“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life” (John 3:16 ESV).
This powerful proclamation speaks of our Father’s love, that which He declares to His children.
Yes, to His bride!
I was privileged to know a man who, even in death, declares his love to his wife and children. Some testimonies seem too amazing to be true. This is one such story, and had I not been present to witness the following for myself, I might doubt.
Still, I pray you–through its sharing–will believe as well and, in turn, be encouraged with the hope of heaven and in an eternal…
Declaration of love.
*****
You may wanna come say goodbye, Samantha texted, followed with, And Nanny could sure use your prayers.
I knew what Sam meant, so I wasted no time.
The Teagues are neighbors, their property just around the bend from ours in this rural Western North Carolina community we call home.
I’ve known Mary Ann, as well as her granddaughter Samantha, who happens to be our oldest son’s fiancé, for many years. Charlie Teague, however, I’ve not known as intimately. But what I knew? He loved coaching ball as well as hunting and fishing. He also loved caring for his 8-year-old grandsons, twins Mason and Maddox. But what Charlie was best known for was helping folks–often anonymously, in secret.
When I learned a little more than a year ago that Charlie’s cancer had returned, my heart hurt. I knew Mary Ann was devastated, not to mention so many others who loved this kind and sacrificial man–those who’d cheered him on when he’d battled lung cancer the first time.
After Sam’s text, I hurried to pull on my shoes, then jumped in my van to drive the short distance to the Teague’s home. Their driveway was already lined with vehicles–many having arrived to say their goodbyes. After all, we’d been told. Void a miracle, Charlie was slipping away.
“It’s only a matter of hours,” the doctor affirmed.
Stepping inside their cozy mountain cabin, I assessed the room. Some sat in chairs, while others stood near the doorway of Mary Ann and Charlie’s bedroom. Several dabbed their eyes, speaking in hushed whispers.
And then, there was Mary Ann. Stepping toward her, we embraced, and tears flowed.
I prayed.
“Father, bring comfort to this precious one who’s hurting and to any who grieve. Thank you for the hope we have in heaven for all who accept Jesus. Thank you that Charlie loves you, Lord, and that, because of salvation, he has an eternal future with you in heaven, whole and free. This truth offers assurance even in pain. Even in loss. Even in heartbreak. I pray now that, by the comfort of your Spirit, you’ll bring the peace that passes all understanding to my friend and to this family. Amen.”
Squeezing my friend again, I told her I loved her, then turned toward the couple’s room. Moments later, I stood at Charlie’s bedside to witness the reality of death, the result of this life’s imperfection–that which, one day, will be no more.
Placing my hand on Charlie’s, I sniffed, then whispered, “See you again.”
Outside, I climbed back in my van and breathed another prayer for those hurting. Please help this family feel your peace. Jesus, you’ve promised to comfort all who mourn.
I shifted to reverse, then peered in my rearview mirror but saw there were other cars parked where I’d need to exit.
What to do?
Just then, someone else drove by, a young man I’d seen inside. He was taking a different route, so I decided to follow. Maybe the driveway looped around behind the house, then back out another way.
When I arrived at the backside of the Teague home, however, I saw other vehicles parked on the lawn, but there didn’t seem to be an exit. I’d have to turn around, then try and squeeze past the cars.
As I rounded their home once more, a pop of color caught my eye. Bright red tulips lined Mary Ann’s flowerbeds, each dancing in the springtime breeze.
I smiled, recalling a time some months earlier when, at a community event, the DJ announced “Last Date,” then added, “It’s Charlie and Mary Ann Teague’s favorite song.”
The couple who’d been married more than five decades took to the dance floor, swaying to the Floyd Cramer melody–
“I gave my love to prove to you that I would always love you and be true…”
I snapped a photo of the tulips, marveling at the irony having recently read a book about the meaning of flowers. Then, home again, I texted the photo to Samantha. Look at this! These tulips are in your nanny’s garden. You’ll never guess what they symbolize.
A moment later, my phone pinged Sam’s response. Wow. What?
And I wrote–
Declaration of love.
Charlie Teague passed only hours later.
*****
A few weeks after Charlie’s home-going, our family, along with son Ian and Samantha, as well as her twin boys, were on spring break at the beach. The sting of loss had eased into a gentler ache, though Sam continued to call Mary Ann daily to check on her.
One evening, we strolled on the sand. The rays from the setting sun pierced through some low-lying clouds, seeming to touch the water.
“Look, Momma,” Maddox cried. He pointed to the sky. “That looks like Papaw coming through the clouds.”
Sam smiled. “He’s telling us he’s okay, isn’t he, boys?”
“Yep. Because he’s in heaven, huh?” Mason, too, pointed upward.
Moments later, Ian approached Samantha, a hand behind his back. “You’ll never believe what Mason found. Told me to give it to you since I love giving you flowers.”
Sam gasped when Ian held out the gift. Her hand flew to her mouth, and she shook her head in disbelief. Ian clutched a white tulip, its long, green stem drippy with saltwater.
And then, only a minute later, a second tulip mysteriously washed up on shore. Like the first, in contrast to those in Mary Ann’s North Carolina backyard flowerbed, this one, too, was white.
We all gathered around, witnessing the miracle. What in the world were two white tulips doing lying on a beach hundreds of miles from home?
But there’s more.
The next morning, Sam’s phone rang. Though we couldn’t hear the caller, we watched as tears welled, then spilled from Samantha’s eyes. She hung up. “That was Nanny. You’ll never believe what she found this morning.”
Right then, Sam’s phone pinged. Turning her phone to show us the evidence, we stood dumbfounded. There in her grand-mother’s front flowerbed, two tulips. They’d bloomed the morning after a pair of white tulips were discovered on the beach, where no flower–void a proposal or a wedding–would typically be.
These, too, were white while the ones I photographed the day of Charlie’s passing were red.
A reminder that Christ’s blood shed for us is what cleanses us, making us whiter than snow.
After all, Charlie–having said yes to Jesus many years before his death–was cleansed, set free by the blood of Christ. And now, in heaven, he wears white robes of righteousness.
Yes, of purity.
And to those who loved him, who miss him, Charlie Teague–unrelenting in his faithfulness–has mysteriously offered gifts. Yes, tulips–an affirmation to those who remain that he’s not gone, that they’ll be together again. And though a mystery, it’s his…
Declaration of love.
Will there be more? Perhaps. After all, it seems Charlie Teague’s way. Each is an echo of a life lived in a better place–a Home Charlie’s family believes in also, holding on with hope that, one day, they’ll be reunited at last.
And how?
Because of the love of our faithful, unrelenting Father. Because He so loved the world, He sent His Son. And it’s true–all who believe in Him will not die but have everlasting life.
Yes, this is God’s…
Declaration of love!
Kind Father, thank you for declaring your love to us, in so many ways–especially through the simplicity of your creation. We believe–one day we’ll see you, face to face. And may it be so!