There is a season.

Ecclesiastes 3 (NIV):

There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under heaven:
a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.

A time to be born and a time to die. Unfortunately for my children, this year has been the time when they have had this point driven home. We have seen birth and we have seen death. My cousin had a baby, we had baby birds and baby bunnies in our yard, we hatched butterflies. And then we have had death from animals that have not survived living in our yard and people we know die. Molly has had the privilege to attend two funerals with me this year, and the boys one (although I am not sure they would have described it as a privilege).

Death is a tough subject for kids, almost as tough a subject as God. It is hard to explain to a preschooler or even a second grader, what it means to die. Fluffy sayings like “she is in a better place,” or even, “she lives with God,” “and she died because she was old,” are not much help to a preschooler. They can’t see where God lives and they can’t understand what it means to never see this person EVER again. I mean to my 4 year old, tomorrow is FOREVER away and a 30 something Mom is OLD so concepts like forever and old are all relative.

So as we attended a funeral on Friday, my children and I had to talk about what behavior is expected at a funeral. We talked about how sad people are to say good-bye to a loved one so it is an occasion for hugging (Zach’s biggest nightmare), looking somber (which means sort of sad, even when you aren’t I explained), sitting around (impossible for all three of them), and being quiet (again impossible for all three of them). Molly was most curious with where dead people go. I said dead people live with God. Molly takes that to mean they are actually living in our hearts because at preschool she learned God can be found in our hearts. She spent the entire funeral service asking me “is she in our heart now? I don’t’ really feel her there. Is she there now? Is she with our cat that died?” I had to remind her several times about the being quiet rule but the other funeral rules suited her just fine. The boys behaved as well as they could, for about 25 minutes. When the service time came, they had used up all their good behavior. They decided to play the irritation game (if I touch you, will you get mad). That game was stopped with the look from Mom. Uncle Ken was most impressed with how well that look worked and assumed correctly that the boys have experience with what happens when you don’t take the look seriously.

I was relieved when the service was finally over and the kids could move around again. But as we walked to the grave site, I realized that I should not have been so relieved. It turns out we did not review how to behave at the burial part of the service. My children stood in full view of everyone and stomped on ants as the Minister read one last reading. The irony of killing ants in a cemetery was almost too much to keep me looking somber and acting respectful. But there is a season…and my children brought together both the time to weep and the time to laugh. And sometimes that is just what you need, I guess.