When I woke up this morning, I realized that it was March 29.
In 1997, March 29 was the day before Easter. I vividly remember that day. I was in the visiting room at San Quentin State Prison getting ready for an Easter banquet. The inmates who were part of the Protestant Chapel of San Quentin had received permission to host some visitors and family members for a special meal and worship service. The men had worked hard to put the event together, and I was honored to be a part of the celebration.
I have no idea how things are now, but back then it was an ordeal to get into the prison. But all the forms had been completed, all the permissions had been granted, and all the searches had been done. I was finally on the inside.
Just before the meal began, a guard summoned me to the front gate and said that there was a message for me. I saw my friend and ministry colleague standing there. She had tears in her eyes as she told me that my sixteen-year-old nephew had died.
That was seventeen years ago today.
I rushed home from San Quentin and started making phone calls. 1997 was a different time, and even reaching my sister and her husband on the phone was a challenge. I learned that early on the morning of March 30 (Nairobi time), Ben had died of an asthma attack as he was being rushed to the hospital.
It was Easter morning in Kenya when it happened.
My sister said that she wanted me to be there, so we started making plans immediately. I remember preaching a suddenly more meaningful Easter message the next morning. On Monday morning, I boarded a plane that connected through Frankfurt to Nairobi. I arrived in Kenya sometime on Tuesday, and we began to make plans for a funeral we didn't want to have.
The grief was unbearable. Even so, I still recall the celebration of Ben's life and I wonder if maybe it's the closest thing to heaven that I've ever seen. I cannot even begin to number the nations and peoples represented in the crowd, as through tears we praised the goodness and grace of God and celebrated the faithful life of an amazing young man.
If you have read my blog for long, you know that I keep track of dates. So many dates have meaning for me: June 4, September 5, June 20, May 29, March 13, August 27, July 11, May 15, April 1, and many, many more.
The list includes, of course, March 29.
Ben would have been thirty-three years old now. His plan was to finish his education and probably to return to Africa to serve. Africa was the only world he knew, and he was completely at home there. And he loved both his Lord and all the people his Lord had made - especially Africans.
Things didn't work out according to Ben's plan. Amazingly, though, the impact that Ben had - and the impact that Ben continues to have - on the Horn of Africa is incalculable.
That kind of impact is something only God can make possible. But it is exactly what God has done.
And for that - and for many other reasons - I thank God for Ben.