Sometimes when you are least expecting them, when your weighted down heart is continually struggling to beat, when your eyes have been burning for a week desperately trying to hold back tears, when you feel like you need two cranes to pull up the corners of your mouth into a smile.... that's when it happens.
A gift. Yesterday I was given a gift. If you can't tell from my last post, last week was something I had to physically force myself through.
I couldn't focus on anything except a missing little person between Layla and Addison. Going to the bank reduced me to a crying heap. As my children filed out the door that I held for them, I watched as Big Sister led the way. Then I watched Layla follow who held Addison's hand, and then as Donovan walked himself out the door. But for me, another successful trip out, being proud of my kids excellent behaviour, was marred by a missing 5 year old in the lineup.
That sums up my week. Until yesterday. The fresh start of a new week is also going to mean the fresh start of the rest of my life. I'm no drama queen, so believe me when I say, I received life changing words yesterday.
From my dear pastor, who had no idea at the time what I was going through. I fully believe the Holy Spirit gave him words directed straight at me.
He wasn't even talking about grief.
Or getting over hurts.
He made a sub point. Not even his main point. What I heard actually had nothing to do with what everyone else heard.
"How do we trust God, without a single doubt, to raise us from the dead, but we don't trust him with our money?"
I'm guessing you are now asking yourselves, what in tarnation does that statement have to do with the death of your baby? Let me clear it up. This is what I heard-
"How do you trust God, without a single doubt, to raise you from the dead, but you don't trust him to raise your baby better than he can? To love your baby more than you can. Why do you think that this broken Earth full of danger, sin, evil and sickness, could possibly be better than a life in Heaven?"
I would never sacrifice one of my children for anyone. Not one. I am fixated on keeping them safe from, well, everything. And yet, God did exactly that. He watched his baby die. He created Heaven. Made a way for me to get there. Greeted my baby into His arms when Alexander's little heart failed him.
He did all that. And I still get angry and cry out that my baby belongs in my arms!
I desperately love my children. I pour every ounce of ooey, gooey, mushy, happy, love into them daily, that I possibly can. I never want to be away from them. I would still love to be able to watch my baby grow and be by his side. But if I can trust. With my entire being. With no doubts. Trust that there is a God in Heaven, trust him to raise me from the dead. Trust in my eternity.
Then how do I possibly not trust him to be a better parent that I can be to my son?
Will I still get sad? Sure. Will I still dish up 7 plates every once in a while by accident and look for 5 children instead of 4? Probably. But it is not going to hold me captive any longer. I can rejoice and long for the day when I will have all of my children surrounding me. If God can raise those who desire Him from the dead, he can certainly be trusted to make sure my child brushes his teeth every night.