Saturday morning, my sister and brother-in-law buried their son, Ryver. He was 8 weeks old.
But Ryver’s 8 weeks were spent in the womb. In the minds of many Americans, that doesn’t count. They would object to me calling what happened Saturday a funeral. It was a funeral, but it was more. It was an act of defiance.
The liberals think Ryver’s life was a fairytale. That it was something we conjured up in our minds to cope with hope deferred. They think our funeral folly, and our grief unnecessary.
I gladly admit what happened Saturday was foolish because “the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men” (1 Cor. 1:25). We stood round about Ryver’s grave, which lay beside his 8-month old Uncle Cory, who was buried there 25 years before. Two lives, both with Jesus before their first birthday. We will honor them, and all the powers of hell will not keep us quiet.
The grave site is marked by three angels: one for Ryver, one for Cory, and one for our unborn child, Shiloh. This is hallowed ground for our family. So, Saturday, we stood in reverent defiance, with our heads bowed, our fists raised, and our hearts resting on the coming resurrection.
The Spirit will use small acts of defiant love such as this to dismantle the abortion industry and awaken the drowsy to the truth. We’ll see abortion clinics crumble into a heap of dust, just as the walls of Jericho. We’ll see memorials erected in their place, as we now see at places like Auschwitz.
But we trust the Lord Jesus to carry forward the victory he accomplished in the resurrection in His time. For now, we mourn. We remember. We hope.