Wednesday, February 05, 2014
This season causes me to reflect a lot on the days that we had our Annabelle here in our arms. I walk through these days again...remembering where we where...what we were doing each day of the 60 we had her with us . There are moments that are precisely profound and, yet, moments that I have no recollection of at all. I am so thankful for the memories I do have and pray that they stay as clear in my mind 50 years from now as they are today...and were six years ago. The truth is that most of the days that she lived...I remember perfectly. The day she passed and the days...weeks...months following are very vague. In those days, I have either sharp memories or absolutely none at all.
One moment that will forever stay with me are the first hours when Scott and I came home after leaving our baby at yet another hospital..except this time she would not be cared for by the amazing nurses we practically called our family but a complete stranger who didn't ever have the incredible opportunity to see her face light up with her perfect smile or how you could literally see forever in her deep blue eyes. No, this stranger would only see her scars...a baby girl who'd already fought so hard in her short 8 weeks on earth. A baby girl who had experienced more than any child ever should. My daughter was just another visitor passing through his cold, sterile room. So, we did what we had to do...we came home with empty arms. And I immediately began to clean...to straighten...to tidy up. I didn't even realize the stained burp clothes that I was washing would be the last time I'd have pink in my laundry for years...until I had to fold them that evening and I was furious that I'd even thought to wash them so quickly. I was in auto pilot. I had learned far too young at the age of 16 what happens after a loved one passes. People come...and, in the chaos of my new normal, I decided to clean up. I remember that I just kept repeating the words "people are going to be here any minute...the house needs to be clean....". Over and over. But, then I turned on the radio and God stopped me in my tracks...
Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing...tune my heart to sing Thy praise...Streams of mercy, never ceasing...Call for songs of loudest praise...
I stood at the storm door and wept. I looked out over a perfect blue sky on a gorgeous spring day and wept. The door was just there...but on that day it was so much more than a door. It was a barrier between Heaven and Earth. That single piece of glass separated my daughter from me.
Here's my heart, Lord...Take and seal it...Seal it for Thy courts Above...
How many times had I sung that song growing up? Surely it was one of those that I knew best and could recall every line of the hymn from memory...but those words never, ever sunk in until that moment. My heart had just been sealed. If ever there had been any doubt in my salvation, there surely wouldn't be from this point forward.
Today as I stood at my storm door again looking out over a sunny sky, I was reminded that there is no barrier...there is no piece of glass in the way. Christ removed it for me. There is nothing separating me from His love...His Glory.
He is making all things new...just as He did on that beautiful spring day in March of 2008. He is slowly turning our sorrow into joy.