My sister and I went for a walk yesterday morning. By 8:30, the air was already so hot and muggy that we spent the next hour criss-crossing the street, coveting shade under every tree we could find.

We chatted over recent news, still thinking about the amazing turnout for the Harvest event on Saturday evening. Fifty thousand people filled Anaheim stadium to overflowing and 200,000 watched online. At the invitation, 3500 people streamed onto the field (until the Fire Marshall said no more) to pray and give their lives to Christ. Online, 1500 responded to accept the Lord as well.

The sights and sounds of standing on the field that night is still fresh in my mind. Clusters of families and friends linked arm in arm, proclaiming their newfound or renewed faith in Jesus Christ! I prayed with a precious family…a grandmother along with mom, dad, two children and another baby on the way. Looking around at the diversity of races and ages and seeing so many life-changing stories come together on that field was joyous! Fireworks lit the night sky above us, outmatched only by the angels rejoicing in heaven over many more than one!

The joy continued with a full house at church on Sunday. Our church family came as usual to worship together and give thanks to God for the night before. Many were dog-tired but ready to hear the teaching of God’s Word, and the message that morning resonated with a rush to the altar to confess sin and seek renewal. So many went to the decision follow-up room that we needed more counselors and I was blessed to help.

 

Then our conversation turned to recent news and politics of the day. Thinking of it all, we agreed that America is past due for judgment. We reminded ourselves how the wicked city of Ninevah was past due as well—but God relented and spared them when they turned to Him. Judgment would eventually come and Ninevah was inevitably destroyed, but not immediately. In mercy, God gave them more time.

Jonah’s words spring to mind: “You are a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love, and relenting from disaster” (Jonah 3:2).

God’s answer to Jonah shows His heart for the lost. “Should I not pity Ninevah, that great city in which there are more than 120,000 persons who do not know their right hand from their left?” (Jonah 4:11).

Together we prayed Lord have mercy on our nation—and at least for today, His hand is stayed. I am hopeful and will continue to pray, keeping my eyes on God and doing whatever He gives me to do.

 

As we finished our walk, I hugged my sister and told her that I love her. But my heart was heavy as I thought about this day. On July 24, sixteen years ago today, my son Christopher died in that horrible traffic accident. That sorrow still hangs over me and weighs on my heart the way this humidity blanketed our morning walk.

I know some of you may think, really? Do you still grieve after all this time? Yes. Yes, I do.

And I think of Jesus. “Put your hand into My wounds,” said the risen Jesus to Thomas, “and you will know who I am.”

The crucifixion wounds of Christ are part of His identity. They went into the grave with Him and they came out of the grave with Him—visible, touchable, real. The scars told Thomas, and they tell us who He is. Rising did not remove them. Even in Heaven, we will see them. Despite the fact that Jesus broke the bonds of death and rose again, He kept His wounds.

 

Now I firmly believe that Christ conquered death and rose from the grave. And I accept it as proof of the reality that Christopher, and one day I too—and all who believe in Him—will rise from our graves.

Listen. To believe in Christ’s rising and death’s dying is also to live with the power and challenge to rise up now from all our dark graves of suffering love.

Each week, I read and pray over prayer requests from our church family. It is pages long…so much suffering, sickness, financial loss, family heartbreak…and as I scroll the list my heart identifies in sympathy for the wounds they suffer today.

I know that my own heart has been enlarged by pain and loss. And I know for certain that if love for those around me is not expanded…if gratitude for what is good does not flame up within me…if aching for a new day is not intensified…if hope is weakened and faith diminished…if, from the experience of death, comes nothing good…then death has won. Then death could be proud. But NO! I raise my voice in praise as my weapon against death winning.

 

Death is defeated.

I will keep faith and live the reality of Christ’s rising as long as I have breath. And in my living, Christopher’s dying will not be the last word.

But know this. When you see me smiling, when you see me rise up to serve, when there is laughter, just know that I still bear the wounds of his death. My rejoicing does not remove them. They mark me still. If you want to know who I am, put your hand in.

Death does not have the last word. Christ does.