Faithful Paradox

This past week, we had to put our fuzzy, faithful, canine-companion, Kevin Jeffrey, to sleep. His life of 11 years ended rather suddenly. We knew he had been declining for a bit, but did not realize how near the end was for him. I suppose that is often the reality with death; we know it is the end, yet it often seems to come suddenly, unexpectedly, and leaves us shocked.

Despite the sadness our family encountered this week, I also found a sweetness in how God can even use something like losing a dog as a reminder of the Gospel and the hope we have because of Christ. As we stepped once again into a space of sorrow and sadness over losing our dog, I was reminded of several lessons about life, faith, and the truth of God’s word.

We Were Made for Life

Kevin was quite sick in his last days and would occasionally groan. It reminded me that, “the whole creation [groans] together” as we eagerly await our redemption (Romans 8:22). Animals and plants alike endure the effects of living on a sin-filled, broken planet. All of God’s creation was made to be eternal and no matter the situation, death is not what God intended.

When death comes, it is always a sobering reminder; the consequences of sin demands that every living thing will end. God made us to be eternal beings and because of this, death will always be unnatural. I think that’s why death is so incredibly difficult to watch and endure; we were made for life.

I’m grateful that in stepping into grief this week, I was reminded once again of the Gospel: for those who know Christ, death is not the end. One day soon, there will be no more groaning. Creation will be restored and “the former things will not be remembered or even come to mind” (Isaiah 65:17). In the midst of being reminded of the sorrow of death, what hope lies in this truth of life.

Grief Is Layered

I am realizing that after losing a child, there is a rawness to grief that surfaces easily, despite the sorrow being different. I wept for several days as I watched Kevin suffer and then again when we decided to put him down. The grief was not simply over his pain or over losing him. There were raw, pain-filled reminders of what Ezra endured. It was also that I lost, what felt like, another connection to Ezra.

Ezra helped us pick out Kevin. He helped us name him. Kevin was a part of our family. When Ezra was sick and able to be home, Kevin was often found by Ezra’s side, offering his presence. Certainly he didn’t understand the severity of what was occurring, but he did know enough to remain steadfast in presence with his beloved boy.

Kevin was a dog and yet he offered companionship and nearness in both life and grief. Grief stirs in my heart when I think that never again will a dog we own know the smell of Ezra. Never again will a dog know that there was another in our home. Losing him feels like I lost another small connection I had to Ezra. In some ways it feels silly, but in other ways, the grief of losing Kevin feels layered because it symbolizes more than simply losing a dog. It symbolizes another piece of loss; losing another thing that was a part of life when Ezra was alive.

After we lost Ezra, there were days I would sit and simply weep. When Kevin heard my weeping, he would come to my side and howl, as if he wept with me. As I think about the companionship that Kevin offered, I can see that God offers his care and comfort in so many ways. God is not limited to how he offers comfort and even the creatures he has made can offer it at times. He is, after all, the, “Father of mercies and God of all comfort” and even knows how to use a shaggy, scruffy dog to remind us of his nearness (2 Cor 1:3).

Past Grief Informs Present Sorrow

For several days after we lost Kevin, I found I had to keep reminding myself that this was not the same type of loss as losing Ezra. My heart kept leaping to despair and, as Martin Lloyd Jones so wisely counseled, I had to stop, “listening to [my]self [and start] talking to [my]self.” I found I had to stop the emotional spiral of sadness and remind my heart and mind over and over, “It’s not the same. It’s not the same.”

It’s understandable that the experience of what we walked through (and in many ways are still walking through) with losing Ezra echoed loudly in this moment. The brain will quickly revert to past experiences and begin to try to process the current loss as if it were the same loss of the past. My emotions threatened to overwhelm me, not because the grief of losing a dog was so intense (although I truly was sad), but because the most recent grief I have experienced is still not healed; the sorrow is still so present. My loss of Ezra informed the way my heart responded in losing Kevin. It was a practice of discipline to remind myself that this time was so very different.

I found comfort in remembering that God’s promise to be, “near to the brokenhearted” is not dependent upon the depth of sorrow nor how broken the heart (Psalm 34:18). Whether one’s sorrow is real or inferred, present or past, the loss of a child or the loss of a dog, God’s promise is simply that he is near to us in our heartache. The sorrow itself is not qualified. This past week, as the sorrow of death revisited, I was reminded that some how, God was once again near to me and his nearness is for my good. I’m grateful for this reminder.

The Sting of Death

We all will face the sting of death. It’s a promised reality that we experience and are reminded of, even with the loss of things like pets and plants and bees that buzz. I am realizing that for most of my life, I have misunderstood Pauls words when he asks, “Oh death, where is your sting?” (1 Cor. 15:55). Every time I have read this verse, the first thought that has come to mind is, “What is Paul talking about? There is a deep, painful sting to death. In fact, it doesn’t just feel like a sting, it feels like an amputation!” It was actually just this week (despite having read and even studied this verse dozens of times) that it clicked in my brain; the sting is not for those left behind but for the one who faces death.

The truth of the verse is that for those who trust Jesus, the sting Paul talks about is that we must endure the unnatural process of death, but “thanks be to God who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ” (1 Cor. 15:56). The sting is not for those left behind. For those who wait on this sin-wrecked earth, we feel more than a sting. We carry the weight and sorrow of loss and feel it deeply. We weep, like Jesus, at the reality and pain of death.

For those who die in Christ, however, the sting is that death is nothing more than a small prick or bee sting compared to the life that awaits. It is a necessary, unnatural, painful process and yet because of Christ, the worst that death does is cause us momentary pain in the process. Once it’s over, there is eternal life. I am not sure how I misunderstood the sting in this verse, and yet I did and am thankful to better understand it.

A Hoped-For Reunion

My boys asked me this week if Kevin would be with Ezra. The truth is, I don’t know what happens to dogs when they die. I do not think Scripture is clear about this. I know that dogs do not have a soul, and yet I also know that God cares deeply about his creation. I told them that I hope there is a place for our beloved pets in heaven and know for certain that God cares deeply about his creation and also about the pain we endure as we grieve the loss of Kevin.

As we grieved this past week, I asked my boys to imagine the reunion between Kevin and Ezra and this brought us all a measure of joy, delight, and comfort in the midst of sorrow. I’m not sure if that reunion happened, but before Kevin died, I told him that if he got to see Ezra, to give him a big, wet kiss and greet him for us. I hope he got to do that and I hope that Ezra was delighted in once again seeing his furry friend, Kevin Jeffrey.