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Thoughts On My Birthday

Today is my birthday.  32 years of life.  It is also, more importantly, the one month anniversary of Charlie’s birthday.  300 days of life.  This is the first of what will be many anniversaries of the passing of time in a life without our sweet boy.  Its only 9 am and it’s already been a very hard day.  Some days I just miss him so much I’m not sure I’m going to make it.  But it makes me feel better to be able to share what I am learning from my sweet baby boy.  It reminds me that Charlie’s life, while so much shorter in days than I would have liked…still had tremendous weight.

Yesterday I was reading some info that the hospital gave us and these words were on the front page…

“The distance between joy and sorrow can be measure by a heartbeat.”

These words are so very true for our lives.  One moment we were three weeks out, joyfully nesting, praying, celebrating and anticipating his coming.  And one heartbeat later…a lifetime of heartache.  A name we would never get to call out.  Eyes we would never see.  A heart we would never get to know and delight in as he grew and changed.  So very much heartache happened in one solitary heartbeat.  Sometimes I feel angry and almost like we were “set up” for this great fall.  In those moments my heart cries out, “God, why did you give us this precious gift just to take him away!”  I know God knows how much we are hurting.  I know God weeps with us as we weep.  And even though it hurts so much more that we had named him and loved him and talked about him every single day of his short 300 days…I am so glad that we had chosen to fully celebrate Charlie’s coming.

Years ago when we first got pregnant with Emma I was wondering how soon we should tell everyone about this precious new life growing inside me.  I asked a friend of mine about this who had had several miscarriages, and she gave me some very wise advice.  She said, “I always chose to fully celebrate my pregnancies and to share about this new life with everyone right away, because I really believe EVERY life is worth celebrating.  And if you don’t celebrate this life right away…the only thing you may ever get to do for them is grieve.”  And that’s how I feel about our baby boy.  We had eight incredible months of celebrating his life, and we’ve had one month of grieving.  As these months continue to go by we will soon have far more months of grieving his life, than we had months of celebrating.   Unless.  Unless we chose to find ways to continue to celebrate his life even as we grieve.

And so today, I am going to thank Jesus for the incredible gift He gave me during my 32nd year of life.  300 unforgettable days of being Charlie’s mommy and having the joy of his life alive inside of me.  Of celebrating his little body’s growth as he continued to push out the boundaries of my belly.  Of watching on the ultrasound screens as God continued to knit and weave him in the tiny space where he lived below my heartbeat.  Of praying for him and bringing to the Lord all the dreams we had for his life.  Of finding out he was a boy and cheering super loud as a family in a little ultrasound room at San Luis Diagnostics.  Of eating blue ice cream and telling everyone in the world that we were “Screaming for JOY and having a BOY!”  And of holding him in my arms on the saddest, hardest, and most bittersweet day of my life.  Charlie’s life was the very best gift of my 32 year of life.  It was so very short that Charlie’s entire life on earth fit within an entire year of mine.  But absolutely life-altering and unforgettable just the same.

I remember reading one time that Jim Elliot had said,

“Consume my life, my God, for it is Thine. I seek not a long lifebut a full one, like you, Lord Jesus.”

As I read these words the first time in college I remember thinking, “Actually God, I’d like to have both a full one and a long one if You please.”    But I think I had missed the point entirely.  Today, as I continue my life that seems really long compared to my baby boy’s, I praise God in the midst of the pain for the joy of knowing that Charlie really did have a life that reflected these things…

Consume my life, my God…  Like little Samuel, our precious Charlie really was “given to the Lord for his whole life.”

For it is Thine…  Nothing has ever taught me more clearly that our lives are God’s and not our own…than Charlie’s.

Not a long life, but a full one…  If our greatest calling and purpose in life is to know the Lord Jesus and make Him known to others, I would say that my sweet baby boy has fully lived out his calling.  Perfectly.  My baby knows Jesus today.  He knows Him deeply in ways I haven’t even begun to experience Him yet this side of glory.  And Charlie’s life is making Jesus known to me more and more each day.  What a wonderful birthday gift from my sweet baby boy.

I love you Charlie James.  Thank you for giving great meaning and purpose to my 32nd year of life, and for all the years of life yet allotted to me.  And thank you for pointing my heart to Jesus and giving me a greater longing than ever before to have not a long life, but a full one… just like yours.

