Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Tomorrow we leave to go to my brother's funeral, which will take place on Thursday June 10. The love and the gentleness with which so many people have surrounded our family has truly been overwhelming. We are so very grateful.
Skip has truly gone on to his “Ain Country” ... How I love that old Scottish psalm. I can’t believe I found the lyrics online, and am including them below – with all the Scottish Gaelic expressions like “gowden” for golden, “hame” for home, “gang” for go, “ken” for know, “bairn” for baby, “oor” for hour (or our), "mair" for more, “sae” for so, “een” for eyes, "hert" for heart, "owre" for over, "noo" for now, and so forth.
I’ll be the first to tell anyone that I absolutely HATE death, with all my heart. It’s repugnant to me, spiteful, awful, horrible. That’s as it should be; Jesus hates death too. Matter of fact, He broke up every funeral that the Bible records He went to. Even His own. But God seems to give a special grace to those who are grieving a loss in Him. It’s a mystery – at a time when one would think the world is crashing down, there is hope of a better, glorious life for the one who has gone on, and hope of reunion when it’s our turn...
But I say with the hymn-writer and with all those saints who’ve gone before, “I long to see my Saviour first of all.”
Enjoy the lyrics below – every time I hear them, I think of an old Scottish shepherd sitting up on a hill watching his sheep and thinking out loud, letting his thoughts rise up to his Father God.
My Ain Country
I am far frae my hame, an’ I’m weary aftenwhiles,
For the langed for hame bringin’, an’ my Father’s welcome smiles;
An’ I’ll ne’er be fu’ contented, until mine een do see
The gowden gates o’ Heav’n an’ my ain countrie.
The earth is fleck’d wi’ flowers, mony tinted, fresh an’ gay
The birdies warble blithely, for my Faither made them sae:
But these sights an’ these soun’s will as naething be to me,
When I hear the angels singin’ in my ain countrie.
I’ve His gude word o’ promise that some gladsome day, the King
To His ain royal palace his banished hame will bring;
An’ wi’ een an’ wi’ hert rinnin’ owre, we shall see
The King in His beauty, in oor ain countrie.
Sae little noo I ken, o’ yon blessèd, bonnie place
I only ken it’s Hame, whaur we shall see His face,
It wad surely be eneuch for ever mair to be
In the glory o’ His presence, in oor ain countrie.
He is faithfu’ that hath promised, an He’ll surely come again,
He’ll keep His tryst wi’ me, at what oor I dinnna ken;
But He bids me still to wait, an’ ready aye to be,
To gang at ony moment to my ain countrie.