Death: A Moment of Beauty

A year ago today, my family and I and a couple friends hiked Rainie Falls. Among those friends was a young man named Josh. None of us knew that May 5 was his last day on this earth. 

After Josh fell into that river, myself and many others felt a sense of an ending. A death, a hole, a sudden jolting stop. But for Josh, that fall was a beginning. A glorious beginning.

I don't want to think of it as the day he died. I want to think of May 5 as the day he finally became alive. That is why I wrote this. It is written from Josh's perspective -- a guess as to what it might have been like to die.

_____________________________

It all begins with the calming.

My adrenaline, my fear – all of the sensations that seemed so real when I fell into this river – fade away. Everything settles into a strange, quiet serenity. Almost as if time itself has ceased.
Until now I was praying half-consciously, but now I send intentional words into the silence: Lord, what is happening?

Understanding comes as peacefully as the stillness around me.

This is my last moment on earth.

I feel subdued, contented. I never knew it would be so peaceful to die.

The calm is broken by sudden elation. I am going to Heaven – I'm going to Jesus! The next moment my joy is jolted by panic. A thousand thoughts tumble through my mind – all of the things I haven't done, the things I haven't said... Wait – Lord – what about –

Come to me, my son.

Thrill pulsates through me. Did I just hear the voice of God? Did my King speak to me?

Without warning the faces of my parents flash in front of me. Wait! I want to hold on; I start reaching out, grasping for the familiarity of earth's consciousness. But Lord …

Joshua. Come home.

I let go.

Reality morphs. In a electrifying and indescribably beautiful moment, I die.

Light explodes in my mind. I shudder with joy as it flows through my veins, glowing, pulsing – my new heartbeat, my new pulse.

At the same time, I am aware of a deeply curious sensation. I am being lifted up…  out... out of the only reality I know. It's like I'm being turned inside out. Something is slipping off of me, as if an old, heavy, tattered coat that I never knew I was wearing. As the strangling burden releases me I realize what it is.

My sin.

Every struggle, every temptation, every misery over that old nature that continually tormented me – gone. Oh, Jesus, I will never sin again! God, thank you!

Freedom eclipses me. Freedom – so raw and intense I wonder that I can contain it. It is radiating out of me. Light is emanating from me, but not my own light. I know that. I am reflecting the Light of the Son of God.

Time doesn't matter anymore. Only one thing matters.

My entire being pours itself out in praise to my King. I can't bear to keep in such all-consuming joy. Most glorious of all, there is no struggle to find a way to convey my gratitude. It flows straight from my heart without pause, a stream of passionate adoration.

I am swept up in unspeakable ecstasy, with the knowledge I will be worshiping my God like this for an eternity to come.

Praise the Lord! It is finished. My soul has reached it's ultimate redemption. I am home.

I, Joshua Steven Eddy, died.

And now I am finally alive.

                                            _____________________________

The Close of a Year

I've been wanting to post about 2012 for a while now... but when somehow the entire poem I put my heart into vanished from the blogger drafts, I sort of gave up.

So I don't have a lovely original poem for you about this incredible and terrifying past year. Sorry. Instead, with my vanity rather smushed, I offer you the words of another instead. (Honestly I think they apply to my year almost better than anything I could've written!)

These words are from a song titled "The Beauty and the Tragedy" by David Hodges.

"For I am finding out that love
Will kill and save me
Taking the dreams that made me up
And tearing them away.
But the same love will take this heart
That's barely breathing
And fill it with hope beyond the stars..."

Whose love is this? God's. And yet is has a sort of double meaning. I recall writing in my journal, shortly after Josh died, " I didn't know it hurt so bad to love." The strong, deep love of a close friendship killed me, in a way. Because God took my dreams and literally tore them away.

But the story doesn't end there. My merciful Creator took my barely breathing heart... And filled it with hope. Many different kinds of hope - the grandest of which had already been mine from before my birth. The hope of an eternity with my Love, my Lord.

And so God wounded to heal. He brought me low to show me just how much I truly needed him... And then brought beautiful, glorious, painful Healing.

"Come, let us return to the Lord;
For he has torn us, that he may heal us;
He has struck us down, and he will bind us up." (Hosea 6:1)

"For he wounds, but he binds up; 
He shatters, but his hands heal." (Job 5:18)

So that was my year! Oh, and on top of that my only sister got married...

