A random conversation recently had me shaking the branches of the family tree and reaching for twigs and leaves not yet explored. Names, birth dates, death dates. Three pieces of information. Not much to say about a life. And yet, so much. I found a family of 14 children. What wealth these parents had!
Then I noticed that six of the children had 1872 as a death date. And I couldn't rest until I knew the answers, what these parents had suffered.
Between 1860 - 1865, five newborns were buried. Five little headstones in the family plot. Then diphtheria struck. Six children, ages one to seventeen, gone in three days. Two more headstones, three children in each grave. Three days. In addition to the previous losses, the children around the supper table and in their beds at night, went from seven, to one. ONE. *
Most likely, because of quarantine restrictions, the parents and remaining child mourned alone. What grief, what pain, what immeasurable loss. How could one live, let alone thrive, emotionally? In a day when resources such as we now have were not available?
Only God. And only when we allow Him to be Lord. Only when we open our hands and release those we love to Him. Jehovah Jireh, my Provider. Jehovah Repheka, my Healer. Just what I am pondering today.
*(Later, two more sons were added. Nearly two decades younger than their older brother.)
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