SermonStudio

A story to open a worship service

Whenever a particularly lovely little lamb of God is taken from us; no matter how confidently we believe that she herself is joyful, and whole, and new today; no matter how happy we are that she is out of her pain, an empty place is left in our lives. And whenever we go to that place we hurt and we often cry.

When my grandfather died I was six years old and I went to live with Grandma for a while. There was, in Grandma's house, a room in the basement that Grandpa had made into his workshop. After Grandpa died I used to love to play in that room and I remember that Grandma would often come and stand in the doorway to that room and look in at me playing. Usually when she came, she would cry.


I didn't quite understand the crying. One day, after many crying times, I asked her about it. "Grandma why do you always cry when you come here?"

She looked at me and said, "This was Grandpa's room. I used to come here all the time and stand in the doorway, just like I do now, and watch him fixing things, or building, or doing whatever he did down here. Watching him work here somehow made me feel good. And sometimes he would look over at me and smile. He said no words, just smiled, and I knew he loved me. There are lots of memories for me in this room. There's lots of Grandpa here. But now when I come, his memories are here, but he's not. So I miss him and I cry."

After that I understood just how beautiful those tears were. I understood that they were tears of love; tears that needed to be cried; good tears that planted Grandpa's memory so deep in her heart that he would never completely die.

I never liked it when Grandma cried, but I also knew when she did, how much she loved Grandpa. They were beautiful tears, just like the ones you all have, and will, cry for Ella.

When Grandma moved from her house, I remember that after everything had been taken out of the house, and everyone else had gone with the moving van to the new house, Grandma and I went back in one last time.

I also went in to say, "Good-bye," to the house I loved. Grandma though, had another good-bye to say. We went to the basement together and she went into that room, Grandpa's room, while I stood outside and watched her through the door. She looked around with that one last time look and ran her hand along the workbench. She came to the door, looked at me, turned back to look into the room, and mumbled something I could barely hear. But I didn't need to hear to know what she was saying. She said, "Good-bye, Dad."

She was, of course, crying. The tears were welling up in her eyes like waves and washing over the sandy beach of her cheeks. So I knew that even though she was saying good-bye, that Grandpa lived on in her heart.

He lived on in her wonderful memories. He lived on in her beautiful tears.

So, I say to you today, hold tight to your memories. They have the power of life in them. Let your tears flow, for they speak the beautiful language of love. And believe in the Good Shepherd's care of his little lambs, for in this belief lies the peace that passes all understanding.