| Dusty but Precious |
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| All in black, she was barely walking, couldn't stand still, couldn't sit still on the pew. Most of the time on her knees and once collapsed all the way to the floor. Her arms trying to reach God. She came to church Sunday morning to get some help, some comfort, consolation from God. She was begging for it, but silently. For her or for her deceased relative, a young girl. murdered only a few days earlier. In a nutshell, she had run out of hope. Lost hope to live and a reason to continue her life. Hope is the fuel of life during life's journey. Where most of the time the road is uphill. The moment we lose hope,we start to slide backwards. And if help does not come quickly enough, we end up in a coma or die emotionally. We become like empty shells. Countless people are emotionally dead and move around going wherever the wind blows. The women surrounding her were trying to help all they could, but hope is like a puzzle piece and comes in various shapes and forms. Only one piece can fit in each spot. For example a simple can do it sometimes, and other times it may take a whole conversation. Sometimes its a touch, a hug, or a hand to hold that fulfills the need. Other times you have to be more active, you have to put your arm in your pocket and pull out your wallet and sweat a little. We have to find the right move at that moment to give that hope, but sometimes it's as if we need to add a third dimension to the puzzle when all of the above does not fit. We need help from above and then we can only pray. At the end of the service she seemed more stable, perhaps exhausted, or she had just run out of tears. Or some comfort at the moment had relieved her. All of this was going on in complete silence. It's not easy to lose a member of the family, it's hard and painful. It takes a long time to ease the pain. For example, I lost my father when I was young in my second year of college. 36 years ago. Until now, every single day I remember him in my daily prayer. For me he is there. When I am really upset I tell him that i am coming to join him. Other times, when it's a very pleasant occasion, I tell him that he is missing out. This coming sunday is father's day. I'''d like to present him to you in a few sentences. Krikor Kochkarian. born in deurtyol, turkey. A very simple, old fashioned man. He has a big heart and always spoke his mind. He had everything in his young age before the Armenian genocide. Lost everything and hit rock bottom years later. Working hard for his family, but in his own way. Loved God, feared God in his heart. He used to knock on his heart and say "all is here" . Went to church occasionally about a dozen times a year. He used to go to a village where we had friends and stay there for a couple of days. The last time he went, but at noon he wanted to return back home. The friends told us later that his face was completely different that day. He had the face of an angel. He had brought back a rooster with him, which he prepared and took it to an elderly couple less fortunate himself. He came home that night and in that same night he passed away. With the last of his retirement money that he had received in a lump sum, I bought him a nice casket for his funeral. Telling him that he deserved it. This Sunday is fathers day dad, I miss you dad. I will drink your drink as a toast. Asdvatz Hokit Loosavoreh. |
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