Joanie Elizabeth Paine's Memorial

O death, where is your sting? 

O death, where is your victory? 

Thanks be to God who gives us the victory 

through our Lord Jesus Christ-1 Cor 15:55

Our little oak of righteousness 

We will always remember

Hands wide open

Maple Tree
The Lord is my rock and my fortress Ps 18:2

Ascending upon the mountain ridge we never imagined this day would come. The day we would hold our babies ashes. Tears falling. Streaming down a sun beamed face. The city of Los Angeles stretching for miles as the aftermath of the storm opened the skies. The pain of losing Joanie opening the fresh wound in my heart. We didn’t know how to do this. There was no manual. No bible story to follow. Just two young broken hearts retracing are steps 3 months earlier.

A backpack. A maple tree. An oak tree. A shovel and water. The slamming of doors and the laughter of strangers as they discovered the trailhead. Juxtaposed with the sacredness of a bronzed leaf urn hidden away in my sweatshirt. Fighting back the tears. Hands pressing against the treasure inside. Descending into the valley, rays of sunshine leading the way. Reflections of oak trees upon the overflowing creek. Sun kissed rocks. Last of falls maple leaves. The glory of creation beaming with praise. I knew this day she was beaming down upon us.

Shuffling up the muddy mountainside a patch scattered with fallen oak leaves. The heavy-laden soil saturated from the storm.  The ground quickly peeled back a perfect place to plant the oak tree. Scattering ashes at its roots, she would always be our little oak of righteousness. Speaking forth all her beauty and goodness. Declaring the name of Joanie Elizabeth Paine upon the mountainside. Hands held high giving praise to our God. All was still. All was silent. But the storm in our hearts.

Descending farther into the valley. Crossing creeks and stepping-stones. The maple tree would need to be near water and direct sunlight. Perched upon a rock, a tree awaiting its adornment. Vibrant red maples like the one I found the day after I held Joanie.  We would wait with anticipation to come back, to behold its beauty. Just as we wait to behold her beauty, adorned in the light of the Father. 

Making an oath unto God. We would live with hands wide open and would dedicate every one of our children unto Him. Emptying the urn, her ashes falling into the soil. She would become far more than anything we as mortal humans could attain here on earth. Michael prayed she would become all she was made for, bearing much fruit like the tree of life-

Revelation 22:1 Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb through the middle of the street of the city, also, on either side of the river, the tree of life with its twelve kinds of fruit, yielding its fruit each month. The leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations. No longer will there be anything accursed, but the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and his servants will worship him. They will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads. And night will be no more. They will need no light of lamp or sun, for the Lord God will be their light, and they will reign forever and ever.  

The Memorial 

Later that same day we joined together with dear loved ones. Gathering in a friend’s backyard we braved the chill of the late afternoon wind. Heavy hearts entangled with sorrow and joy. Michael said he wanted this days purpose to hold two things. To honor Joanie and to praise God. We did both whole-heartedly. I could not have asked God for a more precious memorial

Trembling from the inside out I stood up to share the letter I had written for Joanie. I didn’t know if I could get through it but Michael came and wrapped his arms around me. Giving me courage to press through the tears. He also shared something he had written and it goes like so... 

Twirling, like a wound rope unwinding, yet unpredictable, going left, then right, forward then backwards. Hopelessly trying to stop the flight in the cage of my hands. I was a boy of ten years then waiting for the dinner bell to ring as I keenly kept my eyes locked on the slender silhouettes of Eucalyptus leaves against the canvas of the darkening dusky sky. To catch one was a joy, a challenge conquered, a skill mastered, a competition won. It was a game a naive country boy would play.

Driving home on the eve of December down Tigertail Drive laden with hues of yellow, orange, and red from the Sycamores, Maples, and Amber tees that line the street. It hit me. The metaphor of a fallen leaf. You had just fallen Joanie. We were returning form the Doctors office that early evening where we had seen your heart beat so definately beat no more. This idea, this metaphor of a leaf kept reappearing, from teh day we gathered leaves in Chantry Flats to the symbol placed on your hospital room door. I guess its the brief nature and radiant color of a fallen leaf that stirs us, that enlightens our soul. Much like a falling star slicing through the darkness. Glorious and miraculous on one hand, yet cut short, leaving us wanting.

Wanting to see the sparkle of your mothers eyes in you. Wanting to have you fall asleep on my chest. Wanting to kiss you goodnight every precious evening I would have with you. But your Heavenly Father wanted you to miss the winter chill of sins effects and bring you into His eternal summer.

Little did I know as a boy catching Eucalyptus leaves that I would catch the most precious leaf of all. Falling from your mother's womb into my hands you were the grace of God. You were and are Joanie. HOlding you, ripped open the dam of dreams and desires that had been swelling for you. They spilled out as tears over you, just as our Father's tears showered upon us. His promises secured by his blood and tears watered our broken hearts; never leaving nor forsaking us, being the God of all comfort having walked through all that we encounter, that death has no victory. And giving us hope, for we know Joanie, that as your body lay as a fallen leaf in our arms, the leaves of the tree of life that are for the healing of the nations, would restore you as well.