Many of you may have noticed (hard not to!) that I was particularly emotional during the service this past Sunday (April 23rd), especially as we gathered at the Lord's Table. What some of you might not know is that April 23rd is the anniversary of the death of our son, Knox. Since many of you are new to our church community, I thought it might be helpful to re-post a blog I wrote which shares some of that part of our story. I encourage you to acquaint or re-acquaint yourself with this part of my life as we continue as a church to know each other and be known by each other.
In my first blog post as your Senior Pastor, I wrote about my calling as a shepherd of this flock. I based my thoughts on these words of Jesus when He declared, “I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father.” (vv. 14-15) I later wrote these words: “I want to hear your stories about your lives, and about your walk with Jesus. And I want to share the same with you.” It has been a joy over these past months to get to hear so many of your stories. This post, however, falls in the latter category, a part of my story that has and continues to play a significant role in my and my family’s lives.
This is a dark thread in my story, a part of the fabric of my life that is filled with great grief and sorrow. Yet, as I have come to understand, all of us experience grief in some form or fashion. For my story, that grief centers around a little boy named Knox. Matthew Knox Anderson is our 5th child, born in October 2005. Our family describes him as ‘always a joy” and he was a delight to me, Rachel, and his older sisters and older brother.
On April 13, 2007, Knox was involved in an accident at our home. Though he was given skillful and loving care by an amazing team of doctors and nurses, he passed away 10 days later on April 23rd. On April 27th, we laid the body of our little boy in the ground. We clung to thin threads of hope. Yet, it was the beginning of a long, and still on-going, process of grieving, mourning, and wrestling with God.
In some ways, those days never feel far away. A photo, a remark, a thought and the sadness can come crashing in. Just this past Sunday, one of our children broke into tears in the church parking lot as thoughts of their brother arose unbidden in their mind. At other times, it seems so distant. Can it really be 14 years have passed?
There are several reasons I share this with you, our new congregation. You are now part of our story and we are part of yours and thus Knox is now part of your story as well.
First, we are entering our annual walk through two weeks of painful anniversary dates, in particular April 13th, 23rd, and 27th. Over the next couple of weeks as you interact with us we may seem down or sad or distant. April is a hard month for us as we remember and grieve and hope. While not as intense as those early days, these days are still difficult. We covet your prayers, especially as this will be the first year we are not all together as a family.
Second, I want to encourage you with what has sustained us over these years and what continues to sustain us. When I spoke at Knox’s funeral, I was concerned that our loss would be a means by which some would turn away from God. I stressed that we, as a family, were holding on to two great truths. First, God is sovereign. Second, God is good. These two realities, though often hard to reconcile, have been lifelines for us.
Third, at the same time, I want to encourage you by sharing that it is okay to wrestle with those truths. There were (and are) times that I have cried out to God in the last 14 years that were mostly statements of doubt, anger, and frustration. I have made clear to God what I think of His plan. I have intentionally distanced myself from God because it was too painful to come to Him. I have felt like a hypocrite as at times, I have proclaimed these truths while deep down wondering if I truly believed them. But part of the grace of our Heavenly Father is He gives us the freedom to grieve and wrestle and struggle. In fact, as our Heavenly Father, He wants us to bring those thoughts and feelings to Him. He is big enough to handle it.
Fourth, grief comes to all of us at some time in this broken world and it will most likely come more than once. We are not the only ones who have ever lost a child. Each one of you has griefs that you bear. And while the sadness and sorrow may decrease in intensity, there are some wounds that will never fully heal this side of eternity. Let us not get bogged down in grief comparison but instead let’s weep and mourn together and bear each other’s burdens.
Finally, please feel free to talk with us about Knox. We love to talk about him. If you are connected with us on Facebook, you are likely to see lots of pictures of him over the next few weeks. If you want to learn more or see more pictures, Rachel did some blogging that I think offers some beautiful (and hard) reflections on how we have walked this road. You can check out either knoxmemories.blogspot.com (first couple of years after his death) or ourpilgrimdays.blogspot.com (goes until 2018 when she stopped). And, please don’t let any tears we may shed keep you from asking about him or how we are doing. They are tears mixed with sorrow and joy, struggle and hope, and tears that remind us that our Savior was a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief.
I leave you with the words to this song, which has meant much to us over the last 14 years. As Creed says, it’s a song that chases the darkness away.
On Jordan’s stormy banks I stand
And cast a wishful eye
To Canaan’s fair and happy land
Where my possessions lie
All o’er those wide extended plains
Shines one eternal day
There God the Son forever reigns
And scatters night away
No chilling winds nor poisonous breath
Can reach that healthful shore
Sickness, sorrow, pain and death
Are felt and feared no more
When shall I reach that happy place
And be forever blest
When shall I see my Father’s face
And in His bosom rest
I am bound
I am bound
I am bound for promised land.