Needless to say, 2012 was the biggest year of my life. Also the most painful, and somehow still the most wonderful. I grew up. The Lord changed me greatly. Now I greet 2013, a woman: weaker in myself, yet ultimately stronger; more vulnerable, more mature, and a little wiser, thanks to His grace. (And much more emotional!)

Hello, new year. Ariel is ready for you. She has a King on her side who can handle anything you throw at her. So bring it on!

To Crucify Your Maker

Can you imagine? Can you even begin to feel the kind of horror, sickness, and shock that came upon the Roman soldiers who realized... they have just brutally murdered the very Son of God.

The One who made them. The One who gave them the voices they used to wound his spirit; the hands they used to wound his ravaged body. The One who is suffocating on that piece of wood to save their dead souls.

And they tortured him to death.

Listen.

What is this that we have done? I cannot forgive or forget it.

Just another crucifixion... an ordinary moment.
Before God tore open the sky. And their souls.

Can the silence erase the memory? Can we ever forget this... can we just cover up what we have done...?

They kept quite. The only way to hide. (See Matthew 28:11-15)

Pray for the day when the truth will make us pay...

The day of judgment. "What have you done to My Son?" Only the very blood that they shed can redeem their shame and guilt.

The silence has become the end of us.

The sickening silence after His lungs and heart gave up the struggle for life. After the sky was darkned and the earth shook. After the Man cried out his last breath... and was gone.

"...The centurion, and they that were with him, watching Jesus... feared greatly, saying,
'Truly, this was the Son of God.'"

His eye

     It hits every once in a while.

     A picture, a word, him saying "Rolling camera one"... it just hits. Hard.
     A beautiful black and white close-up of his eye. Eyes hold life only for such a short period of time. His eye, the eyelashes and skin around it, all decompose so quickly. But once his eye, his skin and bones, held a soul within them. Now that soul is somewhere else. Never again will that soul look at me through those eyes. Not quite those same eyes.



     And just knowing that, that once his soul did look at me, or speak to me, or give me a high-five... that makes the pain hit. The squeezing beneath my ribcage, deep and clenching. And I close the picture of his eye. I take a deep breath. I return to work.

     It hits every once in a while.

God is BIG

I usually don't like my views about God to be challenged. No, let me rephrase that; I just plain don't like my views about God to be challenged. I want to think that I know God. That I have it down, at least as much as I can, being a puny human. However... well, my view of God has been challenged.

You know the story I'm sure. When we were at the river, in the initial panic-stricken minutes, I kept saying to my friend, "It's okay - God made the river, he's in control of it; He has Josh in his hand." As the day wore on though, I begin to grapple with the idea that maybe God wouldn't actually rescue Josh. I admit, it didn't seem to fit with my perspective of God. After all, God has always blessed me immensely - like, my whole life practically. His plan seemed to always coincided with my plan - and when it didn't, it turned out better. So I learned to trust him. Even when painful things happened (like, my kneecap problem) I knew God would bring me through because he always did.

So now, here I am, sitting by this rushing river, waiting and waiting and realizing that it's probably too late - that the person who understood me best in the whole world is most likely not in the world anymore. This didn't really reconcile with "my" God. My God doesn't do this to me. I mean, he just doesn't.

But he did.

So that left me in a quandary. The first week, I felt distant from God. I tried to pray, but it didn't feel right. God was huge, hard, and suddenly seemed disinterested in me. All around I saw evidences of how Josh's life was impacting people, how his death was furthering the kingdom of God... but my little heart screamed, "But what about ME?!"

Sure, I knew the universe didn't revolve around me. I knew that God's kingdom obviously mattered more than my happiness. But I couldn't help the feeling that God's big plan for his work through Josh's death overlooked me. Yes, poor little Ariel's world will crumble around her, but oh well - Josh's death is blessing people all over the world.

You must be cringing at my selfishness by now. It is hard to just tell you this, but I want to be completely honest. This is how I felt, and still, once in a while, feel. What I discovered was that I knew, deep inside me, that Josh's death would bless me, too. God has not overlooked me because I'm too insignificant compared to the world (even though I am) - he has plans for me that are better than I have planned for myself.

This whole thing has made God so much bigger than I thought of him before. No more does his plan always make me happy. Thank goodness! What a small view I had of him; I am ashamed. One of the incredible things about God is that he is so, so big... and yet cares for every single individual. Yes, that includes me. Wow. That amazes me.

