sur·ren·der
verb \sə-ˈren-dər\
:
to agree to stop fighting, hiding, resisting, etc., because you know that you
will not win or succeed
:
to give the control or use of (something) to someone else
:
to allow something (such as a habit or desire) to influence or control you
Today’s
musing is not cheerful.
A
week ago Monday, a man approached me in the parking lot after Mass to ask me
directions to a breakfast restaurant. He
and his family are from out of town, and they did not particularly want to go
to the IHOP twice in as many days.
As
I was flogging my brain’s recalcitrant geography-vs-restaurant matrix, he
mentioned that he and his companions were in town to be with his grandson, who
had multiple brain tumors, while the boy “surrendered to the Lord.”
The
boy, Frankie Eason, died yesterday (Tuesday, July 29, 2014). He was eleven years old.
It’s
a hard thing to lose someone we love to death.
It’s doubly hard to lose a child.
All the hackneyed phrases don’t cover our pain—barely fog the surface of
the hurt. Yet, it is true, as it is when we lose a spouse, that only when the loved
one’s suffering is over can we begin the process of healing ourselves.
Shortly before I heard of Frankie's death this morning, I caught this bit of a rainbow in the sky. (Yes, I know my finger's in the frame, and you have to look really hard to see the rainbow just above the left side of the building ahead.) So, because human minds try to connect things to make sense of them, I'm trying to come up with some analogy, but I can't think of anything apt.
Pray
for Frankie’s family as they grieve their loss.
We can do without any article of luxury we have never had; but when
once obtained, it is not in human natur’ to surrender it voluntarily.
:^(