Dear Friends,

Over the years we have shared and discussed many things: that is the way with friends. I want to tell you the story of Cherith. Perhaps, it will help my grieving heart to heal a bit. I believe Sean wants me to share this story; it is, after all, about everything that is truly important in life.

Do you remember seeing at the funeral service, among the items and symbols that were arranged on the table that signified importance to Sean, a plaque with the word ‘Cherith’? Sean made that for Gary and me one Christmas. He carved every letter by hand and told us that with every shaving and stroke of the blade, he thought about what Cherith meant to him and all the lessons he had learned and the truths he had come to embrace. For him, Cherith had become all that we ever hoped it would be.

I didn’t know it then, but it would be that last thing he would ever make for us.


Children have a way of pushing parents into making things happen. So it was with Cherith. Sean grew up with ideas of nobility and knights, of family crests and colors, and yearned to make those a part of his life. The girls grew up loving Anne of Green Gables and the stories of Jane Austen and Sarah had decided that their home needed a name. We tried to tell them that we do not live in a grand house worthy of its own identity, yet the subject was never dropped.

As you might know, the pond in our backyard is a summer home to a few wild geese. One day, while we were all involved in yard work, Sarah again began the pleading for a name for our home. As Gary was raking the shoreline he smiled and beamed at her and announced that he had finally come up with the perfect name.

“You can be Sarah of Goose Poop Pond.”

We all laughed and hooted and showing that she was going to be a good sport about it, so did Sarah. Yet, the desire lingered. Gary and I could see the virtue in a name, especially a name of honor. We knew that knights and kings rallied under flags of old. That a crest not only named you but gave you something to remember who you were and from whence you came: A history full of ideals and standards, all in a picture on a shield.

  Couldn’t we do the same? Find a name, a single word that would represent all that our family hoped to be, a name that spoke volumes when uttered and determined behavior when remembered?
  
It took quite awhile to find, and like most things of this nature, came when we weren’t looking.

Gary and I were talking about something he had read in 1 Kings 17. Ahab, the King of Israel, was an evil man and had angered God more than all the other kings before him. The Lord sent Elijah to tell the king that there would be neither dew nor rain in the land for years. This of course angered the King and he sought the life of Elijah so the Lord sent him to hide by a brook and commanded the ravens to feed him there. Elijah went and did as he was told. He drank of the brook and the ravens brought him bread and flesh in the morning and bread and flesh in the evening.

Now, ravens are carrion birds and the thought of eating bread and flesh brought in their beaks was very unappealing to say the least. As we were contemplating the implications of such food, and the obedience and trust that Elijah showed in the Lord, the proverbial light bulb lit up in my head.

“Does the brook that Elijah hid by have a name?”

And if it did, would it be a name that our family could embrace? The symbolism was there in every way that was important to us. The brook was named Cherith and as we called our children together, we knew it was the name we had waited for. We even had our very own brook.

The little ‘brook’ that ran down our property line was actually an artesian well. When we purchased our home, the previous owner had piped the water underground to feed the pond. One of the first things we did after moving in was to uncover the pipe, dig a stream bed, line it with rocks and let the water flow freely above ground. We had all worked very hard on that little brook. Every rock and stone was placed there by hand. What made it even better is that we did it together as a family.

But Cherith isn’t just about a brook. It’s about obedience and a willingness to trust God, to know that when you do what He asks, he will indeed take care of you. It may not be in the manner that you would expect or even like, but take care of you, He most surely will. And always, it will be in a way that you need most in order to grow and progress along the gospel path. We usually don’t see what we truly need, but a wise and loving Father in Heaven knows exactly what experiences to allow us to have that will enlarge our capacity for good and expand our vision of truth.

The brook that Elijah hid by eventually dried up and the Lord sent him to a widow woman for sustenance. Trusting God, she fed him from what she thought was the last of her resources. Days later, her son fell sick and died and Elijah called upon the Lord to heal her son and he revived.

It’s interesting that the first signs of cancer showed itself because of our little brook. Sean had come home to help me fix the waterfall part of the stream. We had shut off the water and he was chipping away part of the concrete that we had decided to remove, while I was rearranging rocks and shoveling mud. We worked for the better part of that day and finally finished with both of us wet and dirty.

Before Sean showered, he asked me to shave those wild hairs that grow on the back of his neck. Shirtless and kneeling on the bathroom rug, I saw a rather ugly, strange mole on his back. Nothing looked right about it and I told him to get to the doctor and have it checked.

That was about fourteen years ago, and those first surgeries and the year of chemo that followed were hard. The almost five years of remission were a blessing. Through it all, our little brook flowed on. Then when cancer returned to Sean, nothing was ever the same. As the cancer crept throughout his body, the artesian well that was our stream began to diminish. First it would only flow in the winter and during the summer months it was dry. Now it is dry almost   all the time. The water that once was ours is now flowing somewhere else.

We too, called upon the Lord to heal our son, but such was not His will.

Like the widow woman who “went and did”, we will continue to do as the Lord has asked. For us, it is not about a little cake made from the last of our meal and oil. It is in giving all our heart, our trust, and even our only son, to Him, knowing that if we do, love and family is ours forever.