Camera

Last night, my husband's cousin came by to bring an old manual camera for my oldest daughter to play around with. You remember those, right? The ones you have to put film in. Not only does my daughter like to take pictures, but she wants to learn how to make all those adjustments herself in order to appreciate all that a digital camera does automatically. After our visitor left, my husband went into his workshop and brought up his dad's camera, and old Nikkon, for my daughter to look at. He opened the wooden case, and the entire downstairs was flooded with the smell of his dad's cigars, and I was immediately transported in back in time.

The day was cold and a heavy snow began falling late morning and into the afternoon. I was two weeks away from giving birth to our third child and enjoying a quiet afternoon, snug and safe in my home, unaware of the horror playing out in another part of town. The phone rang. "Good," I thought. "the kids are still asleep and I can have a quiet conversation." But it was not who I thought it was going to be; in fact, it was a complete stranger. It was a police officer calling to inform me that my father-in-law had been in an accident and they were trying to find family. What kind of accident? Where is he? Is he going to be OK? The officer was silent for a moment, and then informed me that he had been struck down by a car in a parking lot on his way to his own car, and that he was at the hospital, and he was very sorry to tell me my father-in-law was dead.

My whole world, my safe and warm world where nothing bad happens, that world shattered. In an instant. And I knew that in moments, I would have to call my husband at work and shatter his world too. And so we went to the hospital together to see his dad, a man and a very pregnant woman walking into the ER, not to give birth and celebrate life, but to be a witness to death and tragedy.

The weeks and months that followed brought many of his dad's possessions into our home as we sorted through his life and got his house ready to sell. With each load of items, came the unmistakable smell of his dad's cigars.

But with tragedy, came blessing. The birth of a healthy baby, friends that showered us with food and support, family that drew closer, God's provision, all; these came with the sadness and tempered it a bit. It was a time of great sorrow and joy. Never did we think God had abandoned us, or that He wasn't paying attention and neglected to keep my father-in-law safe. Yes, we questioned the timing, but not the purpose.

I watched my husband and daughter look over the cameras and my mind was flooded with memories, the smell of cigars filled the air, and I felt a peace. A peace that a young woman wants to explore a beloved hobby of her grandfather. A peace that he would be so happy to see her doing this, and had he been alive, he would have wanted to teach her about photography, but that another family member was stepping in to do it. A peace that even though we all have to die, we can leave something behind for our children and grandchildren: our faith and convictions, work ethic, hobbies, and even possessions. A peace that only God can give.