Juxtaposition

So, today has been a very strange evening. Josh and I both rushed home after work (Josh actually got off early) so that we could eat dinner and go to the hospital before he had YLT (Youth Leadership Training). It was a very strange visit to the hospital. Let me start by saying I HATE going to hospitals. I don't like going to visit people, really for any reason. This is an unreasonable thing about me that's something I have to deal with, but it's just not something I like to do. But tonight we had to. We went for two reasons.
First, we went to visit Jenny (one of our landlords; Jenny of Josh's friends Brian and Jenny from EFree) because Jenny had her baby this week. She was an adorable little girl, about 6 pounds, named Abigail May. She was sleeping when we got there, all swaddled in her blanket, a pink striped hat covering her mass of dark hair. Just adorable, she looked like a doll. So we sat and visited with Jenny for awhile, talking of babies, and new life, and new adventures. Needless to say, I left wanting a baby (despite the horror stories Jenny told of the actual birthing process she went through).
We left Jenny's room in good spirits. But then we headed upstairs to visit the second patient we knew in the hospital. This was a totally opposite type of visit. We were going to visit a church member who had a massive stroke yesterday afternoon. From the beginning, they (doctors, nurses, and paramedics) said that all they could do was "keep him comfortable." This is the grandfather of one of our youth that graduated last year, and the family is very involved in the church. In fact, this is a family with 4 generations currently attending. The man himself was not always (or often) there, but whenever he was around he was vivacious and smiling, always with a joking word, a big laugh, and a helping hand. We walked in the door and there was all of this pretty big family (at least everyone who lives here) sitting and standing around the hospital bed, eyes and faces red and puffy from crying. And this wonderfully vivacious, energetic, friendly, funny, and healthy man, laying on the bed, struggling just to draw breath, completely unaware of everything going on around him. Already gone for all practical purposes. It was the most awful thing I have experienced. I have visited people in the hospital, but the sight of this family, all standing around, watching their strength, their leader cling to life, just waiting for that last breath, was almost more then I could bear. On the one hand, I want my death to be quick, not long and drawn out (who doesn't?). But on the other, this family stood in shock, caught totally unawares. As we hugged, patted backs, and murmured words of support, I understood finally the meaning of the scripture "mourn with those who mourn, weep with those who weep." And I know there is promise in the second half of that scripture; "rejoice with those who rejoice, and sing with those who sing." But it is hard to remember that promise as I sit and think of that family.
As we left the hospital, and throughout the rest of this evening, I have sat and thought about those two hospital visits. Completely opposite in purpose and emotion, yet both a vital part of God's plans for us. And that's the thought that comforts: both of these events and emotions and experiences are part of God's plan for us. Regardless of our forewarning, of our shock and surprise, God is sovereign: God knew. And in that I can rest.