Tragedy, Life and The Son Of God

I knelt down and swept away a light coating of grass that had recently been sprayed by a lawnmower and now randomly covered the bronze plate marking the grave of my first born. I knew what it said, but I wanted to read it again and I wanted it clearly visible to all the world. Forrest Stephen William Bolt, August 12, 1998. My thoughts drifted back to that day. After the funeral of our still-born Forrest as everyone began walking away toward their cars, I kissed my fingers and planted them firmly on my son’s little white casket. Then, strangely, I couldn’t take them off. It was as if they were literally glued on. I couldn’t move my body and I couldn’t move my fingers. You see, I knew that the moment I pulled my fingers away, it would set in motion a series of events that would forever separate me from him – physically. I just couldn’t handle that “forever” separation at the moment, so I stayed fixed.

Finally, I took a deep breath, sighed, and stood up and walked to the waiting car. Sure enough, the physical distance between Forrest and me was then completed. Now almost 12 years later on April 17, 2010, here I was again. Brushing his bronze plate clean of grass and dust with my fingers and I didn’t want to stand up.“Dad, look at this one over here”, I heard breaking my deep thoughts.  It was Reagan Bolt’s voice. “This guy’s got an old Camero on his tombstone. Look at this, it’s really cool”, my now nine year old son excitedly yelled across the 50 yards and many graves that separated us. With joy and inexpressible appreciation to my Maker, I stood up and walked over to look at the “Camero”. Reagan did not realize the depth of the anguish that had overtaken me at that moment, but neither did he need to. He’ll have his own life tragedies to deal with, whatever form they might take in his life. As the cool breeze of a spring afternoon in middle Tennessee cooled my face, I could hardly contain the joy I felt in knowing that we were all God’s children – Forrest, Reagan, me, and Forrest’s mother and my wife Libby, and sisters Ann-Rachel, Faith and Ruby – and that as tragic as my first born’s premature death was, Jesus Christ had already made it all alright. And for all eternity.

Though Satan had thrown his best punch at us – and yes, it hit us hard indeed – it was nonetheless a futile punch, thrown as part of a battle he continued to fight in an already lost cause to destroy God’s creation. We live in a fallen, sinful, decaying world. That is irrefutable even to the unbeliever. But we rejoice in the promise of a new world without sin, without death, where there are no hurts, no hard hits from Satan, or sin. The war is over though the battle rages daily. We are the victors and we press on mightily in His grace. Soli Deo Gloria!