Faith From a Grave

When I was seven years old and standing by my father's grave, there was a lot to figure out.  In some ways I think I have spent my entire life in that single pursuit.  As a child it must have been confusing to me to be at a place where his body was buried and, yet, the people I trusted were telling me that my father was in heaven.  As the years rolled along, my father's faith became an important issue for me.  I was told he had professed faith in Christ before his death, but I wondered if it was just something I was told by those who wanted to bring comfort.  It was sometime later when I was reading over the book signed by folks at his funeral that I found words written by a chaplain which spoke of him professing faith in Christ and planning to be baptized.

 

I suppose for some such things are irrelevant.  Some say it does not matter.  Some dismiss heaven as a fairy tale.  All I know is that as a seven year old boy struggling to figure out his father's death, it mattered a great deal.  And as I have reflected back over those childhood years, I have realized that I first wanted to go to heaven because of a belief that my father was in that eternal place.  It had nothing to do with faith in Christ, but simply an awareness that a man important to me was waiting.

To become older is to come to a different places in my thinking, but one thing I have not lost is a belief that an eternal life awaits those who have faith in Christ.  Jesus promised it to one of the thieves who was dying on an adjacent cross.  "Today..." He said.  Those words have always been enough to cement a belief that heaven is out there for us.  There is no need to ask me for a lot of details.  I do not have them.  I just have this faith in Christ that was born long years ago at my father's grave.