Gone On Before

She had gone for a walk
On the country road;
And the spring grass waved
And the sunshine glowed.
And the horses pranced,
And the ravens crowed;
And my love simply followed the road.

She had said that she wouldn’t
Go very far,
As I stopped to read
In our shaded car.
And she sought the spots
Where God’s blessings are.
But it seemed she was going too far.

And her figure shrank as she
Scaled the rise,
To that wondrous line
‘Twixt the road and skies.
And the blue and white
Were a sight for eyes,
As my love vanished over the rise.

And I thought of her
In that distant place,
Just beyond my view
Both in time and space.
And I guessed her thoughts.
And I missed her face.
And I longed just to share in that place.

Oh, it’s much the same
With the ones we love,
Who have gone before;
Who have joy above;
Who are lost to view
In faith’s blissful grove.
But in time we shall follow our love.

For assurance comes from
A risen Lord,
Who endured the shame,
And the cross and sword;
But was seen again
And by saints adored.
And my love and I trust in this Lord.

(Picture by Ralph Parker)

Note: This was an actual experience following the death of Geri, a dear friend in the faith. This woman had battled hemophilia all her life and then received a healing. Later, transfusions of tainted blood in the Canadian Red Cross Blood Crisis had led to Hepatitis which eventually claimed her life. In my last phone conversation with her about ten days before her death, Geri was rehearsing the long battle over the years and the trials which her husband Allan had gone through with her.

I reassured her that she would be allowed to rally and continue to do what she had so loved - working for the church and telling people about Jesus. The coma came in just a couple of days.

Two weeks after Geri's death Hilary and I went for a Sunday drive in the country just east of Kitchener. As Hilary took her short walk before me, and disappeared over the rise in the land, I sensed the Spirit saying "Geri".

I remember Samuel Rutherford in a letter to a parishioner, comforting her in the death of her daughter, by saying, 'Rejoice, your child is now a fair vine blossoming on the other side of the wall.'


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