His, Misty

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Going Home Clothes

Today a friend of mine asked me if it has been hard to look at Charlie’s things.  Babies don’t even have a lot of things…but all their things are adorable things.  Painfully adorable things.  Charlie’s teddy…is an adorable teddy.  Charlie’s shoes are so miniature that they make you cry just looking at something so cute and tiny.  In that sense…YES, it is utterly painful to look at anything that I had thought was going to belong to and be touched by my baby Charlie.  Shoes his tiny feet will never learn to walk in.  A teddy he will never cuddle with when he is scared in the night.  A basketball he will never dribble, a spoon he will never hold, a kite he will never fly.  So.  Much.  Pain.

But I was thinking today about the one outfit that Charlie did get to wear on his tiny body.  Since I still had three weeks before Charlie’s due date, I hadn’t even gotten out Fred’s old clothes to wash them up for Charlie.  It was one of the most painful moments of my life having to dig through the bin of Fred’s old clothes to pick out something for Charlie’s home going.  But I knew instantly which outfit it should be.  A tiny striped outfit with puppies on the feet.  Every single one of our kids absolutely loves puppies.  And since baby Charlie will always be one of us, and always match each of them, I decided a puppy outfit would be perfect for our baby boys Homegoing.  Charlie’s.  Home.  Going.  Even as I write these words tears stream down my face.  There is so much meaning in those words.

Usually, an expectant mother lovingly packs a suitcase full of sweet, freshly washed baby things.  A little knitted cap, a miniature outfit, and tiny baby booties.  She imagines what it will be like to dress her little one in his new things, to bundle him up in the car, and to bring him home to his new life.  This is how I wanted it to be.   This is how I will always have wanted Charlie’s home going to be.  But as I think back on the little outfit Charlie was buried in I am overcome at the beauty that I did kind of get to pick out his outfit for his Home going.  I know that he had already died, but I will always think of the one little outfit that clothed my baby’s precious body as his special “Going Home” clothes.  Going Home to His Savior.  Going Home to eternity.  To a far greater Place that was ready and waiting for our baby to come home to his new life.

I have often thought that if I ever had the sorrow of watching one of my children go to heaven before me, I wanted to be there with them during every moment of their dying.  As I look back on Charlie’s last day of life I so wish I could have been with him in a different way.  I wish I could have held his tiny hands and whispered “Goodbye.”  I wish I could have told him every single thing I loved about him and how proud I was to be his mommy.  I wish my eyes could have been the last thing he saw before he opened his eyes and saw the glory and beauty of Jesus’ face.  So very much of this is not what I had wanted it to be.  But what matters to me more than anything…is that when my baby opened his eyes for the first time (ever)…He was looking into Jesus’ eyes.   JESUS was waiting for my baby at his going home party.  This is a great comfort to my heart as I grieve today, because this is what we as parents long for more than anything.  More than soccer games that I’ll never sit at, hugs I’ll never feel, and memories we will never make…my child is with Jesus for eternity.

And in that, I am sorrowful, yet rejoicing,

misty

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Beauty in the Breaking

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Those of you who know our sweet Freddo would probably agree that he’s an absolute darling.  Since I’m Fred’s mom I probably have lots of biases about how utterly fabulous he is, but I really do think he’s an especially great little guy.  I was thinking tonight about how though I love my kids all the time, I really enjoy my kids most when they are obeying me.  Life with my little ones is just so much more pleasant when they listen to me and put their trust in me.  Not in a Queen of the Manor kind of way, but in a “I love you and I’ve thought (way more than you have) about what I really believe is best for you and to you and I just want you to trust me” kind of way.

One of the things I really love about Freddo is that he is such an easy going little guy.  This is a feature he has clearly inherited from his Daddy.  Fred is almost always easy going, and very obedient most of the time.  He of course, like all kids, has those rare and fiery moments when he doesn’t listen and doesn’t want to obey, and he had one of those just yesterday.  He was in the middle of said moment, when he wasn’t getting what he wanted, and suddenly I heard him say, “Mommy! You’re making me break!”  I wasn’t sure if I had heard him right but then later that day when he was in the middle of another tantrum (yesterday was quite the day) I heard him yelling, “Daddy!  That breaks me!!  Stop breaking me!”  I have no idea where he even got this deep lingo from, but I was struck tonight by the similarities between my heart and Freddo’s as I walk through this journey of grief.

