FAITHFUL AND TRUE

Passing through the cemetery gates, I see the man once again - white hair, wrinkled suit coat - sitting on a step stool he retrieves every day from the trunk of his car. From dawn until dusk, regardless of the weather, he keeps vigil by her side, as constant and true as the gravestones that surround them.

It is a tender act of faithfulness in a now one-sided romance: “Till death do us part” has offered to release him, yet he remains unmoved.

Slowing to a respectable speed, I inch past on the crunching gravel, scanning the horizon for a pink granite marker etched “Bliss” on its back. 

There in the distance, my dad stands waiting near his own bride, who lies under the stone’s shadow. Her grave faces east, the direction from which her Lord will one day return - a fact my dad recites each time we come to visit.

While she lived, he never failed to run ahead and open doors for her; so it gives him great comfort to know that her path is still without obstacle.

Today, as every anniversary before, he brings her a small black coffee and one red rose for each year his love lives on. I notice that her grave will not be able to contain his affections much longer; the growing bouquet spilling over onto his side of the bed.

But until that time comes, he will never stand her up. He will present her with his gifts of unrequited love until the day she responds again with the laughter he still hears in his dreams.

Arm in arm, we exchange a memory, say a prayer, and then fill the air with our unspoken heartache. 

As I turn to go, I wonder: If mere men can hold such devotion, how much more does the heart of God willingly wait over our cold and lifeless seasons? Is Jesus truly the Lover of every hopelessly buried soul?

Reaching for the car door, I notice that I am alone in my thoughts, for my dad has chosen to linger behind.

And I leave with my questions answered, by those keeping watch with unfailing love. 

“If we are faithless, He remains faithful, for He cannot deny Himself.” 

2 Timothy 2:13 HCSB