Last night I went to see the play Man of La Mancha. I’ve heard the music before but I’d never seen the play, was totally unfamiliar with the plot, and had never read the book Don Quixote.
There was something gripping about the whole plot; a man deemed insane by virtue of his desire to right wrongs and make the world a better place. I was immersed in the story and the music, and couldn’t help but think of Rich. I was reminded of his many dreams, some that perhaps he only shared with me, and his larger dream to make a difference in his nation, to the glory of God.
With such thoughts in my mind, today I had to visit the local cemetery to get a photograph of the headstone of someone in my congregation. While there I began wandering around and took a few pictures of other stones of precious sisters and brothers I’ve known over the years, ones who have gone before me and who are now a part of that uncountable multitude cheering all of us on. They, and Rich, cheering us on, cheering me on. And I cried. I miss them all so much. These loved ones buried in Israel, my parents—buried in Connecticut, and Rich—buried in Michigan.
I was reminded of my morning reading in Isaiah 53 and 54, of God’s sure promise of comfort, and of how much He hates death—so much so that He experienced death so that I would not have to. The sting is truly gone.
I miss these dear people so much because I want to benefit by their presence here and now. But I know that I will see them again someday, and it will be far better. For those of us who belong to Jesus heaven is no impossible dream, and the star we seek we have found—the bright and morning star who beacons us upward and homeward.
More amazing than all of this, though, is the realization that we are all of us “Aldonza” and our Lord calls us His beloved “Dulcinea”—clean, pure, forgiven, whole. I am thankful.