29 | 200 The Unexpected

Today is the 200th day of my 29th year, and I didn't expect it to be the day that you walked through the gates of Glory. I know that your radiance on earth was just a shadow to your radiance now -- I can imagine your blonde hair is now a fiery halo of gold and your beautiful blue eyes now blaze with the presence of the Christ. Your outward earthly beauty was very real and I know your eternal beauty must be breathtaking; I can't wait to see you reflecting the glory of God on those streets of gold, glowingly ensconced in the absolute reality of Christ's ever-present love and fulfillment of redemption. 

You were one of the few people that shared my affinity for direct declarations of love. You weren't shy to grab me by the arm and look me right in the eyes and tell me how much you loved me and how much you liked me. Not everyone in this world is comfortable with such frank statements of affection and appreciation. I was happy to find a kindred spirit in you, and the last time I saw you we spent a few minutes speaking those words of love and life into each other as a benediction and farewell. I thought it would just be a matter of distance between us, not life and death; I am more thankful now that we shared those moments together. You initiated them. I appreciated that then -- even more so today. 

My memories of you will always be of your fun and spontaneous spirit. Always up for a good time, always initiating some form of fun. Your easy way of giving and serving, your devotion to the generation behind you, your willingness to connect in real relationship. Your love for Jesus and for serving Him, whether at home or in Asheville, your home away from home. You were always willing to step up and help. You maintained positivity and enthusiasm. You were down-to-earth in admitting your struggles and fun to commiserate with when our struggles found a connection. I love that you loved Highland and chose to serve there, twice. I love that you loved your family deeply. I love that you loved your church family deeply. 

You helped coordinate my wedding. You prayed with me, exercised with me, watched TV with me, shared meals with me, shared your convictions with me, encouraged me, laughed at me and laughed with me. 

I am sorry for the pain of those that are left to walk on this earth without you. Your absence will leave a hole that is unique to your presence and spirit, and the hole will remain, though the pain in time will lose some of it's sting. We grieve losing you. And paradoxically rejoice knowing you are waiting ahead around the bend, cheering us on toward our finish. The juxtaposition of suffering and hope is a deep bittersweet ache in our hearts. Your passage into life eternal is a beacon to all of us who mourn, urging us to recenter our souls on the everlasting and not the temporal; to sow that which we may reap in eternity, namely, love into the lives of those around us. You did it so well. The legacy you leave us is a life of love, loyalty, and friendship. 

Sweet Brittney, I think you would be proud to know the example you have set before us. Enjoy the banquet table, friend. I can't wait to catch up with you there.