Peace in the Valley

The call traveled over invisible-to-the-eye optics, minutes before midnight.  Dreaded expectancy vied with indisputable fact.  He'd been hospitalized for several weeks, but hope springs eternal! Was this The End? Not necessarily, I'd bargained.   He'd rallied before.  Yet, simultaneously I'd been fearing news that could only be bad. 

In a quiet yet clear voice, his wife informed, "He's gone, Dr. Clark.  He got his wings today."

Oh, no! No! No, my dear," I reflexively countered in a voice that cracked with the reality, the finality, of a life's ending that penetrated my sleep-fogged brain.

Not invincible Vince, I silently protested! Vincent Lionel Smith. The Reverend Vincent Lionel Smith.  Must I put a coda on the loyal friend, musical genius, husband, father, choirmaster, counselor, Bid Whist champion, and chef extraordinaire I've enjoyed over 20-plus years? 

Truly, Vince wore those descriptors with grace.  I wondered what nouns, adjectives, verbs, and adverbs even, his throng of friends, colleagues, and acquaintances would contribute to the poetry and prose his life inspired? I can only imagine, yeah I can only imagine.

"Not Brother Vince!" my grandson and Vince's preteen culinary art apprentice, exclaimed at the news.  "As 'tight' as we were, and as much as he was willing to teach me, Brother Vince always said, 'Oh no, Youngblood.'  I can't give up my fried chicken secrets!"

Still, I attempted to console, comfort, and convey hope to  LaShawn, his wife of 23 years, whom I knew suffered even as she shared the unthinkable news.  Now in the throes of grief's anguish, I attempted to offer LaShawn the impossible.  I couldn't undo what God had decreed. She must traverse a solitary path of inestimable loss of which I could only speculate.

Vince and I had met over two decades ago in an Orlando (FL)  Church that held my membership and offered venues for him to serve the Lord as a minister, multi-talented musician, musical director, and congregant.  Not Vince!, I moaned from a shattered heart.  What's wrong with me? 

Why am I so fixated on denying the undeniable? Why do I insist on bargaining, trying to handle things as if I have the power of life and death? Why do I think that if do enough of something, a loved one will live as long as I decide?  Why do the "Whys" proliferate like weeds on a vacant lot? I sound delusional, even to my own ears.

Of course, I know better.  The only way I somewhat (half-heartedly) reconciled Courtney's sudden death came only after wisdom's revelation. "Trust in the Lord completely, and do not rely on your own opinions," (Proverbs 3:5,tPt).  Only God holds the power to create and terminate. I had to (grudgingly and finally) accept that God does not terminate to punish. neither the loved one nor the wounded one. No! Everything God does, He does in love.

Our Father summoned Courtney, my beloved daughter, and Vince, my stalwart friend, back to the gold-paved streets of Heaven.  After all, that is where they had come from.   Richard Smallwood, the great gospel singer, explains, "They've only just graduated before us."

Vince and I came from distinctly different cultures, Southern and Northern; yet, we rarely argued over issues or even controversies.  Each of us "Knew the Lord in the pardon of our sins." Both of us wrestled with aspects of life that we found hard to understand or embrace.  Each of us accepted "The Call: to minister (Matthew 28:19).  And yes, often we felt persecuted.

What constituted the biggest difference between Vince and me? Vince could preach! Lord knows, he could preach! And preach he did! Holy Spirit gifted Vince with the gifts, talents, and fortitude to bring the Word, in season and out of season.  Did I mention he also could sing and play? He could and did! Vince mastered the tools of biblical research, beginning with the Holy Bible. He prayed and praised,  and his gifts, talents, and obedience made room for him.  A church filled with shouting and praising worshippers attested to his "Preacher-Man" anointing!

I was no slouch in a pulpit myself, make no mistake about it.  I just couldn't preach like Vince, or prepare the "Southern-style" dishes and desserts which made him a culinary virtuoso!

Though bittersweet, I hear Vince's voice singing now,

"Amazing grace shall always be my song of praise
for it was grace that bought my liberty,
I do not know just why he came to love me so,
He looked beyond my faults and saw my need."

Richard Smallwood's lyrics assure Lahawn, daughter Princess, a host of relatives, friends, and me,

"I'll see you again
Where the sun is always shining,
I'll see you again
Where sorrows are no more
Where we'll join hands together
And we'll sing around the throne"
can't hardly wait till the day
I'll see you again."

Thank You, Father, for loaning Vincent Lionel Smith to us.