The crowded room

It was crowded. Why were all these people here? Who were they. It's hard to think over all the noise. Is this someones birthday? It's obviously a celebration. These people are happy. But I am not. I am dying inside. This grief is overwhelming me. Crushing my heart. But still, these people are happy. I do not recognize anyone. What am I doing here? I look from face to face. I see nothing but great joy.

Suddenly a face....

Amidst a sea of faces, one becomes clear. This face is moving towards me. It is smiling. I know this face. It is much younger than I remember. There is no trace of pain, no trace of illness. Only happiness.

He is dressed well and wearing a beautiful sweater with a scarf tied around his neck that hangs loosely upon his chest. He beckons me to sit and I do. And we talk. And I laugh, and he laughs. He tells me how well he is and how the sickness is gone. He tells me how happy he is. He did not need to share this with me as the look upon his face spoke volumes. The feeling in the room seemed to magnify this. It flowed from every person and permeated my being.

Someone crying?

It's 6:41 in the morning.

My baby is crying.

Life returns to normal.

As does the pain.

When I awoke, I was so happy to have visited with my father. And then so sad that the visit ended. I showered, dressed and left but not before checking on my Halainah as I do each morning. I entered my fathers car and proceeded to drive to work. His cologne still lingers, and I find myself bursting with excitement to catch his scent in the air. I pondered on my journey to work over the crowded room. I asked God for some clarity. And as I prayed, I began to see the crowded room as heaven. I felt so strange and out of place because I came to understand that I was not yet invited. I was not yet supposed to join these happy people. Everyone was a stranger to me because I was a stranger to the room. It was not my time. But in this sea of faces, my father came to me. HE belonged. He was home. And he was so happy. And he wanted me to understand this.

And I do. Our God is not the God of the dead but of the living. I know and trust this. My relationship with my father has altered in the sense that he is physically not here. But very much alive. However, it is my human weakness that still searches for him and longs to see him with my naked eyes. To visit with him in the flesh, and not only in spirit.

It was with human eyes that I was allowed to see this room. And it was with human understanding that this room appeared to me as it did. What great marvels await us when we are called home. What joy awaits us when we are called home.

Until that time, I will miss you dearly Dad.

I love you.