesus, how we trust Thee! How we've proved Thee o'er and o'er! Praise be to God that this is not all there is... and what is to come can be incomparably greater than what we know now, if only we will throw ourselves at His scarred feet and breathe the words, "I need You. Save me. I cannot do this anymore on my own."
Pray for the Peabody family. Pray they will be comforted, somehow. Pray they will see Joseph in their dreams. Pray they will be able to find steadiness in their moments of panic, in the moments they feel the sudden, terrifying reality of separation from their sweet boy set in. I can attest to the fact that there is nothing like it. Pray Jesus gives them an amazing sense of peace and knits them close to Himself. Please visit their blog, www.prayforjoseph.blogspot.com, if you desire to leave a word of encouragement or peace. The next few months will be hardest, in some ways, as their world has been ripped at the seams while ours continues on in plodding regularity.
Come, Lord Jesus, come. Please come.