I Will Meet You in the Morning
Reflections on the Death of My Dad
I will meet you in the morning by the bright riverside
When all sorrows has drifted away
I'll be standin' at the portals when the gates open wide
At the close of life's long weary day
I'll meet you in the morning with a 'How do you do?'
And we'll sit down by the river and when rapture of the plane is renewed
You'll know me in the morning by the smile that I wear
When I meet you in the morning, in the city that is built foursquare.
“I'll see you in the morning"--these were the last words my mom said to her husband of 68 years before he died in that hospital bed on April 5.
It’s been one month since my father entered his eternal rest. I wasn't sure how long it would take me to start writing about this. Some things are just too personal to put pen to paper (or keystroke to pixel). Mom’s last words to Dad brought to mind the old Alfred E. Brumley song “I'll Meet You in the Morning,” meaning that she will see him in the land where the day always dawns and the sun never sets. Revelation 22:5 tells us, “And night will be no more. They will need no light of lamp or sun, for the Lord God will be their light, and they will reign forever and ever.” And given the circumstances, I can't think of a better thought than the one she expressed.
He was 91 years old, struggling more than I realized. Trying to process this has grounded me even as I grieve. And for whatever reason, in God's kind providence, he has wired me to write things out to help process this all.
Where Sorrow Has Drifted Away
At this juncture, we are in a land filled with sorrow and grief. The older one gets, the more sorrow and grief. So, to think about a land “where sorrow has drifted away” is almost inconceivable. It's a reality, mind you, for Revelation 21:3-4 clearly says that the new heaven and the new earth will not have any mourning, crying, or death. These are categorized in the “former things” in the future—yet they are ever-present now.
My father had a lot of goodbyes in his life, as one of 91 years would have. All of his siblings, save one, a child, a grandchild, not to mention his parents, have all gone from this life into the next. Praise God, his wife of almost 69 years, stayed by his side through a myriad of moves, job changes, and all the ups and downs that this life brings. Goodbyes galore!
“Where sorrow has drifted away” is another captivating line to that song. I cannot imagine such a place. I long for it, pray for it (“Maranatha!”), sense it, preach on it, and hope in it! Yet, I cannot imagine it. It compensates for that sorrow and grief by filling us with the solace of this second verse.
I will meet you in the morning, in the sweet by and by,
And exchange the old cross for a crown.
The plight of one’s pilgrimage is filled with the “cross,” that is, with suffering. There’s no way around it--not even our Savior could escape. Only through the cross could he have the crown. By the cross, we see that suffering can and does have a purpose. In the present time of mourning, crying, pain, and death, there arises a Christ-empowered strength:
But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong (2 Corinthians 12:9-10).
Incredible that Christ can help us not only endure this litany of struggle, but make us “boast all the more gladly.” Philip Bliss was right in his old hymn, “Hallelujah! What a Savior!”
There Will Be No Disappointments
As my father grew older, the more he began to think about his childhood and younger days. I'm not sure what brought this on—maybe it was the fact that (again with the song) “life’s sun goeth down,” but he had a lot of questions to sort out. Were the nature of the questions in need of an answer, or were they asked simply as part of trying to make sense of some things? Either way, I was always glad when we could talk and (hopefully) help process because, personally, it helped me better understand the man. No one is just magically transported to their age of life in a vacuum, fully formed. We learn, grow, struggle, find resolution, repeat! Each stage leaves its mark, and it is up to us to sort out through prayer and care what those marks will do to us.
Yet, I was grateful for witnessing the start of the most important stage of his life. You see, I came along later in my parents’ lives; my father was months shy of 38, and my mom was 35. I have a sister and brother who are 14 and 13 years older than I, so I was the “baby” and a “big surprise” by a country mile. I was still at home when my father surrendered to Christ—he was 47 years old, and I was 10. We were at a revival service at our church in Rustburg, Virginia, in 1981. At the end of one of the services, he elbowed me and said, “I’ll see you later,”—me thinking he was heading to the car to warm it up. Rather, he went the other direction, toward the front, received by the embrace of our pastor, Bill Foster. I looked to my left, and my mom was crying, rejoicing that God had answered her prayers for his salvation.
I had a front-row seat to see the change in his life, even as he struggled at times with his old life. And don't we all. The New Testament clearly says that we will continue the struggle with our flesh (see Romans 7:7-25) until we arrive at the “bright riverside.” But he became a different father and husband, along with a dedicated churchman, serving at times as a deacon and usher. I sang with him for a year or two in our church choir. His faith softened the edges, tethered him, as did his wife’s faith, which prayed for him daily.
That aforementioned song has a line about that “morning”:
I will meet you in the morning, in the sweet by and by,
And exchange the old cross for a crown;
There will be no disappointments and nobody shall die,
In that land, when life’s sun goeth down.
“There will be no disappointments.” Those “marks” that each stage leaves often stem from a reluctance to disappoint and a resistance to being disappointed. It’s impossible to avoid.
To know that my father found a Savior who loved him and rescued him from his past, his insecurities, his… self—no wonder he both settled in it and explored it.
You’ll know me in the morning by the smiles that I wear
My father and I did not have a lot in common. While we shared a mutual love of golf, playing as a two-man team at his work’s golf league, we also had different “likes.” He liked to fish, hunt, work on cars, and do projects around the home. I liked sports and, later on, reading, writing, music, and ministry. He spent all his life working in the secular world as a nuclear engineer, whereas I have worked all my life (well, since 19) in the ministry world. He and I would solve problems differently—not better or worse, just differently.
I say all this to point out that even though we did not have much in common and worked to understand each other, it didn't take away one bit from how much I loved the man and how he loved me. Even though he may not have understood me completely, he always showed up, and he let me know that he was proud of me. Every time I left their house to head home, he would always say, “You have a nice family, son.” To have someone say that, even when they may not understand how you go about things, makes those comments and compliments all the sweeter.
What I picked up from him was a deeply consistent devotion to his wife and a work ethic that included sacrifice along the way, fueled by a desire to provide for his family. He taught me that “lazy” was a four-letter word, as was the phrase, “I'm bored.” He was always working, whether at his profession, around the house, or working things out in his mind. His mind never powered down.
But now my dad is at rest, his mind more engaged than ever. Not bored. Certainly not lazy, as some of those stereotypes of heaven indicate (floating around on a cloud, strumming a harp). Now, Dad has answers to those questions as he sits at the feet of Jesus, his resurrection hope now a full-blown reality.
I miss him. I miss him and Mom working together. I’ll miss seeing them both in the driveway as my family and I pull out to head back home. I’ll miss a thousand other things.
But he’s by “the bright riverside.” I would not wish for him to return to this broken, cursed mess for anything. He’s home.
And soon we will be.
I’ll see you in the morning, Dad. You’ll know me by that smile that I wear.