Some moments I am still raging against the loss of baby Charlie.  I wanted so badly to live life with our baby boy.  A lot of my day I spend fighting against this in my heart and bringing God the disappointment and heartache of this being the story He has written for our lives.  In those moments, I feel like my soul is crying out to God, “Daddy!  You’re breaking me!”   Losing my baby boy is breaking me.  Breaking my heart.  Breaking my beautiful dreams of life with Charlie.  Breaking my box of who I thought God was.  Breaking my faith in me.  Right now…so many things are breaking.

And then there are the other moments of grief.  These are rare for me, but when they come I am struck once again by the similarities between Fred and me.  There are moments when I just tell Fred to trust me…and he trusts me.  I just tell him to obey me…and he obeys me wholeheartedly.  In those moments I know I could ask him to do anything…because in those moments he has unwavering trust in my love for him and that I really do deep down have his best interest in mind.  Losing Charlie has been the deepest heart ache of my life.  Burying our baby boy has been the moment in my life where God has most clearly done what I most never wanted Him to do.  It has also been the moment when I have most clearly heard God saying to me, “I love you and I’ve thought (way more than you have) about what I really believe is best for you and to you, and I just want you to trust me…” and the similarities are not lost on me.  God is my Father.  And I am his child.  God is asking me to trust Him, and I am given a moment by moment choice of whether I will trust Him and keep holding tightly to His hand.  And so I chose daily, sometimes hourly and minutely, to hold tightly to His hand…even if right now it is so very hard to look Him in the eyes.

And in those moments when my heart choses surrender to Him, and to His love, and to His plan…they really have been unspeakably sweet.  The best moments of the last four weeks have been those rare and beautiful glimpses of surrender when I have been able to say, “Daddy, I trust you,” even as I cry out “Daddy, You’re breaking me.”  There is beauty in the breaking.

His, Misty


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Tiny Prints

Dear Friends,

I wanted to take a moment to share a few ways that you can be praying for our family right now.  “I’ll pray for you” is something that is often thrown around very loosely between people in our culture.  But in the last four weeks every time someone has said, “I’m praying for you,” I actually believe them.  Often it has been said through tears, and I know that while almost none of you have directly experienced the devastating sorrow we are walking through…I truly believe that when you say you’ll pray…you pray for us.  And we are so very thankful for you.

It has been four weeks today since our baby Charlie was born.  The four longest, darkest, and hardest weeks of our entire lives all packed into one endless month.  My baby boy’s precious little body is buried in the dark, cold, ground and I can honestly say that I don’t think this will ever get easier.  I know it will change and that this anguish will itself be transformed over the years into a deeper and different kind of sorrow…but there will always be sorrow.

While we were at the hospital the nurses took an imprint of Charlie’s precious feet to give to us.  I can’t even look at the tiny impression of his baby toes without sobbing, even now.  I had dreams of seeing those baby footprints scattered wildly all over the sand at Avila Beach.  I had wanted to see his wet and sudsy little footprints covering our floors after crazy bath times with his big brother and sisters.  I had plans to tickle those tiny toes…not bury them in the cold, unfeeling ground.  I spent eight months dreaming about seeing my baby boy’s footprints, fingerprints, and life prints everywhere…and now they are almost no where to be found.  And they won’t be.  Ever.

But they are forever imprinted on my heart.  I truly believe that I will look back on my life someday and feel that I was more deeply impacted by baby Charlie’s life than any other.  Because Charlie’s life has made me seek the face of God.  I’ve earnestly sought God for most of my life, but Charlie’s life has caused me to seek God’s face like it was a matter of life and death.  Probably because it’s been a matter of life and death.  I’ve loved reading God’s Word for as long as I can remember, but right now I read the Bible as if the words that have the power to keep my heart alive are hidden in there.  Most days the crushing weight of sorrow is so heavy that I seriously wonder if I will ever be able to stand up under it.  And in those moments, God, through His Word, brings a faint, but visible ray of light into our darkest dark.  Maybe someday this will actually look beautiful like Van Gogh’s Starry Night, but it doesn’t right now.  For now it is the dark valley of the shadow of death, with temporary pinpricks of light at best.  But those pinpricks point us in the direction of our distant Home.  And so we desperately ask for your prayers.

