Every human being has a story.  In the same way that God created us as unique individuals with physical characteristics and personalities never seen before in the history of the world, each person’s path through this life is singularly their own. And, inevitably, that life has both joy and tragedy sprinkled throughout its course, regardless of its length of time.  So, in that context, the genesis of Mourning Dove Ministries, out of the lives of two people simply attempting to live those lives to the best of their meager abilities, is not much different from anyone else’s story. Although the story begins long before that May night in 2000, the events of that evening came together in a way that would forever change the lives of those involved.

 The air was cool, but pleasant, as we arrived late at night at the hotel, without reservations, in Wilmington, Delaware.  We had experienced a full day of activities that had begun with a brisk walk through Strasbourg, PA, followed by a wonderful breakfast at the B & B at which we were staying.  We had toured various Amish sites in Lancaster and had attended a magnificent production of the life of Abraham.   The night had ended at the home of a long-time friend, sharing stories of our children.

At 12:30 A.M., having fallen into a much-needed deep slumber, I was startled awake by the ringing of my cell phone.  I groggily answered it to hear Paul Hildson’s voice on the other end.  “Mr. Delaplane, this is Paul.  Nathan hung himself and he’s dead.” With those few words from one of Nathan’s best friends our lives were forever changed.

Over the next few minutes, I found out that our younger son had taken his own life.  Our older son Aaron was in a police car in handcuffs, having “violated” a police crime scene in his attempt to reach his brother, his best friend.  Our home was occupied by police and was surrounded by Nathan’s unbelieving and grieving friends.  After assuring that my sister-in-law would pick up Aaron and being told to “try to get some sleep” by the ranking detective at the scene, my wife and I began the 750-mile trip back to Atlanta.

In the midst of tragedy, we were given blessings.  We had not found our son and thus were saved from forever carrying that image, although, at times, the imagination can be a more cruel tormentor.  And for the next 12 hours we were alone in our car – just the two of us…..and God.  We cried and asked “Why?” a thousand times.  And we pleaded with God to show us undeniable affirmations that Nathan was cradled in the arms of Christ.

From the time that we arrived back in Atlanta, we were covered by supernatural comfort and love.  We went through the motions of making decisions and eventually faced the inevitable task of returning to our house – the place of Nathan’s death.  The fact that everything seemed normal, belying the life-altering tragedy that had taken place there, seemed surreal.  Perhaps a mistake had been made; perhaps it was all a sick joke.  The reality, however, began to sink in.

On Saturday morning, the day after arriving back in Atlanta, I was sitting at the breakfast table in our kitchen.  Spread before me was the Yellow Pages book from which I was attempting to find a funeral home.  As I sat there, my attention was captured by the fluttering of a mourning dove landing in one of the many shrubs in Elvira’s garden behind our house.  I mentally chastised myself for immediately translating the flight of a bird into a “sign from God” regarding Nathan’s whereabouts.

I felt compelled, however, to walk out onto our deck overlooking the garden. As I did so, the dove flew to the peak of our neighbor’s house.  As it landed, I clearly heard Nathan’s voice say, “Dad, I’m alright.  Everything’s alright.”

Tearfully I walked into the house and shared the experience with Elvira.  To my amazement, she responded, “The same thing happened to me a half hour ago.”

God has provided many other affirmations of our son’s eternal home.  In honor of this faithfulness, we created Mourning Dove Ministries – to build healthy marriages capable of weathering the storms of life.

-Gary and Elvira Delaplane