Losing Ivan

Father, I am so thankful that You're always with me, and nothing can take you away from me. Amen.

Dear friends,

Consider for a moment: Ivan, 16, cerebral palsy, liver failure, dead. That would be the summary of Ivan's life. When you read this, or even when you see him in person, you might think there's limited use to this person's life. Or simply said, meaningless; pointless. Why would God create someone like that?

But for me, his life, and now, his death, has taught me a priceless lesson. It was nobody's fault, he died in the hospital, they couldn't save him.

I went to see his body one last time today, before they wrapped him up and send him to the morgue. I expected to see one of those peaceful, calm faces that you see at a funeral home, or in the movies, but instead, it was completely out of my expectations.

What I saw was an empty shell. Eyes staring off at unmatched angles, mouth gaping open, lips black and life sucked out of every part of his body. A container for the boy who was, but looking at it now, it wasn't worthy to carry the Ivan that I got to know so well. It looked like Ivan, but it wasn't. It was only his earthly home, he's vacated it now. He's in heaven with God.

His looks didn't really shock me, not that I expected to see him like that, nor that I've seen dead people before. When I saw him, I understood a very important thing. I understood Who Ivan Was. All the time that he was alive, I never pondered this, yet the first glance of his empty shell tells me more about Ivan than I had ever known.

I'll tell you who he was not. Ivan was not the deformed shell I saw in front of me. Ivan was not the bulgy face, the twisted limps, the crooked teeth. Ivan was none of those things that almost everyone had recognised him by. Ivan was the sparkle in the eyes, Ivan was the energy behind the upturned corners of his mouth whenever he smiled, or the energy behind the horrible wail that always followed a dirty diaper. Ivan was the shaking arms and yelps of joy whenever that diaper was changed, Ivan was the life that had filled that empty shell once upon a time.

Ivan was never the disabled child we all saw upon first glance; Ivan was the very able spirit that we never looked twice at until it was gone.

It was so easy to ignore the noisy kid in the corner that always whines about his discomforts. It's easy to sit him next to his favourite music, and stick him in the background. But how precious do his screams now seem, when we can only hear them in our dreams.

Though he was severely handicapped while he was alive, looking at the empty shell told me that he had everything that life was about. It's not whether you can move, or whether you can eat, or whether you can see that makes you human. It's not how you live that makes your life meaningful. It's the fact that you are able to live that gives meaning to your life.

We're all born the same way, God breathes life into our bodies, and then when we go, we all go the same way, the same breath of life leaves and all that's left is an earthly container; a container that has nothing to do with the life that we had except for the fact that it was used to carry it. So then if we come and go the same way, then what makes us any different from one another? I think this is a very valuable lesson that I'm learning right now. Learning that we're all the same, and learning to see the life in the person rather than the shell around them.

Well, all I can say now is. Ivan's free from his earthly shell and is happy in heaven. He lived his life as best as he could, bearing simple witness to joy, trust, love, hope and faith. I look forward to seeing his heavenly body, perfect and free, and close to the Lord. I'll forever remember the lesson I learnt today. It was a valuable one.

Dear friends, please pray for my colleagues and myself. Including the death of my colleague on the 14th, this makes two deaths in a fortnight. It'll be hard to bear, so please remember our griefing in your prayers, and pray that God will be in this House and be in each of our hearts to help us through each day, as we continue to serve here.

Thanks,

James