For our family:  Our kids are doing really, really well.  They miss baby Charlie and ask about him, but for children it is very difficult to grasp the magnitude of all that has been lost.  This has been much, much harder for us.  Grief is just an emotionally and physically exhausting process.  Please pray for us that we would have supernatural strength to love our kids and to care for them in the day to day of life.  It is a secondary loss that we just don’t have as much to give them as we normally would.  We so very badly want to love all four of our kids well, which is so difficult now that 3 are on earth and one is in heaven.  I have a tangible, physical ache in my heart that our family is not all together right now.  We now live even more with our hearts permanently divided between two places…just as, I guess, all those who believe in Jesus should.  Please pray that we would treasure Charlie by grieving and celebrating his life well, and that we would love Sophie, Emma, and Fred by celebrating the time we have been given with them.

For our hearts:  There is just so very much to grieve.  We are grieving the loss of the baby boy we love.  He is our baby and we got eight precious months of life with him.  We are grieving the loss of the dreams of life with Charlie and all that we had planned on having with him.  No parent says that pregnancy is their favorite time of life with their child…the fun part of living life together hadn’t even begun for us.  We are grieving the very difficult and traumatic experience of giving birth to a baby who has already died, and then having to bury him.   We are also grieving the loss of a certain innocence that you inherently have when nothing truly tragic and permanently life-altering has ever happened to you.

Most of all, we are grieving the loss of all that we thought we knew of what our life would be like, and all we thought we knew of who our God is.  We know that life is God’s to give and God’s to take away, but it breaks every box we humans “put” God in when He does what we never thought He would do, even if we fully knew He could it.  We long so much to see God strengthening our faith in Him during this time, and we can see many ways that He already has.  But you often have to break a bone to reset it, and in the breaking and the reseting of our faith, our hope, and our love for Him…it is a deeply painful process.  It is a great comfort to us that one of the things Jesus said He came to do was to bind up the brokenhearted.  And so we surrender daily the lifetime we wanted with sweet Charlie and his tiny prints…and we give God our broken hearts.

So thankful for your prayers,

Mist

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Story time with Jesus

I spent the day working on a baby book for Charlie.  It wasn’t easy.  In one short book I could capture my son’s entire life and death, and at times I was overcome with sorrow by the sheer brevity of my baby’s life.  As I organized photos, and wrote notes to my baby I was overwhelmed with sadness at the reality that all of the memories I will ever have (this side of eternity) with our son Charlie…have already been made.  We have so few pictures, so few memories, and honestly so few happy times with our baby boy.

Charlie’s birthday was the absolute hardest and saddest day of our entire lives.  But in the end…January 28th, 2013 will also always be one of the most treasured days of my life…because it was my one day to hold my baby boy.  My one day to sing “You are My Sunshine” to him as tears poured down my face unto his soft baby cheeks.  My one day to look at every little intricate feature of his beautiful, perfectly formed body.  My one day to tell him all the things I love about him, and how very proud and honored I am to be his mommy.  Yes, January 28th will always be a special day…because it is my son’s birthday and I love him deeply.

As I worked on Charlie’s little memory book today I felt a deep sorrow (and surprising moments of joy) as I looked back on our precious eight and a half months of memories.  Even as my heart rages against all of this because it feels so very wrong and broken and devastating to have to bury a baby…the few pictures, the few memories, the few stories we do have…are infinitely precious to me.  Not just because we so few, but because they are Charlie’s…and he is mine.  One page of Charlie’s memory book stood out in particular to me, and so I wanted to share it with you tonight…

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My sweet Charlie,

This is the last picture I have with you in my belly.  Reading time with my sweet boys.  Someday soon, we’re going to sit down together and read Bible stories with Moses, and Freddo, and Jonah, and Jesus… and it is going to be so very glorious.   I just can’t wait!  Until then, you will read the stories with the One who wrote them all, and in that I will find joy.  

I love you baby boy,  Mommy.

Mothers, hug your babies tonight.  Give your big kids an extra kiss and an extra dose of patience tomorrow in the flurry of getting ready for another Sunday morning.  Every.  Moment.  Is. Precious.  We have not been promised a lifetime with our little glories…we have only been given the undeserved gift of today.

His, Misty


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The God Who Will Provide

I heard it said once that what we think about the moment we hear God’s name…is the most defining thing about you and me.  It’s probably true.  If God is real, and God is well… God, then who HE is matters most, and what we believe about who He is is extremely and eternally defining.  At the same time, I think that God IS a whole bunch of things, and what we think about first when we hear His name…probably says the most about what God is currently doing in our lives.

