The boys were still finishing our
dinner of stuffed pasta shells in front of the television. Derrick was watching the Giants play the
Cardinals in San Francisco. Since all
three of my men were enjoying the past hour of my labor, I slipped out to take
a walk before it became too dark outside.
As I stepped onto our country road from our driveway, my eyes were drawn
to the sky opposite of the horizon.
Beyond our field of alfalfa, the high water in the canal, and our neighbor’s
white horse corrals was a breathtaking sight.
I almost bolted back into the house to grab one of the boys to show them
what captivated my attention. Instead, I
froze.
In the
warmly illuminated Eastern sky was one-sixteenth of the brightest rainbow I had
seen in a long time; it was just about four inches long if I had extended my
straight arm to measure. The sky
surrounding it had the warmest glow of setting sunlight. It looked bright as day compared to the dark
clouds above. I decided to enjoy this
beauty for myself- a decision that isn’t common to a mom. If I
duck back into the house this rainbow might disappear.
While walking and admiring it, God
brought something startling to mind. You didn’t fall apart this weekend.
Every Thursday through Saturday for
the last two months, I had been as useless as… well, not very useful at
all. I could typically hold it together
Monday through Wednesday to clean up my house, to make social activities, and to
care for my family. Every Wednesday
evening I would begin to cry, and my heart’s wound of missing Mia would open
again. Thursday through Saturday would
leave me deeply sad and wanting to withdraw from most things. Occasionally, I might have a spurt of energy where
I could get out of the house and feel like things would be alright for a few
hours. After several hard days, Sunday
would be a day of recovery. I would
spend the day in usual routines with my immediate family and with my church
family. But this weekend was new. I
could function.
Is
that okay, God? I asked.
I kept my eyes on that piece of
rainbow in the soon-to-be-dark sky. I
remembered that it would be gone in a matter of minutes- maybe seconds.
Enjoy
it right now, Dear One. He seemed to tell me. Soon enough it would be gone.
The hope I felt with this new
realization was refreshing. I smiled and
knew that I would have to write about this moment. I will take
it, this glimpse of brightness.
The rest of the sky was crowded
with dark gray clouds. As I hurry to
write these words, it is preparing to rain either during the night or maybe tomorrow. A storm is coming.
How
wonderful that You took me out of the house to show me my progress, God. Sometimes I feel like my weeks will never
improve. I’m going to be okay. Darkness and storm have been
characteristic of the months since Mia’s death. The clouds are hovering at
all times. I try hard not spiral into
grief, and then a heavy storm hits anyway.
I turned off the road onto a dirt
path along the canal and wished I had brought my camera to show someone a
picture of this evening sky. Instead, I
rehearsed how I would capture it with words.
I came to the end of my description and continued pondering. Mia was a full rainbow on a sunny day. Having her to nourish for eight weeks was
beautiful. She was pure joy and love to
me. And when she was gone, the sunshine
left with her for a very long time. I
have thought at times that it was gone until my life will end. However, this conversation that God was
having with my heart helped me feel something I had earlier only heard.
I am going to be alright. Grief will not grip my heart for life. By the way, I’m sure I’m not “out of the
woods” yet. I’ve talked to friends who
say the entire first year feels incredibly difficult. It has bothered me terribly that as I walk
around with this bleeding heart, people continue with life too timid to mention
my daughter for fear of hurting me or of making the conversation awkward. I think about her more than anyone would
realize but I have learned to choose how, or with whom, to talk about her
carefully. It is completely
understandable that people don’t know how to help remember her. I have recently been searching for
appropriate ways to honor Mia’s life. I
am her mother and I am in charge of remembering her significance. I want to continue living well so that her legacy
is a special one.
In short, Mia has changed me more
than anything in my life has or possibly ever will. Her life and the place she inhabits in my
heart have taken my affections off the temporary desires of this mundane
life. She has set my thoughts more fully
onto eternity with the Lover of My Soul.
I remember a day in June when the pain of accepting her absence was
excruciating; I asked God to take everything else away that stood in the way of
my love for Him. The pain I have felt
from missing her has created very fertile soil for God’s love to grow in my
heart.
In my heartache and in my recent
inadequate state, I have been failing at so many of the things that had held my
attention. I may have seemed alright. I have been trying hard to be okay. I should say that I have been surviving the
past few months. I have daily been doing
what I know I should do to continue. I
have been praying for energy and for the strength to continue.
My love for Mia has given my heart
what feels like a mortal wound. I can
say with exceeding thankfulness that each time my wound is opened, God tenderly
binds it up again. Psalm 147:3 “He heals
the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.”
My eyes have been opened wide to His tender faithfulness. A benefit of this grief is that I can now
also see deep sorrow in other people. My
heart recognizes hurt and wants to encourage others with the encouragement I
have received.
Before Mia, I had been striving so
hard for things that only mattered in this life. The hole in my heart reminds me that I am
made for another world- one that is complete.
After death, I will be in the very presence of my Savior. I am currently reading the book Heaven
by Randy Alcorn. In it, he quotes the
great Puritan preacher Jonathan Edwards(who is usually referenced for his
sermons on Hell). This part struck me as
an important heart-lesson my daughter’s absence is teaching me: “It becomes us
to spend this life only as a journey toward heaven… to which we should
subordinate all other concerns of life.
Why should we labor for or set our hearts on anything else, but that
which is our proper end and true happiness?”
Randy Alcorn goes on to another quote of his: “Resolved, to endeavor to
obtain for myself as much happiness, in the other world, as I possibly can.”
I haven’t yet figured it all out. For now, I know I will try to proclaim how
good God has been to me. I will tell how
He wants more from me than what I was giving when my life felt more
put-together. My brokenness over my
sweet daughter is very useful and is, in fact, part of His excellent plan. I am convinced that Mia’s life has left an
eternal impact on me, on her daddy, and on her brothers… and maybe on even
more.
And I am so thankful that I don’t
take for granted those eight beautiful weeks I had with her. I have a daughter… and I even know that she
did look like me!
For
my daughter I am eternally grateful.
Thank You, God, that this joy and praise that pour from my heart, they come
from You. You have truly brought me joy. And I will direct it back to You, the Author
and Finisher of My Faith.
Hebrews
12:2(KJV)
“Looking unto Jesus the author and
finisher of our faith; who for the joy that was set before him endured the
cross, despising the shame, and is set down at the right hand of the throne of
God.”