Lift Up Your Hearts!

Isaac Christopher Daley
November 21, 2002 - November 23, 2002

Six years ago I stumbled through a small speech as our first grandson's ashes were interred, along with a cross made of Legos, a small toy car, and innumerable hopes and dreams.  In honor of what would have been his sixth birthday, I think it's time for me to hear again what I had to say then.  You may eavesdrop if you wish.

There is a picture of Isaac on the wall of my office.  Unlike the pictures of other children, this one will not be replaced, year by year, with the latest documentation of his growth.  I won’t pretend that I wouldn’t much rather have the living, growing Isaac to play with, to hold, and to hug, but his picture is there because there is a sense in which he is more present in my life now than if he were nestled in my arms.

When I am sitting at the computer, doing my genealogy work, typing in the many names of children who died at birth or soon after, Isaac is there, and I remember that our road of suffering is a well-worn path.

When I see any lively, healthy baby or young child, Isaac is there, and he reminds me not to take children, health, or life for granted.

When I am frustrated or unhappy in any of the circumstances of my life, Isaac is there to restore my perspective and remind me of what is important.

When life is good around me, and the world is beautiful, Isaac is there to remind me to be thankful for every good thing, and not to forget those who are suffering.

When I am impatient or upset with myself or other people, Isaac is there to remind me that life is too short and people are too important to waste time and energy on unproductive, negative emotions.

When I consider the pleading of Jesus Christ in Gesthemene, Isaac is there, and I remember that God Himself knows what it is like to have His most desperate prayers remain unanswered.

When I consider the death of Christ on the Cross, Isaac is there to show me that God also suffered the pain of a parent watching his child in agony.

And when I consider the unexpected, earth-shattering resurrection of Jesus Christ, and His victory over death, Isaac is there, too, telling me that this grave is not the end of his story, and that one day my first grandchild and I will embrace, and will play together in a world where no sorrow mars the beauty, peace, and joy.

Isaac’s accomplishments in this world are not proportional to the length of his stay in it.  God willing, I will have many other grandchildren to play with, to hold, and to hug, whose ever-changing pictures will grace my office wall.  But Isaac will always have his own vital place in our lives, reminding us that in the midst of life we are in death, and in the midst of death we are in life.