I can still picture him, standing tall in his leather jacket, hands stuffed in his pockets, the warmth from his breath mixing with the bitter cold night air, a night sky landscaped in the background...
I don't understand, Lynn. Your *** is dying. How are you so calm? Why don't you seem more upset? Are you sure this is faith? Are you sure you aren't just in some kind of denial?
In those first few months, when I was just beginning to know the man I would love and marry, I remember searching his heart, his face, his eyes... Is this real? Is it possible to have that kind of faith? To approach life with such calm assurance and confidence that God is good and in control. To be so steadfast and enduring, always seeing with eyes of faith, always lifting his eyes up to the hills, where he knew his help would always come... (Psalm 121)
For 11 years, I wrestled with my faith as I battled fibromyaligia, was prayed over and anointed with oil, and heard all kinds of opinions about faith and healing and God... Lynn stood beside me as a constant. He wasn't dramatic about faith. It was no big deal. He just believed and lived and trusted.
The Lord keeps in perfect peace him whose mind is steadfast because he trusts in You. (Isaiah 26:3)
There was one particular season of our college choir days, after we were married, when we stood in the back together, side by side. I was very weak physically. Lynn would cup his hand outward towards me and I would put my fist into it, literally leaning on him, being held up by him, so I wouldn't faint in the middle of a concert.
His faith was always like that for me. A strength. A support. I still questioned it at times, and was maybe right on some occasions... Are you dealing with this Lynn? Is this really faith? I remember challenging him one time in particular and he shouted at me, You think you know me better than I know myself?! (There was nothing Lynn hated more than being told what he thought or was or meant...) Of course, I said, Yes, Lynn. I do. I'm your wife. (Even though I was probably wrong...)
Lynn lived with eyes open to see God in all people, places, and circumstances. I watched him wrestle through many challenges. We struggled in ministry much more than we let on (I hope). Lynn was rarely open about those struggles, but they were there and real. And I saw, especially in the last year, his steady endurance, planting his feet into the ground, over and over remaining faithful to the call, using self-disciplne, choosing integrity... I was so proud of him in our last year together and felt that we were just starting to rise above some of the inner struggles and spiritual battles... He was just starting to step into his true calling with assurance, awareness, and anointing. His eyes were always looking up, seeing God, choosing life, and because of that, he went from glory to glory to glory...
There is so much peace in the shadow of God's sovereignty. There is so much freedom in truth.
Just months before Lynn's death, Lynn did something he had never done before. He sent me a song that he had come across and felt that God was speaking it over our family. He was specific and intentional about us receiving this message as a family from the Lord. I came across that e-mail again after his death and felt a rush of supernatural joy wash over me. Even now, I cried, you are lifting me up, holding me up, leading our family in the Way the Truth and the Life. It was one more example of the Lord knowing and preparing and taking care of us through this time of loss...
Soveriegn Over Us, by Aaron Keys