Several years ago I worked as a book editor and the office was frequently filled with tension and stress. Fridays were the worst. Endless deadlines. Authors who believed any manuscript revisions were tantamount to changing Holy Writ. Phones that would not quit.
The senior editor could sense his staff’s frustrations and would often stick his head in our offices and declare in a rather theatrical voice, “Friday’s here — but Sunday’s coming!” Don borrowed the phrase from best-selling author and gifted communicator Dr. Tony Compolo, and we would chuckle at the dramatics that accompanied this reference to Christ’s death on Friday and resurrection on Sunday.
The dramatics did not fit this gentle man, but this reference certainly reflected his personal belief: things may be rather dreadful right now, but hope — based on Christ’s ability to overcome death — is a biblical promise we can apply to our private and professional lives.
One Friday evening, after picking up a few groceries, Don came upon what appeared to be an auto accident on a quiet street that separates a condominium complex from a strawberry field. Don could see the anguished faces of nearby residents and he found himself pulling off, parking, and heading toward the crowd. He hoped his training as a pastor could offer some comfort to those who looked so distressed.
As Don approached the accident scene he could see that a motorcyclist was involved and the paramedics leaning over the victim were working at a frantic pace. As Don was about to turn his attentions to those in the crowd, who struggled with the drama playing out in front of them, he caught a glimpse of something that prompted him to stop and look again: red curls and a familiar motorcycle. As he knelt down for a closer view, he found himself looking into the eyes of his young son Robbie.
The paramedics stepped back slightly as Don sat down on the pavement to take into his arms a son whom he had helped bring into this world. And it is here that Don comforted his dying child using the very words that offered promise and hope to those of us who worked under him.
Friends and family members buried Robbie and a little bit of Don as well. There were times, Don said, when the pain was paralyzing. But at those moments something significant would invariably happen. A comforting Bible verse would come to mind. A friend would say just the right thing. A picture would recall a happy memory of Robbie. His wife would hold him. A coworker would pat his back and sit with him until the moment passed.
As my coworkers and I watched, we saw things in Don that gave us courage. He never stopped caring for us, even though our struggles paled in comparison. He continued his fine work as a Christian trade book editor. And his faith in a loving God remained intact.
For a couple of us younger staff workers, it was the first time we had witnessed something tragic happening to a good person we interacted with on a daily basis. While it was hard to attend the funeral, we felt comfortable making food and spending an afternoon at their home, talking quietly and looking through family albums. However, the depth and manner of grief was startling. We often felt sad and confused, for it seemed Don was being swept down a river at first. We did not know what to do with his long-term grief. It was the raw emotion that would engulf Don at moments during the weeks and months that immediately followed the accident that we struggled with. Why would God allow this horror when He had the power to prevent it? What did God want us to do in response to our friend’s grief? At those moments when the only words of comfort we knew to say seemed trite and insensitive, we chose to say nothing at all. Instead we would simply reach across the desk, offer him a tissue, and pray silently.
Grief was the rushing water that took Don downstream for a while. Then he grabbed hold of a nearby branch at the river’s edge. The branch was God’s promise that Robbie’s life would continue beyond his fatal accident. Don’s choice to grab hold of the branch and allow God to pull him out of that river is a story of faithful living I will never forget.
Joan Bay Klope is a freelance writer and former editor of Christian books. Her e-mail address is jbklope@hotmail.com
