A little girl died about two weeks ago. She
drew breath for eight years. Three of those years were plagued by
suffering, her little frame smashed by cancer, ravaged by the
brutality of surgery, chemo, and radiation. A simple text message
from a dear friend heralded her end: “Daisy died last night...”
Many wept bitterly, I can imagine none more than her parents. They
put her body in the ground on Saturday. In our humanity everything
about it screams of injustice, screams that there is naught to be
found in the midst of such a tragedy but sorrow.
My mother never met Daisy, but she
wept throughout her ordeal, a compassion born from the womb that has
seen three children grow into adults. Empathy for a sister whose
little one will never see those years. But in the midst of tears she
prayed. She prayed more deeply and earnestly than ever before. She
would confess that praying for a little girl, a stranger, has changed
her relationship with God for ever.
Thousands like her joined in Daisy's memorial.
From the corners of the earth, they tuned or flew in. Thousands.
Thousands, who represented the thousands of hours of prayer lifted to
God on her behalf. Thousands of hours of time with God. Thousands
of creatures speaking to their Creator for thousands of hours.
Because one child suffered and died, thousands of people had
relationship with God. Echoes of the Gospel.
The memorial was beautiful, filled
with songs, joyful memories, and the genuine affirmation of the
goodness of God from the lips of those who had the greatest reason
to be resentful. There, one of the pastors spoke about God receiving
those who have received Him with a, “Well done My good and faithful
servant...enter into the joy of your Master.” My mind snapped back
to the image I received as my mother wept on the night we heard she had passed. (To be
clear, I make no claims to fully understand the nature of heaven, the
details of how it works after we die, etc. I will only fully know
the moment that I die.) This is simply a gift of comfort, given to me upon hearing the news,
that I was encouraged to share. It looked something like this:
Jesus Christ joyfully received Daisy. A
King, majestically enthroned above all creation, enthusiastically
greeted her. His countenance beamed forth with a smile that spoke,
“I am so glad you are finally here, I have yearned to be with you,
and for you to be with me.” He yearned because, two thousands years ago, this King had
suffered as well, suffered and died under a greater burden. It was the greatest act of injustice in all of human
history. And Daisy Love Merrick had shared in, and was His reward for, that suffering.
When she entered heaven, Christ got what only He deserved: glory, praise, and honor in the form of
His little girl, and He received it with much gladness. And Daisy
received Him with greater gladness. God, delighted by her, said “My
beautiful daughter, you suffered so well! You endured such hardship!
You kept the faith! The Crown of Glory belongs to you! And this
Crown of Righteousness, and this Crown of Victory, and this Crown,
and that Crown...” and right before Daisy, in her joy of being with
Jesus cast down these crowns in worship, God said, “And this
Crown... this Crown is yours because by your suffering Daniel's
mother came to love and trust Me more... her life, one of thousands, is different for
eternity because you endured such difficulty... well done My good and
faithful servant!” And there Daisy is, a seed fallen to the ground,
planted in sorrow and hope, raised up in incorruptible immortality,
and blossoming in the presence of the Lord, the crown on her head the
glory and joy of her Master.