So this has been my experience. God cares so intimately for me. Probably my favorite psalm ever, Psalm 139, speaks about God being the ultimate being who understands us. Putting this new concept of how big God is with how well he knows and cares for me simply baffles me. It is beyond words. This last December I was expounding on it in my journal. It's a little messily written, but here it is.

"Psalm 139!!!!!!!!! Officially my favorite psalm. EVER. It's the most comforting psalm. Not comforting as in gives me happy safe fuzzy feelings. Comforting as in, the world can be falling apart, but even if I suffer Jesus has me in complete control in his loving, powerful hands. God is love and justice. Not just a happy everything-goes-right God and not just a judgment-on-all God. No, either of those would be weak. The world makes him out to be the sicky sweet god. That bothers me.

Anyhow, listen to the word of the Lord. Or rather, the words I want to say.

"O Lord, you have searched me and known me!" This first sentence just caught me. He has searched me? He HAS known me. Meaning, when I was a little snotty kid, he knew me. Just let that sink in.

 "You discern my thoughts from afar. You search out my path and my lying down and are acquainted with all my ways. Even before a word is on my tongue, behold, O Lord, you know it altogether." Okay, so I know he knows my thoughts. Obvious, right? But think, I say! All my ways. He's like, the ultimate person who really can predict me. Even if he didn't know the future, he could totally take the words out of my mouth because he knows me inside and out. He knows how I react to situations, what I'm prone to do. Nothing I can do will ever be a suprise to him. Amazing. I'm wrapped in a cloud of deep, deep comfort. 

The psalm goes on to describe all these far-reaching places, heaven, the sea, Sheol even - everywhere. He IS everywhere. And if you think about it... that means many things. When I'm struggling with ANYTHING, he is there. He totally understands. "Such knowledge is too wonderful for me." How true!!

 Then he talks about my inward parts, in my mother's womb. "In your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them." Wow. Okay, just wow. Every single day is "written" - he knows all about. He knew I'd be sitting here in the Goodrich's living room by the stove, on my laptop, writing this. He knew that while Esther stood before the king. That boggles my mind. Boggles. Just crazy. He ends the section about knowing by saying "I awake, and I am still with you."

That makes me want to cry!

I awake and I am still with God. Still! He is so, so, so, present. So RIGHT THERE. So ... inside me! He's never ever going to be even just a hand's reach away. I cannot be separated from him. PRAISE THE LORD!!!!! I can't say it enough. Crazy. Crazy."
 

And last but not least, a picture. Putting those beautiful, bright red roses there was such a comfort. It makes it look loved. As it is.

Burying a precious dream

Photo by Tianna Eddy

How can I describe to you what it was like to be there? Can I describe the way my heart sank deeper and deeper within me as Josh's casket was lowered lower and lower into the ground? Can I describe the sharp, startling shock of pain as the first shovel of dirt hit the metal? Can I describe the deep, numb, crushing feeling that has not left me since May 5th?

But it is not about me. So it doesn't matter if I could describe those things. Although I feel I have lost much, I am still doing better than I deserve. This is the miracle. I need to thank all of you who have lifted me up in this time. You mean so much more to me than you know. Thank you. Someday I hope I can repay you.

I have been realizing the difference between happiness and joy. I have always considered myself an extremely happy person. My life has been very close to perfect. But now I would not consider myself necessarily happy. However, I am really joyful. You might think that I choose to be - but I don't feel that way. I don't wake up and say "today I am going to be joyful." I wake up and all I can do is say, "God, please get me through today. I have nothing." And he does.

This is joy: Jesus. Perhaps my happiness has been taken away for a time, but deep down inside I have joy. I have a reason for living, and a purpose for working. This has been really encouraging to me, knowing that even if much of my happiness was in Josh, my joy was in the Lord. It has not been taken away.

I'm memorizing Romans 8. Paul talks about how creation is groaning for restoration. When I visited Josh's grave on Sunday, all I could think was how very wrong death is. How much we have lost in our fall. Sitting by a mound of earth that holds the old body of a loved one is such a stark reminder that this is not how it was supposed to be. Yes, God uses death to accomplish his purpose, and yes, God is sovereign, and yes, in a sense Josh was "supposed" to die... but death was not a part of God's original creation. It is wrong. Revelation 21, one of the most beautiful passages in Scripture, says:

"He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away." Death shall be no more. What an incredible thought. I cannot wait for the day

God is not powerless over death. He could destroy it right now. He could have prevented it from coming into existence, but he didn't. Because he knew the plans he had for us, plans for good and not harm. Though it seems backward, death, suffering, pain and all these things are part of God's beautiful drama.  

