my best friend told me today that remembering is different than reliving. how right she is. she also told me that apocalypse means an unveiling… “An apocalypse Ancient Greek: ἀποκάλυψιςapokálypsis, from ἀπό and καλύπτω, literally meaning “an uncovering” is a disclosure of knowledge or revelation. In religious contexts it is usually a disclosure of something hidden, “a vision of heavenly secrets that can make sense of earthly realities”.
and i saw a picture of jesus sitting around the table with his best friends, telling them to remember him. On a Friday morning exactly one year ago, my sister had just passed. i relived that moment for months – the horror of death, what sickness does to a body, the gut wrenching loss of the years being stolen away… but today i am not reliving that morning, i am remembering my sister, her life, and one of the best things she taught me.
at her funeral we showed a video of her speaking to a married couple’s group. she was talking about intimacy in marriage and related it to our relationship with Jesus. She compared the walls we put up around our hearts to the veil a bride wears, and that some people, with the help of the Holy Spirit, allow that veil to come down and experience intimacy with God, and their spouse, and the people in their lives. Larisa went on to explain that others have the veil ripped away by circumstance. Her story was that her veil of hiding was ripped away by cancer, and that she was so thankful for the intimacy and connection that she experienced through that process, even though it was something she was shoved into.
We were created for intimacy, it’s how we were designed, body, soul and spirit. Today I remember the life of Larisa. I remember our friendship. I remember the sister I got to know better and better through the years, and I am thankful. I am thankful that the veil was torn away by Jesus through his life, death and resurrection. I am thankful that Larisa had such depth of insight and wisdom that she could see beauty in the veil being ripped away from her own life. And I am thankful that grief and apocalyptic love tore the veil away in my own and has invited me deeper into intimacy.
I remember you today, Larisa. I remember you and the apocalyptic love that changed our lives.