Evan,
I never met you. I never knew you. And, in fact, I never even had the opportunity to see you in person. Yet, I feel that, in the wake of tragedy, I ought to write to you – whether you have the ability to read my message in earthly form or not.
It deeply sobers me to consider that, by any other circumstances, I would be meeting you at Windy Gap in two months. We would shake hands and look each other in the eyes, both of us with the vaguely knowing smile shared between those introduced by a common trusted friend. We would go on to encounter each other in classes, the lunch line, and the grandstands during basketball games. There were memories and experiences lying directly ahead of us, seemingly inevitable, waiting to happen.
But now they won’t.
My life will likely glide seamlessly by, unobstructed by the harsh truth of mortality. Yet yours has met this truth and experienced it to the full extent of any human creation. My life has simply come. Your life has come, and it has gone.
However, Evan, I still plan to meet you soon – not as soon as originally planned, for our meeting has been delayed indefinitely – and I expect now to be introduced by the One to whom life and death answer. We will shake hands and look each other in the eyes, but on this meeting, we will see far deeper than can be seen in this place where I still reside. I anticipate with immeasurable fervor the vaguely knowing smile shared between those introduced by a common trusted Savior.
Sincerely,
Peter