I apologize for the aimlessness of this post. I feel kind of rambly. I guess all I have left to say is, I can't believe it's been a month. One whole month since I've seen Josh. I suppose that isn't a very long time, but it seems like forever.

And yet God is still good. He is so good. Joy is mine.

Why

One Word
a poem by Ariel J
5.21.12

I ask one word
Why

Why do we train
Why do we learn and earn
Why do we plan and hope and dream

Why
    when we come to the point in time
    where something so unthinkable has happened
    that it make us wonder why we did these things

Why –
I will tell you

We assume
Oh, we assume so much
We assume that things will go on
We look at the past
    and expect the future to reflect it
    because so often it does
And so we plan
So we train and earn and plan and dream
We do what seems best
    as if life will continue the way we think it will
    the way it always has
    the way we want it to
    the way it should
    – should according to our hearts

And then we are mocked
    ripped apart
    broken
    buried
The future does not reflect the past
    not even a bit
    but muddies even our dimmest reflection
Life does not continue the way we think it will
    but the way it has not been
    the way we don't want it to
    the way it shouldn't
    – shouldn't according to our hearts

Then we wonder why we trained
    and earned and planned and dreamed
    when diligent training is mocked
    and protected earnings ripped apart
    and anticipated plans broken
    and precious dreams buried

That is the point in time that makes us wonder
    why

And next we wonder
    if we were wrong to assume
Was it wrong to think life would go on the way it always has been
Was it useless to train and earn and plan and dream

I believe the answer is
No

It was not wrong
It was what we thought was best
It was how we knew to live
It was how God made us
Because often
    our training is not useless
    and our earnings turns for good
    and our plans finally happen
    and our dreams come true

But not always
Which is why we must assume
    but must also be careful
To never take for granted
    too much
To know that whatever we train and earn and plan and dream
    is unto the Lord
    and whatever he decides to do with it
    is good

And so we live on
Hurt but not fatally
Bleeding but not dead
    just barely
We live on
    with greater knowledge of pain
    and grace
We live on
    with new appreciation
    and new emptiness
    and new joy
    and a new self
We live on
    perhaps a little more careful and cautious
    in our training and earning and planning and dreaming
    but still doing them all the same
    because that is how we are made

Time to time we ask
Why
And the response is
I am God
    I do what I will
He does not answer
He does not need to
For he is indeed
    God

So we live on
    and one day
    die
And coming into eternity
    and great
    beautiful
    glorious
    joy –
    yes, the face of God
    we finally see why he made us
    to assume
We finally see why
    we trained and earned and planned and dreamed
    when it seemed to be mocked
    ripped apart
    broken and buried
We see that it was not useless
It was simply that part of the story
    that's twist is revealed in a later chapter

And we stop asking
Why
Rather our one word
    is turned to two

Thank you

A tribute...

I feel as though I've never given an official "in memory of" post to Josh. Hm. Others have done so beautifully. One about the river, one to thank him. One who never met him, one who knew him well. His future sister-in-law.  

They have said it more poetically than I could. So I shall show you a picture.

Yes, it is not good quality. But I love this picture. It shows so much of who Josh was. First of all, look at where he is. The roof. Creative place, is it not? Josh's mind was forever thinking of new ways to do things. But just standing on the roof was ordinary for Josh - because he always thought outside the box.

Next, see that he is barefoot. Josh never let anything get in the way of his feeling life to the fullest. Shoes? Nah. Let me feel the earth with my bare toes, let the hot cement sting me, let the grass tickle me. Unafraid. Bared. Ready.

Lastly, can you tell what he is looking at? Perhaps not; it is a Bible. That is what he was doing on the roof - memorizing James. This, too, so symbolizes Josh. Here he is, in the midst of beautiful scenery, with gorgeous mountains behind him... but he is focused on what matters. His eyes are fixed on the word of his Maker.

That is Josh.

^ this is one of the last "real" pictures taken of him. 

I could say so much more about this young man, but words are not everything. I have learned that in the past weeks. Besides, you can learn most about him by reading his blog. He writes of profound issues on there, with passion and conviction. 

