Joy is supposed to be the soft breathing of a newborn baby. Joy is when you laugh so hard that you can't breath. Joy is being with people you love and liking it. No one really thinks of joy when faced with the harsh reality of death.
There was joy though that sunny Sunday morning I went down into our basement and saw the all too still form of my grandma. I cried as I thought of the unspeakable joy she was having with her Savior. That is why that morning there was joy as I saw my dad cry for the first time in my life. Joy was in knowing where grandma really was as we watched the black hearse pull out of our driveway.
There was the aching of heart as I watched my cousins and uncles scoop piles of dirt onto grandma's coffin. There was joy as I saw the little great grandsons do their manly part in burying their great grandmother. It was joy that led us to sing at my grandma's burial.
Praise God, from whom all blessings flow;
Praise Him, all creatures here below;
Praise Him above, ye heav'nly host;
Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost.
Amen.
We had joy in the blessing of grandma's long life on earth. We had even more joy knowing she now had the eternity with her Lord forever.
Strangely yet not very strangely at all that was joy.
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