John was on an island,
alone.
There were twelve.
Jesus had invited them,
“Come, follow Me.”
Together, they became like brothers.
Together, they experienced Jesus
in parables, in mysteries, in confusion,
in amazement, in confidence, in fear,
in friendship, in authority, in tears, in joy,
in storms, in healing, in death, in life.
Together they walked, they ran,
they waited, they prayed, they mourned,
they anticipated, they fled,
they ate, they slept,
they listened, they learned,
they failed, they grew.
Then, one by one,
the disciples lost their lives
for the sake of the Gospel.
They were falsly accused,
imprisoned, questioned,
beaten, scourged,
crucified, stoned, murdered.
John was on an island,
alone.
He wept, he prayed, he suffered,
he hungered, he thirsted,
he mourned…
…he slept, he dreamed,
he received visions,
he wrote…
As the depth of his whole being
drank in the joy of his salvation,
restoring his hope of eternity,
lifting his spirit beyond human reason,
his body no longer needed
to compete.
My dad’s little brother
just passed away yesterday.
It seemed way too soon.
It always does.
They were brothers,
together.
Dad is on an island,
alone,
the last one of his generation.
After decades of studying,
researching, praying, writing,
meditating on God’s Word,
Dad is weary of the fight.
As the depth of his whole being
drinks in the joy of his salvation,
restoring his hope of eternity,
lifting his spirit beyond human reason,
I pray that his heart
is refreshed with God’s peace
that passes all understanding,
overwhelming his sorrow.
I feel so far away.
~ae
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