I will not grasp for the purpose in my son’s death.
I will not try to find the meaning behind his passing.
Though I’m confident that Christ’s glory and redemption will have the final word, it feels futile to ponder the particulars on this side of heaven. The eternal purpose behind our pain does not mean we’ll know the specific reasons for all our suffering.
And even if I could know “the reason”, no answer would alleviate the agony. Nothing could lessen the devastation of holding him breathless in my arms. No explanation could make up for Eli’s absence, an emptiness that will occupy me until I see him again. As another father put it, “What consolation can there be other than having him back?”
After all, didn’t Jesus weep and rage at his friend’s tomb, fully aware that he would raise him from the dead just moments later? Knowing the end of the story doesn’t erase the sorrow of the present.
But while I do not search for the reason he died, every drop of my soul wants Eli’s life to mean something. I long for him to be known and remembered. I’m desperate for his story to impact others. I may not be the author of the details, but I will be a mouthpiece for my son. He never spoke a word, but silence will not have final say.
So I will not grasp for the purpose in my son’s death, but I will proclaim the immeasurable worth of his life.
I will not try to find the meaning behind his passing, but I will share his story with pride.
I do not know why God took him, but I do know the gift that he was.
And while there’s no consolation for losing Eli, there’s no confining my love for my son.