Moments

There are rare moments in our lives…perhaps moments that occur in seconds or moments that occur over the series of days…but these moments are moments that we look at and say "That's when it all changed!" During these moments you can feel it all changing, it's as if the world stops spinning and time stands still…once the world starts spinning again it seems to spin in a different direction. Perhaps it feels that way because life as you know it has come to an end and you know that from that moment things will never be the same. You know that is the moment that it all changed. As I sit and reflect, I look back to the end of December of 2002…it was one of those rare moments in time that I can look at and say, "That's when it all changed. From that moment on, my life would never be the same." It's strange, here I am five years later and it's all changed again. Though the circumstances & details of the moments are much different they are also very much the same. Five years ago I was mourning the loss of one of the most important things in my life…it wasn't a physical death that took place, but it was like a death, it was the death of "us." The world stopped spinning when we went from "we" to "you" and "me." Fast forward to present day and here I am again mourning the loss of one of the most important people in my life. This time, unlike before, it is a physical death…my Daddy passed away. My world has stopped spinning, I've felt it all change, I know it's a moment that I will look at and say "that's when it all changed, from that moment on my life would never be the same." I feel lost…I feel alone…I feel this childlike vulnerability inside my heart…I feel this huge void inside of me because my daddy is no longer under the same sky, looking at the same stars…I feel scared because I've never known life without my dad, I've never had to exist in a world where he didn't…I feel this overwhelming sense of heartache…I feel…I feel things that words can't explain… Though I am filled with uncertainty beyond belief, there is one thing I know for certain, from this moment on, my life will never be the same, and I will never be the same. I will look back and know that this is when it all changed because I felt it all change.

Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep

In Loving Memory of My Daddy!

William Ensley Parham, Jr
March 15, 1942 - January 19, 2008

Birthplace: Maryville, TN
Resided In: Sevierville, Tennessee
Visitation: January 26, 2008
Service: January 26, 2008


William (Bill) Ensley Parham, Jr., age 65 of Sevierville, passed away Saturday, January 19, 2008.

He was preceded in death by his father Rev. William Ensley Parham, Sr.

He is survived by his:
Mother: Ruby Watson Parham
Daughters: Kristin Parham Jennings and Melissa Parham
Son-in-law: Zachary Jennings
Grandson: William Jennings
Brother and sister-in-law: Robert (Bob) and Judy Parham
Sister and brother-in-law: Bonita and Walter Price
Nieces and nephews: Lisa Verble, Tracey Parham, Roger and Lona Price
Friends and hospice caregivers: Angela, Carolyn, and Florence

Memorial donations may be made to the American Cancer Society, c/o Teri Newman, 3629 Parkway, Pigeon Forge, TN 37863.

The following poem and dissertation were read at my Father's memorial service on Saturday. Both sound exactly like what my Daddy would say if he could speak to us today:


Do Not Stand At My Grave and Weep

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am in a thousand winds that blow,
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain,
I am the fields of ripening grain.
I am in the morning hush,
I am in the graceful rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight,
I am the starshine of the night.
I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room.
I am in the birds that sing,
I am in each lovely thing.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there. I did not die.

~ Mary Elizabeth Frye

"HIS GRACE IS SUFFICIENT"

God and I. That was it. Fresh out of miracles it seemed. God and I. In the fact of death, it was either that or nothing at all. There was no one to blame -- no sign, no job, no certainty, no cure in sight, and no telling what God had in mind.

I was alone with God, holy in his determined, unpredictable will. That was it, a place of both alarming aloneness and tender communion. I don't want this to sound too pious or sentimentally spiritual; but whatever the process entailed, it was certainly not devout or sweet. I was really scared. These last days were filled with the peculiar and and strangling frenzy of waiting. I cried a lot, worried a lot, questioned a lot, felt lost, slept little, and beyond all of that, God began to touch me deeply.

I started being honest, dreadfully honest. I felt the freedom to do not just the right thing, but the real thing. I didn't like the idea of death. Death for me was the great intruder. I was angry with God that he would ask me even to consider it. I had questions for which I didn't think God had the answers, or if he did, he wasn't willing to share them with me. And when I asked those questions, a surprising thing happened: what was meant as confrontation became release. Far from resenting my questions, God welcomed them. He bore the pain in the questions just as Christ bore my pain on the cross. In my confusion, I may have wanted to wound him, but he only bled for me. In expressing what was really going on inside me -- the anger, the hurt, the rage against dying -- he comprehended my pain and translated my helplessness into certain strength. I didn't know how. I didn't know much about grace, but I was learning.

God and I. And in the dropping of "I" -- just God. That was it – no answers, no specifics coming from high the mountaintop, no concluding refrain -- just a letting go of it all. All of it. And in the release, in the dying itself, the seed of hope and grace. I know it sounds backward, but I have found that the deepest moments in my life have always been the lease contrived. In the release of control, I have found humbling power through Jesus Christ my Lord. In the chaos of death, I have found moments of sustaining peace.

God gave me no answers -- just his presence. Just that. And that was sufficient. His grace was sufficient.