There is something universally tragic about the death of a child. And it doesn't matter how old the "child" is, in the scheme of life it just seems very wrong for parents to outlive their offspring. It's not how it is "supposed" to be.
But it happens every day.
Yesterday we said a final goodbye to Jonathan. This little boy was born with severe handicaps, lived a good portion of his life in the hospital, and died just a few weeks before his second birthday. He was loved by many people. His mother and father, troubled by many things in their lives having nothing to do with their son, loved him and took care of him as best they could.
My faith tells me that for the first time, Jonathan is now laughing and playing and has no pain. I imagine him in a playground being pushed on the swings by my Daniel, who in many ways never grew up. I'll bet Jesus has his hands full with the two of them up there!
Human life is both miraculous and fragile. None of us knows when ours will be over. None of us knows how long we have to live the life God intended. But every single life, no matter how long, has a purpose.
Perhaps the purpose of Jonathan's short life was to expand our capacity to love.
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