Timothy

One of my closest friends, Timothy Sheaff, passed away last Wednesday. I was shocked when I heard the news. God had kept him alive through so much suffering already, and there`s so much work to be done, that I thought that He would sustain him and eventually heal him and that Timothy would travel again.
I loved him like a father. He was such an intricate part of my life, that it`s hard to imagine what life will be like without him around. I know that this is true for all of my closest friends in Denton. The well of sorrow over this loss is deep, and it won`t run dry quickly.

I found out as we were departing for Kyoto and a friend called to let us know. After that, I just followed Mari through the train stations weeping. I wept on the 3 hour train ride to Kyoto. Then I wept more throughout the day at random intervals. I didn`t care what anyone thought about it.

That`s the first time that I have really wanted to go home. I wanted to be with my friends, to hug them and cry together. I wanted to sleep in my own bed and spend time with my sister. I wanted to go to his funeral.
A friend even offered to fly me home for the memorial service, but these are my thoughts:

The devil doesn`t rest for my sorrow, and the Kingdom of God doesn`t pause. It sounds harsh, but Paul wrote in 1 Corinthians 7:

"This I say, brethren, the time is short, so that from now on even those who have wives should be as though  they had none, those who weep as though they did not weep, those who rejoice as though they did not rejoice, those who buy as though they did not possess"

It`s not that those who weep should stop weeping just like husbands shouldn`t divorce their wives, but it means that our personal lives don`t stop the work that God has called us to. Though weeping, I work.

Since being here, I have realize that I could pour out everything that I have to give every day for the rest of my life, and it wouldn`t even begin to satiate the need that there is in this nation (much less, in the world). It would be like a drop of water on desert ground. The ground would soak it up and forget that it drank. I`m not being pessimistic - this is a reality.

As I`ve felt this, I have thought about Timothy - a man of God who has poured out his life, been used to work miracles, touched thousands of lives, and yet there is so much left to do. If you look at the larger picture, it`s as though he never came.

So I called him. I was telling him "I feel like I could pour out my entire life here and it would just be..."
He finished my sentence for me "...just a drop in the bucket."
It comforted me just to know that he knew how I felt. We talked for a while, but one of the last things he said to me in that conversation was "All spiritual ministry is death".
That is how he lived. He carried his cross to the end.

Comfort:

Timothy finally gets to rest. Over the last few years, I was happy for him if he was able to get even 4 hours of solid sleep without some painful interruption. There were nights he told be about where all he could do was pace the hallway and yell in frustration. He finally gets to sleep.

Timothy can do whatever he wants! Over the last few years, he had to stop every few mintues to cough for a few minutes before catching his breath. Now he can shout and dance in God`s glory with the rest of the servants who have gone before him. Has no swollen feet or shallow lungs or malfunctioning heart to hinder him!

Yuko, my younger sister in the Lord, joined us today, and I was so comforted to see her. I wondered why. Later, I remembered a promise in Psalm 45:

"Instead of your fathers will be your sons, whom you shall make princes in all the earth."

I don`t consider Yuko a child, so to speak, but rather a sister. But she is one who I have taught and continually served.

Although I have lost a father, there is comfort in the hope of new believers growing up after me - people who I will pour my life into, so that they can in turn pour their lives into others, and a drop of water becomes a small member of an unstoppable deluge.