A Departure from Thanks and Giving

My Generation

Rejoicing for a little boy who doesn't hurt anymore, but completely heartbroken for Josh and Tiffany Flint.

Published on: November 17, 2010

 

On Friday morning, June 10, I was rushing around the house, trying to get us organized and out the door to go show Jenna's bottle calf at the Cuba Livestock Show. John was spraying and was going to meet us there, so it was up to me to get us that far. I was packing lunches, thinking through snacks and halters and showsticks and boots and feeling fairly flustered and overwhelmed and late. I'm forever running late.

The phone rang, and it was my co-worker, Josh Flint. I said, "Hey! How's it going?"

"Not so good," he replied. Then he told me his 20-month-old son had leukemia. They had just found out, the night before.

What was it I was worried about?

Sandwiches? Really?

Had I lost my mind, if that was the biggest worry in my life?

If you've followed the blog Josh and his wife, Tiffany, have kept ever since that day, you know the roller coaster they've been on. How determined they all were to beat even this very rare form of leukemia. How it really looked like he was going to beat it for awhile there. And then how, in the past month, the hits just kept on coming. The news just never came in his favor.

Then on Wednesday, in the early afternoon, Lucas took his last breaths in his mother's arms. She never left his side, from day one.

I am so grateful for Lucas's two years and 29 days, for the stories Josh shared about him, for his deep brown eyes and shy little smile. He was a charmer, a beautiful little child.  I'm grateful, too, for the body of Christ that's reached out to this heartbroken family and prayed and hugged and shared from across so many miles. If we are, as the Bible says, to be the hands and feet of God, then it seems so in this case. My heart has been lightened as I've scrolled through the many, many guestbook entries on their blog and seen the familiar names of readers, of Cultivating Master Farmer participants, of colleagues, of people all across the ag industry.

And my sandwiches? I hope I've gained a little perspective. Over the course of the past five months, I've hugged my kids harder, read more books, sang more songs. As I sang "Jesus Loves Me," to my own two-year-old the other night (while pondering how much a very little body like that could take), I stopped at the line, "Little ones to Him belong, they are weak but He is strong." Indeed.


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