Candy's Message on Sam

I find myself in a very unique situation this morning, but for two very different reasons. The first is this: at the funeral home, at the graveside, and now here, I realize that all of you are crying more than I am. For any of you who know me, you know that I am the Queen of Tears. Sam might still hold 4 PCA school records in track, (notice how I still manage to brag about him…), but I am definitely the record holder when it comes to crying.

Secondly, this is a unique situation because I am standing up here, speaking to you, and Steve is not! And I have to say… it feels pretty good!

Over the years Steve and I have had the sad opportunity of attending the funerals of many people. Now we find ourselves at another one, this time coming to grips with the loss of our son. As we do that, I want to say from the depths of my heart that I firmly believe that God has chosen our family to undergo this very deep grief and that He chose all of you to be here today with us. Nothing else makes sense. There is no lasting comfort in believing in bad luck, or mother nature, or random tragedy. The only assurances we can have at a time such as this come from the belief that ALL things in life are for our good, and for God’s glory. The only real, lasting comfort comes from our loving, sovereign God who ordained, from before the foundation of time, that we would all be in this room, on this day, grieving together the death of my precious son, Sam.

As most of you know by now, Sam struggled the last year of his life with at least a Severe Depression, probably more. He decided early last Saturday morning to relieve himself of his agony by taking his own life. He hoped, I’m sure, to be rid of his pain and suffering. In some way he may have accomplished his goal, but it has only begun our misery. And yet, in the midst of these terrible realities, we turn to the Man of Sorrows and the God of all eternity for our comfort in this present affliction. Very often God calls to us in the words of dear friends.

One of Sam’s best friends from high school, a young man named Seth McQueen, sat in our living room on Sunday night with us. He and some others had spent the last hours of Sam’s life with him, and they had come to us to share their impressions of this night. At the end, Steve asked if any of them had anything else left to say. Seth had no way of knowing at the time the incredible insight and comfort that he ministered to us by expressing his wish that none of us “would forget the old Sam.” Many of us did indeed wish, in recent months, that we could have the “old Sam” back with us.

Sam had an incredible sense of humor. His voices, faces, and imitations of others were legendary. He affectionately referred to me in the last years as “Mop.” I don’t exactly remember how that tradition got started – although it probably just rhymed with Pop, and it stuck. Going through some of Sam’s stuff a couple of days ago I found a hand-made Mother’s Day card from Sam, given to me just a couple of years ago, that said on the front: “Happy Mop’s Day.” On the inside, along with a check, he wrote the following: “Here’s a little something for you. Feel free to squander it any way you wish.” That was my boy…

At our last Sunday brunch after church together, we somehow got on the topic of what we always wanted to be when we grew up. Someone mentioned that from the earliest days they wanted to be a teacher, or a nurse; then Sam, in his gentle voice, piped up, “and I always wanted to be a Portfolio Analyst.” It struck us all as incredibly funny, and that was his point.

The old Sam made an early confession of faith, and became a communing member of our church. While in recent months he became confused about what he believed, he became confused about ALL things that he previously believed in. My precious friend Leslie Ferwerda, reminded me the other night of Isaiah 49:14-16:

14 But Zion said, "The LORD has forsaken me; my Lord has forgotten me." 15 "Can a woman forget her nursing child, that she should have no compassion on the son of her womb? Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you. 16 Behold, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands…

I am clinging to this hope that Sam’s name is engraved on the palms of God’s hands, and that he is even now in the presence of our Lord and Savior. I am clinging to the hope that, in the words of Seth’s dad Bill, God will “carry us through this veil of tears.”

I hope that all of you will take Sam’s last words to us to heart: he wrote “I pray that you forgive me. I never meant to hurt anyone.” Because of his disease, he could not see or think clearly how this would hurt Katie and Jonathan or Jeff or Kristin. All of us know that the “old Sam,” the one not afflicted with this terrible disease, would never want to hurt any of us.

Finally, I want to leave you with the hope that eventually we will all experience the “rare jewel of Christian contentment,” as defined by Jeremiah Burroughs in the book of the same name:

Christian contentment is that sweet, inward, quiet, gracious frame of spirit, which freely submits to and delights in God’s wise and fatherly disposal in every condition.

I ask for your prayers that God would lead our family toward this goal – that we would more and more submit to God’s will and experience His peace in this grief

When Sam gave his speech four years ago as valedictorian of his high school senior class, his theme was one of running races. I would like to follow his good example. I would like to leave you with this final comfort from God’s Word:

Hebrews 12:1-2 Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.