His preemie sized shirt had the sleeves rolled up to the armpit seam because even the tiniest of baby clothing swallowed him whole. His broken hearted mom and dad were so gracious, receiving their friends and loved ones with hugs, thank you's, and tear stained cheeks. They're wonderful people. Wonderful people experiencing such horrific pain and sorrow.
After we got our own two precious miracles home and settled in for the evening I meandered in and checked my email, Facebook, Twitter, blah, blah, blah. A few kind hearted people had written things such as "It was a nice service" and "Such a nice way to remember him".
I felt rage well up within me. No, not toward these people. They are right, in a sense. Pastor Mark did a phenomenal job leading a "nice" service. His message was exactly what Robin and Tommy needed to hear, the song selection seemed perfect.
But all I wanted to do was stand up in my pew and scream at the top of my lungs like a crazy lunatic! I wanted to pick up a chair and throw it across the room! I HATE THIS! It's not right that a mother who has waited 48 years to experience the amazing and unexplainable love that is shared between her heart and her child is sitting through his funeral! It's not okay with me that next week marks what should be the ninth birthday of my friend's son, but instead she'll be decorating his headstone with Spiderman balloons! I HATE IT that every time I see anything more than a few flowers placed together it takes me back to a day two years ago when our church had thousands upon thousands of flowers lined up on walls, tucked in corners, piled up in the foyer, practically on the roof because our pastor was killed before our very eyes 4 days prior. I can't even go in the gardening center entrance at Walmart because the sweet smell of flowers smacks me in the face like a Louisville slugger, instantly jarring me back to the moment I watched a man stand over Fred and shoot him! I HATE THIS! I HATE death and destruction. I don't understand it. The Bible tells us that satan comes to "steal, kill, and destroy". And I hate to be such a Debbie Downer, but satan's pretty good at his job. And I HATE him for it. I HATE satan and the pain he inflicts on God's children.
Usually, I try to use my blog to communicate positive messages. To see the bright side, the silver lining, the lemons-into-lemonade stuff. But today I've got nothing for you.
Well, that's not totally true. Yes, this post is mainly because it's after midnight, I have to get up for my last day of work in 6 hours, and when I lay in bed and close my eyes the only thing I see is Ethan's tiny body.
And all I want to do is run straight out my back door, barefoot and in my PINE t-shirt, all the way to the cemetery, dig through the mud with my hands, and pray for God to raise Ethan up, just like He did a few thousand years ago in the story of Ezekiel and the dry bones. And I sob. And I have to go kiss my children while they sleep.
But I do have a glimmer of hope.
A glimmer so dim tonight that I'm having a hard time believing it's anything more than a mirage.
God's Word not only warns us of satan's ruthless tactics, but He offers reprieve from the attack of pain and suffering. Stop for a moment. You need to be ready for this. You've heard it recited gajillions of times. But this time make it real in your life. This is for you!
Matthew 11:28 records Jesus saying, "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest."
It sounds so elementary, but when I picture Him saying this, I see him with his rough dark skin, his messy beard, and his dirt-underneath fingernails leading the way as he extends His perfect hands toward me. His eyes make my heart skip a beat. Kinda like when Tim kissed me for the first time, but only different...way better, and in a father-daughter kind of way and not a husband-wife kind of way. The rough-and-tumble man strangely appeals to my aching heart. I'm so tired that I just want to collapse into those arms; the same arms that bear such ugly and wrinkled scars, the kind you see in movies that make you gasp. But these scars don't make me gasp in horror. They break my heart and mend it all at once. As he wraps me in His embrace, I feel a warmth I've never felt before. No, I'm not hot, but the warmth penetrates beyond my flesh a bones. I feel complete. It's not that I've forgotten about how bad it hurt when I lost my first baby to miscarriage on Mother's Day 4 years ago. No, I'm not "over" Fred's death. But this man, the one they call "Savior", the one people have mocked, watered-down, and hidden is suddenly nothing more and nothing less than mine. Right here, right now. I am His. He is mine. I am His. He is mine. His glory, His perfection, His LOVE is so much bigger than my heartache, my hatred, my pain-so-deep-it-triggers-my-gag-reflex.
For a moment, I'll close my eyes and try to imagine what it will be like to spend countless, literally countless, days living in that healing cradle of His arms. The Bible teases me by telling me that heaven is greater than anything I can even try to dream up. Even when I squint my eyes and try really hard, I'm not even scratching the surface. But for now, I'll take my weariness and burden and rest in Him. Yep, I still hurt, I still want to puke, and I'm still mad as a hornet, but someday I won't.
Holy Lord, precious Savior, my great Healer. Thank you. Thank you for the gift of new life, and the promise of healing. I don't understand your ways sometimes. But your plans are better. Your will is greater. You are a really great God! Tonight many of us are hurting, and we desperately need you. Please bring your healing presence to aching hearts everywhere tonight, sweet Jesus. Specifically, I pray for Robin and Tommy as they mourn for Ethan. I pray for Daven, one of the sweetest women you've ever created, as she begins another year without her firstborn. And I pray for Cindy, as she gears up for another summer of single parenting. God- we need You. Please come. Please heal us!
Love,
The Crazy Lunatic