For those of that knew him, his blog writings took on a deeper meaning than those who didn't. Because we saw him live. We saw that he longed for these things, but did not always achieve them. We saw him fail, get up, and try again. No, he did not live out perfectly the things he aspired to do. But he tried so hard. And he was not afraid to write what he wanted to be, even while knowing that he would not live them out perfectly. He was imperfect, but unafraid. That is one of the many things I admire in him.

I am so incredibly thankful for the time I had on Earth with Josh. So thankful. He inspired me, encouraged me, laughed at me, worked with me, even gently rebuked me. It is hard to explain just how much he meant to me. Right now, he's only a memory in my head, but in reality he is more alive than ever. Praise God.

To close, I'll share something I wrote several days after he died.

"

And Josh, remember our hike to Rainie Falls? I was so lucky to get to talk with you the way there. Of course, it was free will debate. And you laughed at how my Mother was enthralled by every single wildflower. Josh, be proud: my knee didn't bother me one bit. You were worried about it, but it held up.

I remember as we met a couple people walking the opposite way, you (being the awesome extravert you are) asked the man with the fishing rod, “Did you catch any?” He said he hadn't, and as they passed I saw the women behind him had a big net over her shoulder – with a water bottle in it. After they passed, we both mumbled, “Caught a water bottle, though.” Exact words; exact inflection. We did that so often it was scary.

And then, when we got to the falls, it was so beautiful I just stopped and stared. You said, “I can't help it” and ran out to one of the island-type rocks. You looked around and I could just feel that cloud-nine feeling emanating from you. Then you flexed your muscles, feeling like a man, on top of the world. I smiled. Then you came back and I pointed to the falls. “What do I do with that?” I asked. You knew, like you always did, just what I meant. What do I do with such beauty, too wonderful for words? Your answer will stay with me always, as the last thing you said to me on this old Earth.

“I seem to have written a blog post about that recently,” you said, laughing. “You can't take it all in, so you just take in what you can and enjoy it.”

And that I did. I don't know if you saw me, but I sat there, on a rock just over the falls, and stared and stared. Silent, alone. Just taking it in.

"

That is where I was sitting when Josh was swept away into Heaven.

Josh

"I love you

Not only for what you are,

But for what I am

When I am with you.

I love you,

Not only for what

You have made of yourself,

But for what

You are making of me.

I love you

For the part of me

That you bring out;

I love you

For putting your hand

Into my heaped-up heart

And passing over

All the foolish, weak things

That you can't help

Dimly seeing there,

And for drawing out

Into the light

All the beautiful belongings

That no one else had looked

Quite far enough to find.

I love you because you

Are helping me to make

Of the lumber of my life

Not a tavern

But a temple.

Out of the works

Of my every day

Not a reproach

But a song.

I love you

Because you have done

More than any creed

Could have done

To make me good.

And more than any fate

Could have done

To make me happy.

You have done it

Without a touch,

Without a word,

Without a sign.

You have done it

By being yourself.

Perhaps that is what

Being a friend means,

After all."

-- by Roy Croft

Oh, Josh. You impacted my life more than I can say. Thank you. 

I will say more when I am able. But words are so inadequate. 

You will always be Ua to me.

See you in Heaven. I'm looking forward to talking theology with you again and I'm so jealous that you'll probably have most of Free-will figured out by the time I get there. 

As you always said:

 "Later!"

--AO

In honor of the Titanic

Here is a story I wrote last December. I could say much about the Titanic, but I'll let this say it for me.

A Noble Death

by Ariel J

When I first stepped onto the Titanic, I felt safe. She was huge and incredibly strong, possessing a sort of noble grandeur that just made me trust her.

But now that she's been stabbed with a knife of ice – now that her chandeliers smash against the gilded walls, shattering glass into a million pieces – now that she tips at an unnatural angle, hopelessly surrendering to the freezing ocean in this battle of power...

Her grandeur mocks her – and mocks her trusting passengers who scramble over this ship like so many mice, clinging to life with what little strength we have.

God, help me. Help us!

The words keep repeating in my head. There's nothing else to do when a dark, silent night of peace transforms into an brutal nightmare – when all a boy can hear is screams of death and fear rushing out of the throats of hundreds who realize that their mortal lives are about to end...

As is mine.

I hate the tendril of fear that snakes through my body at the thought. I am not afraid to die. I'm not. I never have been, but... I always thought I'd die in some noble manner. Not helpless, desperate, unprepared.

