To My Angel

The following was written by Laura. Today is the day Nadia Joy was due. Sadly, she died before she could see her mommy and daddy. But we all love her dearly just the same and look forward to seeing her one day in heaven, completely whole and untarnished by this world.


To my angel.....

My sweet girl,

You were due today. It seems strange to even think about that, since it's so far from when you were born. Maybe all mothers remember the due dates too... You'd be 16 weeks old now, if you'd have stayed. Smiling, cooing, those wonderful milestones. I'd best not linger on the things I miss, lest I forget what I've gained. I miss you terribly! It's like waves at the beach. I won't even know where it came from, but I miss you again so fiercely...

I've changed so much these 16 weeks. It amazes me still that you've done more in such a short time than I'm likely to accomplish in my whole life. You've taught some that there's more to life than their world. For others, you've softened their hearts. You've taught some how to grieve, and how to be vulnerable. That it's okay to cry, and to feel. You have deepened relationships, and secured friendships in ways you'll never know. Most of all, you have brought people to the Father. For some it's a new relationship, for others, it's a deeper one. I know that you yourself are not capable of these things, and that it is indeed the Father himself who has used you for His glory.

I miss you so. But you have brought me closer to my Father, and I know him better. I have found new Joy nestled in His arms, a security I never could fathom. And He is still my hope. I still wish I could hold you, hear your voice, see your smile. I wonder what kind of woman you'd have grown into. I love you. I love you more than I can express. I will always love you.

Though the sorrow may last for the night, His joy comes in the morning.

It's been many nights, and many more will come. But He is still holding me up. I was thinking the other day about God holding me, and comforting me. He understands my pain. I realized that He really does! He lost a Son! He knows what it's like to lose a child! I started thinking more about His understanding, and I realized that he doesn't ask us to do what he hasn't. He understands loss. He can grieve with us. He lost a child, and at some point Joseph died, so he lost a parent. He knows what it's like to be tempted, and what it's like to be misunderstood. He's had neighbors and siblings. We constantly shun Him, tell Him he's not good enough. When he asks us to give up ourselves, he's done that too!

What an awesome God we have! He has indeed brought good from the pain, and I know he's not done. He's given me a new insight and a deeper understanding of who He is. I can say with certainty, "God is good!"

"To appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that he might be glorified. " Isaiah 61:3

My prayer now is one of thanksgiving. That though I miss you, and will miss seeing you grow, I have gained a treasure more precious than silver. I will never stop missing you, and I look to the day when I will see you again, ever praising the One who created us.

Mom

He was my Sunday school teacher.

The men in my family are pretty closed about their emotions and pain. K boy, when he is hurt, usually crawls off into a corner and suffers quietly. It's when the house is quiet that I know to be concerned. And when he took a wrong turn over a waterfall recently and landed on rock in an inch of water after a five-foot drop, he merely said, "I'm okay, I"m okay." And when I insisted he MUST hurt, he said, "It's only pain."

So when one of his Sunday school teachers (his friends in the know say his favorite Sunday school teacher) died unexpectedly and suddenly last week, I was not surprised that he took it on the chin without wincing. This is his style. I have looked for subtle things over the past days to see if there was any indication of "hurt", but he remained stoic.

The memorial service for his teacher, Don, was today, originally scheduled at the same time as K's swim meet. So I left the choice up to K as to which one to go to. He thought all afternoon yesterday about it and decided he wanted to go to the swim meet. But God knows what K needs and arranges things. The swim meet went really quickly and was over by 2:30. The memorial, about five minutes away, got pushed back to 2:00; so I made the command decision that we would go. All K would say was, "I don't want to." I asked him why and he only repeated, "I just don't want to." Nevertheless, something inside me said we should go. So we went, and being late, stood out in the foyer listening and watching on the monitor to Brian's beautiful tribute to Don, and I picked up a "program" with Don's picture on the front. A card fell out, and as I didn't know Don well, I tucked it back into the stack of programs. But K said, "What was that, Mom?" So I told him it was a card to write a memory on. When I turned back to look through the window, K pulled the card out of the stack, took it to a table where there pens and started writing. When I glanced his way, he said, "Don't look. I don't want you to read this." But later, as I was helping him find the basket to put it in, I read it over his shoulder. It was unsigned and simply said, "He was my Sunday school teacher."

So, Cindy, when you find a card, written in an 8-year-old's cursive, in big letters because he did not have his glasses with him--please know that it came from the depths of the heart of a boy who did not know how to express the hurt in any other way.

Picking Blueberries

My friend and I went walking through town early the other morning and we went a block or so out of our way to pass by some blueberry bushes that the city planted by the old train engine. As we were picking the ripe berries off the bushes, leaving the green ones (there are several different varieties planted), an older man got out of his car and said, "Are they ripe yet?" We answered, mouths full of juicy, sweet berries, "Oh, yes." But as we wandered away to finish our walk, he looked at the remaining berries on only one bush and said, rather annoyed, "They are NOT ripe yet!"

The fact is, apparently we are not the only ones who have come to appreciate the berries. Many people now, as they walk by, selectively pick only the perfectly ripe berries, and leave the rest to ripen for another day.

Years ago, a friend of mine bought the rights to a blueberry patch, and recruited quite a few of us to help pick for her. Picking blueberries for the harvest is quite a different experience than picking them in the park one at a time. When you pick them for harvest, you wrap both hands around each clump, and strip the berries off, ripe and unripe together, and then later sort through them, discarding the overripe and the unripe berries, as well as any leaves and twigs.

It occurred to me, as I sat in church listening to Gordon talk about Don Gibson, who recently--unexpectedly and suddenly--went to be with the Lord, that perhaps now God wanders through the believers, picking only the ripest, sweetest ones. But the day is coming when He will harvest ripe and unripe together, and sort us all out later.