I’ve been thinking about this today because my friend asked me what life was like in the months before Charlie came.  I started thinking about this thing I do at the end of every year where I name the attribute of God that seemed to be the theme of what He was revealing most often about Himself to me.  It’s not necessarily which aspect of God’s character I most wanted Him to reveal to me, but rather what He seemed to want to reveal to me.

For example, the year that we got married the theme was “God is the Giver of good things.”   It just seemed like God was going out of His way to lavishly show us His provision in our lives.  The next year it was, “God is my Sustainer,’ and then the next was “The God who guides me.”  But last year…2012…was interesting.  We moved the first week of the year.  With three small children.  Into a vintage (read: old) house that had just been fumigated and had no hot water and no heat.  In January.  As you can imagine, it was rather chilly.  (read:  SUPER stressful time in life.)   Then Reid got into a serious skiing accident and was on crutches for months.  Then I got shingles.  Then Reid broke the toe on the leg that had finally finished healing.  So we dug out the crutches again.  It was a really lovely time.  And then in May…God surprised us with the amazing gift of Charlie.

Thus began, a wild year of seeing “God is my Provider” in new ways.  He had provided a new home to live in.  He had restored our health.  And He provided a healthy baby…and a BOY no less!  Even though I had wanted another boy, I just kept thinking at the ultrasound, “I cant believe I got what I wanted!”    Kids can’t just be ordered if you know what I mean.  You get what God gives you, when and how God choses to give them to you.  But I was so very excited to be having a baby boy.  We also needed a new car for our growing family since we no longer fit in our old one.  And once again, the “God who will Provide” provided an awesome car through our parents generosity.    Then He threw in a dream vintage camper named “Whimsy.”  We had prayed that God would provide a way for our family of six to takes adventures together, and were again amazed to see God provide.  These, along with countless other things last fall, made 2012 seems like a year of God’s very extravagant and specific provision in our lives.  I seriously, stood back on Sunday January 27th and marveled at all that the Lord had provided in the last few months of our lives.  God had showed us that 2012 was the year of “Jehovah Jireh” for our family.  “God is my Provider” felt like the soundtrack of our lives.  And that night…we found out our baby boy had died.

I wrestle daily with why God would go OUT OF HIS WAY to show me that 2012 was the year of “The Lord is my provider” only moments before He took away what I wanted so much more than any earthly thing.  I really don’t know why.  I’m just here to pour out my heart, not necessarily reveal the deepest mysteries of the One who knows and holds eternity.  I do know that I am grateful for every single thing that the Lord has provided both in the months before and in these weeks after Charlie died.  It makes it easier to hear Job say, “The LORD gives, and the LORD takes away,” when I remember how clearly God has revealed Himself as the One who provides for me.  He does give.  He gives every good and perfect gift I have.  He gave us baby Charlie for eight wonderful months.  As I cling to that, I know it makes it possible to walk with Him in the other half of Jobs words…to walk with Him as He takes away.

We often say “Jehovah Jireh” without stopping to think about its full meaning.  In the Bible, “Jehovah-jireh” (or more accurately Yahweh-yireh, YHWH will provide), was a place in the land of Moriah.   It was the location of the spot where God told Abraham to offer his son Isaac as a burnt offering.  Abraham named the place after the LORD provided a ram to sacrifice in place of Isaac.  But we know from Scripture that Abraham fully believed that God would raise Isaac from the dead, if he had to go through with the sacrifice.

“And Abraham called the name of that place Jehovahjireh: as it is said to this day, In the mount of the LORD it shall be seen.”  Genesis 22:14.

Though God did not “spare” our son in the way we so desperately wanted him to…the beautiful irony of Genesis 22 is not lost on me.  I truly believe that even for Abraham, the best part of that mountaintop moment was not really getting to keep the son he loved…it was what He had seen in the heart of God that day.  Abraham finally saw what God already knew…that he was willing.  Willing to give up the son he loved.  Willing because He knew who his Yahweh was…he knew the God who would provide.

