One hot summer, when I was a little girl- and don’t ask me the year because I’m not sure – we spent time in Goderich with my Grandma and Grandpa Brubacher.  Their big, red brick, house seemed immense to me as a little girl. The grand staircase in the front, the sun room at the back and the dining room in between with a table that stretched for miles and accommodated our large family  – it all made for the best “Grandma’s house” ever.

But, that summer, it wasn’t the house that I remember as much as the trip to Lake Huron. My parents loaded us up in the family station wagon and we went to the beach for a swim with a bunch of other Brubachers – I don’t remember exactly who.

I do remember that I went out into the lake with my mum and her youngest brother, my Uncle David.  We swam out to the deep where I couldn’t touch and we jumped the waves.  And there were big ones.  Well, big to me – this tiny, probably 3 foot tall person who’d never been for a swim in the lake before, certainly not out that deep.

It was the best time a little girl could have on a hot summer day.   I was a fairly good swimmer, but I didn’t have to worry  about the waves one way or the other because I knew my mum or my uncle would keep me safe, above the fray.  My confidence was they would catch me no matter how the lake swelled and rolled.

Recently, I had pause to remember all of those waves while playing through this old hymn at my Uncle’s funeral.  I’ve sung these words hundreds of times – and they are so familiar  that I know all four stanzas by heart.

When peace like a river attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows roll.  Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say, it is well, it is well with my soul.

Never in my life have I felt plunged beneath heavy waves of grief like now.  Newly, I understand what the writer meant by sea billows of sorrow. In my lifetime, I’ve lost three grandparents and my precious GG, but none of those deaths have brought so much sadness.  The sorrow I’ve experienced is just like those Lake Huron waves rolling – tugging me down to the depths. Then, without warning they thrust me upward and just as I think I’ve caught my breath I’m thrown down again – jerked around without any control over the emotions that roll and swell.

But, I’m reminded that I can have that same confidence that I had as a child – not in my mum or my uncle this time – but, in my Savior.  He has made it well. That is his promise.  He is able to calm the raging sea of anguish in my heart.  He is the ultimate peace giver, even when the storm is threatening to ravage my soul again.

Regularly, this brief Scripture has brought calm to my heart and mind when I need it most:

from Psalm 34:

Why does it matter that He is near?  It matters because He alone knows – He knows my story because He wrote it.  It matters because He understands – He bore all of my suffering when He died on the cross.  And It matters because He is able to give peace that is beyond understanding, and no one else can do that – He is the prince of peace.

Especially when the water is deep and I can’t touch, I know He will keep me safe in the waves.  I know His loving arms will rescue me and lift me above the rolling sea.

When I was a little girl, I spent my 7th birthday with my parents and sister as well as three of my favorite people; my Uncle Harvey, my Aunt Sharon and my little butter ball of a baby cousin, Paul.   It was a special birthday because it was the first I would spend in London, Ontario at our house on Hines Crescent.

We had pot roast with potatoes and carrots for dinner and the sweetest sugary pink cherry chip birthday cake.  In the photo of this happy event, we are all dressed up, and it seems like maybe it was a Sunday afternoon.     Do you know what I remember?  We played UNO – and there was laughter.  lots of laughter.  That feeling of “my stomach is going to hurt for days from laughing so much” was common when spending time with Uncle Harv.

Not too many years later, I recall sitting in church with my Uncle Harv and Aunt Sharon.  And something smelled really, really, really bad.  Uncle Harv leaned over to my sister and whispered with a little smirk, “Is that you?”  Giggles tried to sneak out, but we stifled them.  Then we looked down and we realized I had a large hunk of dog poop on my beautiful black patten leather shoe.  Then we did giggle.  But not as much as a few moments later when our pastor read a passage from Psalms with the phrase “dung gate.”  With my shoulders shaking, there was no hope of survival and I had to step out of the sanctuary for a moment.

As a young teenager, I remember returning to London for a visit with family.  My sister and I were having a chat with Uncle Harv about boys – it seems maybe one of us had a broken heart and he was encouraging us with his particular sense of humor.   He said to us, “Just remember girls, there will always be plenty of fish in the sea… (long pause) But then, who really wants to date a fish?”  His timing was always perfect.

Except for now.

It is no laughing matter that my Uncle Harvey left this earth for his heavenly home and I did not get to say goodbye.   Make no mistake about it – Harvey was ready.  Even when he was in the hospital last week recovering from a heart attack, he told everyone who would listen that he was ready, and knew where he was going.    He was prepared because he knew Jesus, and believed the promises from God’s word.

On my part – I was not ready.  I wasn’t ready for him to be absent from our next family gathering, or to not answer the phone when I call.  Not ready to miss his wide grin,  his laugh or one of his big hugs.  nope.   I suppose none of us who knew and loved him are ready for the big void he will leave in our hearts and lives.

It seems maybe there are a few things I can do in his memory.  I can make sure I’m prepared for eternity – and be sure to share Jesus with those who aren’t.  And I can laugh.  Laugh in the good times and the hard times – the levity he enjoyed helped me to cope in some very difficult circumstances.

Love you, Uncle Harv.   We’ll see you in a bit.