Monday, December 18, 2017

Muir Creek

May 12, 2011 by  
Filed under Monthly Articles

We parked as far off the road as the snow bank would let us, not that a tremendous amount of snow had fallen as much as it was that the snow plows had a job to do and they did it well.

A canopy of gray clouds held the warmth of the sun hostage, while the wind unsheathed icy swords, slicing easily through our garments. Our spirits were overrun with heaviness from the weather and the task before us as we trudged through the deep snow.

Negotiating the snow bank, I held our son under one arm. The last thing I wanted to do was drop him.
That winter afternoon was merciless and bold in its indifference to comfort, so we thought it best to leave our sons’ sisters, Jessica and Sara, in the car. We wouldn’t be gone that long.

We just brought our son with us, the youngest of the three children we were blessed to have shared.
It was his day, only his.

Once over the first obstacle, the mounds of frozen snow that dared us to carry on; we looked ahead to the goal. The journey, that heart wrenching mission of sorrow, though it was only three, maybe four hundred feet away, would exact a price of both of us.

Joshua was asleep, completely unaware of the cares of our world; and he didn’t have a care of himself in the devilish cold. He was completely at peace and resting indescribably well.

Each step was a titanic battle, the knee high snow drained our bodies and the closer we got to Muir Creek, the mission drained our souls.

The creek was as insignificant as we felt, it flowed alone and was hardly noticed, that was until it offered itself to the river. The river got all the praise and glory of white water enthusiasts, boaters and the skiers that lived down below. The valley got its’ name from the river but few had ever heard of Muir Creek.

Obscure, inconsequential, cold and small, the creek made its’ faithful contribution to the accolades only the river received. Like it or not, we could relate.

Joshua Caleb rested beneath my arm, I envied him.

The bank of the creek was rocky, difficult, and dangerous. I could not drop my son nor could I let go of his mother’s hand. It was all she could do to make it this far.

The dreadful offering had to be made, there was no other way.

Ice had framed the edges of the creek and offered a place for us to stand as we fulfilled our mission.
The day was different, almost as though God had commanded nature to mourn with us–to weep with those who weep.

Our son was asleep, peaceful, and safe.

A day filled with weeping, heart-ache, sorrow, despair, and finality. Our tears fell freely, and Muir Creek carried and offered those tears to the river.

Our souls were colder than the harassing wind, hearts darker than the clouds blocking the blessings of the sun, our tears ran swifter than the river they were to become one with.

That was the last day, in this life, that we were to see “Joshy”.

My torrential tears flowed as I took his ashes and offered him up to his Creator.

To give his mother time alone, I made my way across the holy, yet terrible ground, to the embrace of Joshua’s sisters.

I’ve learned more from that day than words will ever say.

The hardest lessons learned are either by or through pain. But this one thing I know; our God does not want the pain, its’ the tears He longs for.

Pain in a fallen world is the portion of every man, at one time or another.

Tears shed are the offering of a child who has learned to trust.

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