As chilling wind whips my at me, I glare at the black sky and force my dry throat to swallow. The deck wall behind me is icy, but I press my back into it anyway, staying out of the stampede of terrified souls until Mama comes. If she comes. The knot in my stomach twists.

In my mind's eye I can see the water flooding our little room, Mama's curly hair sticking to her damp face, her blue, sad eyes lit by the ghastly flicker of the electric lights. I hear her urgent voice. “Bara gå, Viktor! Jag följer snart!”

“I'll follow soon.” There can only be one reason why she isn't here yet, but I can't accept it. Mama can't die.

I can feel the startling warmth of a tear as it rolls down my frosty cheek. I squeeze my eyes shut, clench my teeth. Crying at thirteen years old – how childish of me! But Mama can't die, not now. It's not fair. She worked so hard, for years, so we could be on this ship right now, to America. Because we will find a better life there, Mama and I. A new start.

My eyes snap open. I try to see to the black water through the endless rush of people disjointedly flowing across the deck. Is it all going to end tonight? Our hopes, our dreams?

In the blur of panic, two particular humans capture my attention, strangely still among the choas. An older man, kneeling, in a white coat and white hat – the captain? – holds out a life-vest to a little girl whose hair is tucked into a knot atop her head. A first-class little girl.

Jealousy clutches me. What has she done to deserve that thick, warm coat? And that porcelain doll she holds … it's value could feed Mama and me for a year.

But it's hard to feel angry at such a distraught-looking child. I find myself hoping she will live past this night of horror. The captain says something to her, helping her into the life-vest. Then he picks up her and walks off quickly.

As another room of lights flicker to their deaths, a loud cracking noise splits the air. I feel the mammoth ship tilt ever more and instinctively grab a railing near me.

She's going down. God help me – the ship's going down!

The reality of the fact strikes me like a harsh slap, and I bolt from my hiding place against the wall. I can't wait for Mama anymore. I have to get into a lifeboat.

Fear propels me through the endless mass of people. There was a lifeboat to the left, I think, but it looked almost full. I must hurry! The sickness in my stomach heightens; each second that goes by brings me further from life.

My head pounds. I know am giving in to the fear of death. And I hate it.

But I must live.

I struggle to thrust my conscience aside and let my survival instincts reign as I weave through the group of people gathered around the lifeboat.

“Women and children, please! Women and children!” The shout is coming from a sailor holding the ropes for the lifeboat. He forcefully pushes back a man who tries to steps forward. But I'm a child … Without a second thought I push through to the front of the crowd, trying to catch the sailor's eye. But he is looking at something else –

The girl.

Someone has just set her in front of the crowd, and there she stands, eyes wild, clutching her doll with what must be frozen little fingers. And I know what I should do. But I can't do it.

Fear and duty fight a battle in my soul. Is this what it will come down to – me or her? Am I about to lose my life because of this small, first-class child? I was here first – the sailor knows that. Desperate, I finally catch his gaze.

For what seems like an entire minute he looks me in the eye. His eyes are deep and sad, and they pierce through my terror and into my heart. I feel the fear slowly melt. Love, valor, and the duty of protection ignite inside me under his gaze. God, forgive me.

I, Viktor, am a man. A young man, perhaps, but a man of God. The glorious and noble task of sacrifice for the weaker is mine.

Yes, a man's duty is to die, unafraid in the face of hell. Because a man of God knows that he will never see hell. I realize in that moment that the sailor and I will very soon be together in a place void of fear or death. And I will be able to thank him. Strength surges through me.

My heart strangely quieted, I walk over the to the little girl and gently pick her up. The wind blows a wispy blonde curl in my face. “Gud skydda dig,” I whisper to her, then lower her into the arms of a woman on the lifeboat. As I back away, I smile at her.

Yes, God protect you, I repeat to myself. Please, God, let her live a full, beautiful life. In place of my mamma and me.

The sailor nods to me, then with the help of another lowers the boat. Perhaps we are the blessed ones, after all. That girl will never know the deep joy, the sheer beauty of a man's sacrifice that now fills me.

I turn around and calmly walk back through the crowd, fortified against the terror pulsing through the ship.

I will die.

But not helpless, desperate, unprepared. I will die content in the knowledge that one little blonde-haired girl's life was spared. Through me. By the glorious grace of God. Yes, I am the blessed!