I have no idea what this years special attribute of God will be.  Maybe “God is the healer of my broken heart.”   Or “God is the God who carrys me when I feel like an emotional and spiritual quadriplegic.”  Or maybe just “God is.”  And that will be enough for me.  I know that He IS all of those things.  And I know it’s up to Him to glorify Himself in any way He choses to during any year in my life.   I also know that it is only in seeing years of themes over years of life that we can even begin to glimpse this beautiful and mysterious God who is so very many things.  It will take 10,000 years into eternity to scratch the surface and behold the character of our glorious God of mystery.  But even in that…God will provide.

When we’ve been there 10,000 years, bright shining as the sun.  We’ve no less days to sing God’s praise, then when we first begun.

His, misty

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Abducted by God

Since giving birth to baby Charlie I’ve thought a lot about what it must be like for the women who give their babies up for adoption.  I’ve always had great respect for these women, because I imagined it would be very hard to carry a baby in your womb and near your beating heart, and then give that little one away to someone else.  I. had. no. idea.  Obviously, it is probably a little different when you chose to do this.  But in the end, I can understand what it feels like now to say goodbye to the baby you carried for nine months.  Right now, I have a jiggly belly, a sore body, a broken heart…and empty arms.  But I didn’t chose to give up my baby boy.  I feel like he was stolen.  By God.

As I was ruminating over that one today I was reminded of what my dear friend said on the day that her baby girl was born…which also happened to be the same day she had to say goodbye to her little one.  My friend said,

“My very first thought when they told me my baby was no longer alive was something along the lines of, “She is God’s and He can take her if He wants.”  I believe I said that out loud because my doctor said, “You do not know what you are saying.” And though I didn’t reply verbally, I said to myself, “Actually, that is the only thing I know to be true right now.  That is the only thing I know.” 

And it’s true.  I might feel like my baby boy was stolen right out of my arms.  And he was.  I might feel like all my dreams of living life with my precious son were taken away from me in an instant.  And they were.  I may even feel overwhelmed, and confused, and sorrowful, and angry with God for being the one to take away my Charlie James.  And I am.  A lot.  But I know God can take it.  The Psalms make it very clear that the Lord wants us to bring our honest hearts before Him.  He made my heart…I know He is well aware of what’s in it.

I also know that my baby boy was not exactly “stolen” by God, because it isn’t stealing when you take something back that rightfully belongs to you.  Charlie was taken away from me…by the God who made him.  It is God alone who gave my little one life…and God who took him out of my arms.  It was God who gave my baby a beating heart…and God who chose the moment his little heart would stop.  God abducted from me…what was rightfully His.  And while we are still shell-shocked and devastated, and will always be sorrow-full about this… I know deep down that LIFE is loss.  Life, in all its beautiful gifts…is all given by God.  And at some point, it will all have to be given back to Him.  I think Ann Voskamp says it best,

“Yet I know it in the vein and the visceral:  life is loss.  Every day, the gnawing…

What will I lose?  Health?  Comfort?  Hope?  Eventually, I am guaranteed to lose every earthly thing I have ever possessed.

When will I lose?  Today?  In a few weeks?  How much time have I got before the next loss?  

Who will I lose?  And that’s definite:  I will lose every single person I have ever loved.  Either abruptly or eventually.  All human relationships end in loss.  Am I prepared for that?

Every step I take forward in my life is a loss of something in my life and I live the waiting:  How and of what will I be emptied today?”

Emptied.   I like that word.  It’s just as true as “Stolen”  but softer and sweeter because it acknowledges that everything we have is borrowed…and at some point we will be emptied of everything we love.  At some point, I will have to give all of this “back.”  God has lovingly let me borrow the gift of being Reid’s wife.  And some day, when death do us part…I will have to give him back to God.  God has graciously given me the gift of 4 sweet babies to love, and oh how keenly I know..at some point I will have to give them all up.  At some point I will be emptied of every baby I carried in my womb.

Having already experienced the first of what we be a lifetime of loves lost…I now see more fully the sweetness of Heaven to come.  After spending our whole lives being given gifts…and then having to give them all back…we will eventually, finally get to keep them forever.  We will finally get to be filled up with things that we will never have to be emptied of.

“He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”  Revelation 21:4.

The old order…an order of emptying, and losing, and suffering through the goodbye of every single person we love will finally come to an end.  And we will finally be in the presence of the One who emptied Himself of everything as well…so that we could actually know Him and be with Him.  This, is good news.

Until then, the emptying rages on.

His, Mist