little children

Betty died yesterday morning.

Round about sunrise, on Sunday morning. The day of resurrection.

The timing seemed singularly apt.

A sort of final stamp of God's own hand upon her life right at the very end.

Betty had a vibrant, radiant, sometimes almost child-like faith in Christ: a warm and generous attitude of love to one and all, expressed in just so many ways: and a hold upon the hope that we've been given in God's Son which was unquenchable.

So the details of her dying at the dawning of another day of resurrection was a kind of gentle, clear assurance from the Lord that that great hope by which this woman lived is built on solid ground.

I was glad for her that she didn't really have a lingering illness. There was always a certain decisiveness in how this lovely lady lived. She knew her mind. And deep within her soul, I like to think, she'd sensed that this was it and once that all was clear to her she didn't hang around.

That was yesterday morning, of course. But its shadow hung over today.

Speaking with her relatives and then, mid afternoon, the chance to meet with them and chat with them a bit about arrangements for her funeral.

Since there are family members abroad who may well wish to travel back and gather with the rest of us to thank God for her life, the service won't be held until next week. I'm glad in a way that there won't be a sense of rush. Sometimes it's good to have that sort of space.

At times like this, it's strange how all our memories come flooding back. We find it helps to talk. To chat about the person who has died, the good times and the hard. The ups and downs. The laughter and the tears.

It's as if thereby we somehow sort of chisel out the features of her life until the picture God is keen that we should see emerges and we start to see her as perhaps the Lord himself has always seen her as his own unique, distinctive, and beloved little child.

So there's been a bit of talking here today as well. Not only with her nephews who were in, but also with some others who have known her over years.

I mean, everyone sort of knows her. Even the people who don't, if you see what I mean! She was that sort of person. She left her mark on everyone, through the unembarassed confidence in Christ she had and also through the eagerness with which she daily revelled in the life that he has given us.

She knew that it was good to be alive.

It helped being along at the SU group at school again today. Eleven of them there today and again they were fairly high. A bunch of lively, lovely little girls. So full of life and energy. So full of fun and interest. So keen to learn, so keen to pray.

And being with them there today and watching them all, I thought that that's what Betty, too, was like. Still, for all her nearly eighty years - still a little girl in all the ways that matter most of all.

I think that's how we're meant to be. All of us. Little children.

I think that that's what Jesus meant when time and time again he stressed that we have to be like children both to enter and enjoy the wonder and the beauty and the freedoms of the kingdom of the Lord.

There's an element of my being just a grown-up boy, as well, in all the preparation that I do. I get excited by what I am learning, as God seems to open up his word and speak to me.

A bit like solving a puzzle. Finding the key that opens the door to a whole new vista of truth.

Some of the time was spent today in getting to grips with that. Thinking ahead to the service here this coming Sunday night. What God is saying to us all. I'm excited already!

Excited, yes. Filled with a sense of wonder. Seeing the possibilities. Eager to get up and go.

That's how children are. That's perhaps the only way we ever really get to enter and enjoy the kingdom of God.

And I think Betty herself had long since sussed that out.