Lilting On The Air

The text came from a friend.
She wanted to tell me that the father of a dear friend had died.
I knew that his death will be hard for her.
I know how much she loved her daddy.

I know this friend from high school.
I remember her so well.
I remember the struggles we both had trying to make sense of a new math curriculum.
I remember her tender heart.

We were part of a group of girls that were close friends.
You think at the time you will never lose touch.
You think at the time the friendships will last forever.
Graduation, college, and life pull you away from each other.

It is a gradual thing.
It is never planned.
All of a sudden, years have passed.
Those friends, with whom you thought you would always stay close, are in your memory.

Social media reconnected all of us about five years ago.
The group of girls from high school were back together again.
A dinner at my house, with lots of laughter and conversation, melted away the years.
Some of the group had stayed connected; the rest of us caught up that evening.

It was as if the years disappeared.
So many memories.
Good friends can pick up right where they left off.
It is as if a bookmark has been keeping the place, until the book can be opened again.

A text message thread exists between all of us.
Emails have been sent.
Prayers have been shared.
Christmas cards and letters have been exchanged.

It was important that many of us went to the funeral of our friend’s father.
I was only able to go to the visitation.
How I wanted to spend the entire day with my sweet friend.
I had never met her father but I felt as if I knew him.

My friend was an only child.
She loved her daddy.
She and her parents were very close.
She loved and honored her parents well through the years.

My friend and I went to lunch together in the spring.
She told me about her dad and the way his health was failing.
Memory issues made it difficult for him to do some basic things he could do before.
Seeing her daddy this way was very hard for my friend.

I listened to her as she told me stories.
I saw the pain in her eyes.
I know that she longed for the daddy that was always there.
I know that she grieved even before her daddy died.

Her father was a handsome man.
We all talked about that as we saw his pictures in the foyer of the church.
His big blue eyes and his kind smile captured you.
He was affectionately known as “Billy B”.

When I arrived at the church, I parked in a side parking lot.
I got out of the car and I heard it.
Bagpipes.
I was immediately transported back to Ireland when my entire family traveled there.

The sun was shining.
The day was cold, with a slight wind.
The music of the bagpipes lilted across the air.
It was beckoning me.

I walked the path towards the front door of the church.
I saw the man playing the bagpipes.
He was dressed in full regalia.
The music got louder as I approached the door.

Amazing Grace how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me.
My throat tightened.
Billy B would have been pleased.
Music of the highlands called me forth.

Therefore my harp is turned to mourning, And my flute to the sound of those who weep.
(Job 30:31)

I had to fight back the tears.
I thought of my friend, who I had yet to see.
I wondered if she heard the bagpipes as she stood there greeting friends who came to see her.
I wondered if the sound of the bagpipes was a comfort to her mother who would bury her husband.

I saw my friend’s husband and daughter.
They love her well.
They will be there to support her.
But for this day, her heart is broken and no one can mend that break.

Except One.
This One knows every tear that we shed.
This One cares deeply for us.
This One is close to the brokenhearted. (Psalm 34:18)

I thought of C.S. Lewis’, The Last Battle.
I thought of the unicorn’s words.

I have come home at last! This is my real country! I belong here. This is the land I have been looking for all my life, though I never knew it till now…Come further up, come further in!
(C.S. Lewis)

I thought of Billy B.
I imagined him saying the unicorn’s words.
I imagined him finally understanding, after a lifetime here, the Truth of there.
His real country; the place he belongs.

All the things that were failing in his body here will be restored there.
As believers, we celebrate the resurrection of the body.
One day, God will make everything new.
Jesus, the Firstborn of the dead, showed us what we can expect if we are in Christ.

The bagpipes called to me.
They transported me, not to Ireland that I loved so much, but to my real country.
Further up and further in, they seemed to call.
I walked in the doors of the church towards my friend.

The sound of the bagpipes faded in the distance.