February 28th, 2011
This morning I learned that a friend from high school passed away.
I knew him, but not well. We don’t have great memories together—or any, really, but he was still a character in the story of my life.
My dad coached him in baseball. Dave went to private school with him and played soccer with him. I graduated with him.
But what is weighing on me the most is that he was extremely close with my best friend Stacey.
My heart is heavy for her. My heart hurts for her. My heart breaks for her.
It’s like a nightmare, but this is the third time this has happened. This is the third friend that Stacey has lost at a young age.
There was Bobby and then there was Ben. Now there is Barry.
It hurts her. It hurts his family more than I can imagine. But it still hurts me, however small my hurt is in comparison to their hurts. Whenever I see my very best friend carry such a grief—a grief that she is all too familiar with—I carry some of it too. But in reality, if I could, I would carry it all for her.
But I can’t. My only ability in this time is to pray; to pray that God will show her and the other friends and family of Barry the peace that passes all understanding.
To pray that they will see that Christ’s strength is made perfect in their weakness. And it’s by His strength that they can put one foot in front of the other, get out of bed each morning, face each day, and close their eyes each night.
I don’t have answers for her. Heck, this time I can’t even offer my shoulder for her to cry on since we’re separated by the entire country. But I have some comfort to offer and that is the only comfort to offer, in fact.
The comfort is that in all things, God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purposes.
That includes you, Stacey.
Love you. Mean it.