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.