No way; no how

Where to start? Dorothy was baptized in a beautiful service in September. It meant the world to us.  It was such a high having friends and family from near and far honor God with us and pledge to raise her as best we can to know the Lord our God. My friend, Christian, made Dorothy’s gown from lace she had used in Gabriel’s day gown he was buried in. So special. We celebrated God’s covenant relationship with us. She turned six months old on the 29^th of October. We celebrated.

Then two days later, I cried so hard at a friend’s father's visitation that I couldn’t stay for the funeral. I spoke to my friend, her husband, and her newly widowed mother, and then the thought of her father running into Gabriel in heaven stopped me in my tracks. It made me seek out the nearest bathroom for tissues, then the closest exit to escape because I couldn’t control my crying. That’s not helpful to anyone.

Her family held it together, and I couldn’t. I wanted my boy. I knew I couldn’t have that, so I wanted to tell the widow that her husband raised incredible kids and that, if it wasn’t too much trouble, I’d appreciate it if he’d check in on my son every now and then to make sure he’s OK. You can’t say that. You can’t say that to anyone.

I’ve been to one funeral and three visitations since Gabriel met Jesus. I’m not good at them because heaven is real.  I have yet to participate in one without a full-sized sob fest in the car afterward. It’s the same thing every time:  those departed Christians might happen to run into Gabriel at the feet of Jesus and that makes me miss him with an unbearable freshness. I’m jealous of dead people – spoken in my best creepy kid voice from the movie The Sixth Sense…. What?  Not really, of course, but it’s because I know death isn’t the end of life for Christians. It’s the beginning of an eternity of bliss and wholeness.

Lord Jesus, come quickly! I mean it when I say that would fix everything. Everything.

I have never had a suicidal thought, and I never will. I believe in God’s timeline for everyone’s life, and I am on board with His protection and plan for me.  (Growing up, my dad, who influenced me in more ways than I can count, fairly often would say, “If you ever find me dead and they say it’s suicide, you check it out.  You check everything out because it’s a set up. That would never happen. No way; no how. You check it out and keep checking it out until you find out who did it.” Strange to hear as a young child – Dad has zero enemies, of course, but comforting to know he was solid and would always be there for me if it was left up to him. We talked about everything at seemingly age appropriate times so this wasn’t earth-shattering to me.)

Today marks two years since Gabriel’s fatal diagnosis was confirmed by the specialist.  Two years since a friend sent me a text of John 14:27 that read: “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.” I try to cling to that promise every day. Sometimes I pray it back to God. I think He probably likes hearing His words spoken back to Him. A wise woman once told me that, and I like the notion.

Contrast that with the joy I feel in virtually every minute with Dorothy. Her smiles, her eyes, her focus, her snuggles, her squeals, her frog hops, her innocent dependence.  She is the best baby. We have so much fun together. She’s THAT good.

The greater the sorrow you experience, the deeper the capacity for joy – raw joy and raw pain. That won’t make sense unless you’ve known great sorrow. It makes the little things that trip people up – make them complain – it makes those things evaporate. It doesn’t make me a nice person all the time, but it does make me cut some slack to the idiots in the world who honestly don’t know any better. They probably don’t know God and they probably don’t know loss, so they don’t know not to sweat the small stuff.

What is the small stuff?

Turns out it’s almost everything. It’s where your kid goes to school: small. (Took me a long time to realize that one. And I still struggle with it.) It’s how much money you make: small.  It’s where you live or don’t live: small. It’s whether you dress well or don’t: small. It’s ALL small stuff. If you wake up in the morning, you praise God for that moment – that day in all its messy imperfection. I’m not saying don’t save for a good school, or care how you invest your time and energy – God gave us brains to use them – but to worry or dread or fear for the future is a total waste of time, and it’s disrespectful to the One who created time. It also robs you of your potential to find the joy within today. The things happening in front of you that deserve your attention. 

So what’s big? I believe the most important thing you can do for your child is teach them to have a heart for the Lord. Let them know there is someone they can count on and that they are not alone in this world. Give them God. The rest will work itself out.  Kevin and I just read Meg Meeker’s book “Strong Fathers, Strong Daughters,” and it is a must read if you have a daughter of any age.

So I stay at home with my little one. I hold her tight. I read her “The Jesus Storybook Bible” aloud; we’ve made it through four or five times now. I thank God for Kevin and his good health and Dorothy’s good health and my good health. I thank him all the time. I thank him for Gabriel. I leak tears randomly; I rebuke the Devil; and I praise my Heavenly Daddy.  I strive to be more present in the present. (I even went back in time, technology-wise and got a flip phone so Dorothy will know I am interested in her, not the Internet.)

Some days after Dorothy’s baptism I was driving down Yates in no particular hurry, so I pulled into Memorial Park to visit Gabriel’s grave on a pleasant fall day. I never plan to visit but when I’m in the area I stop by from time to time. After that I was driving home on Walnut Grove, and it started to rain. The sun still beamed brightly but it also was 100% raining. For me, that’s how joy and grief live together in the same heart. That’s what my Heavenly Daddy chose for me before the beginning of time and I embrace it. I practice living with it. I learn how to say things to strangers without crying just like I did today while out with my parents. “She’s my second child. Her big brother is in heaven, and we’re excited she’s hanging out with us here on earth. We are incredibly thankful.”

Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for He who promised is faithful.  – Hebrews 10:23