Happy 3rd Heaven Day

Happy Heaven Day, Gwenny.

Three years ago today, at 3:30am in the morning, you 'fell asleep' in my arms.

debunking Heaven myths

Good morning! 

I'm sitting in a lovely condo in downtown Houston, listening to the sounds of the rushing traffic outside (unusual for me; unless you count gators and CAT equipment as traffic.) Cai and I tagged along with Blair and some friends for their camp marketing trips. Cai is currently napping, which gives me a bit of time to think, reflect and blog.

a late night prayer

It's late for me (10:24pm to be exact, which yes, I know is not "late" for most of the world). Malacai is sleeping in his crib, in his room, for the first time tonight, so I think that has me a bit wired and edgy. One benefit of his moving to his room is an open space for me to think, and so tonight I'm thinking of my daughter.

Heaven Day

Gwen's headstone was put in this past weekend, and we got to see it today. It turned out nicely, which makes me happy. Happier still is the day when it will be broken and undone, because the Lord will resurrect her little body. What a glory we can look forward to!

chapter 11

I need to start tagging my posts... since i'm pretty sure that this journey is a spiral, and the things i say and conclusions i come to are cyclical.

I've been reading through John for my quiet times. The character of the Lord is so difficult for me to grasp, especially since Jesus' earthly ministry was jam-packed with miracle after miracle, which we don't always see today.

Some observations from John 11:

1) The sisters believed that on the basis of Jesus' love for Lazarus, he would come to them quickly and heal their brother. (11:3) Not an absurd belief at all - I do that every day. Because Blair loves me, I have certain expectations for his actions towards me. If i didn't believe that Blair's love translated to everyday realities, I would have a very low, disconnected view of our marriage and his affection for me. Jesus' love has implications in our day to day life. But i also have a narrow view of what His love for me should look like: I want His love for me to feel soft, to be easy, to always be about comforting me and giving me what I think I need. (there's an ugly, honest truth.)

2) Jesus is about the glory of God. (11:4) and not unfeelingly - He just sees a greater picture than we can see, and He does not stop at what would solely fulfill our emotional desires, but goes beyond that to meet both: the glory of God and the redemption of Man.

3) Jesus purposefully re-enters a city that's dangerous for Him. (11:7) He walks confidently into danger, persecution, reviling, because it is the will of God and He values God and His glory over Himself.

4) Jesus refers to physical death as sleep. (11:11) He sees it as a transient state - true death is separation from God for an eternity.

5) Jesus intimates that healing does not always lead to belief (11:15). I think Jesus rejected sensationalism, and didn't want a fan crowd that only followed Him because He did the miraculous. Jesus could've been present in Bethany and healed a very sick Lazarus. But He held back. Why? Because He wanted Martha, Mary, His disciples, and the crowd to know that He is the Resurrection and the Life.

(Here's where i'm pausing in my study.) Would I have simply given glory to God if He had healed Gwen? Would my life had continued as it was, with her birth experience being just a hiccup and a scare? Would I have been changed? Would my desire to know God be fueled? Would my passion for others to have hope been recharged? Would I long for heaven?

and what about Gwen? Did Jesus in His love for Gwen keep her where she is??? Because He sees Heaven, knows how much better it is than anything the world could offer... than I could offer, and wants that for her? Did the dead who rose in the Bible times really enjoy being brought back into this life? Did they not feel cheated out of paradise for the time being?

Just food for my thoughts.

amputee

We're waiting on a phone call from Dr. Conway, the head doctor of labor and delivery at the hospital. They've been running tests on my placenta to see if they can determine what went wrong with Gwen's labor.

I don't want her to have anything conclusive. I don't want her to tell me that something is wrong with my body, that i did something wrong during pregnancy or labor, or that my body should not try to conceive again. These, i think, are the worst possible things she could say to me.

A friend sent the book, Holding On To Hope by Nancy Guthrie. I'm only in the 1st chapter and already have been so grateful to fully resonate with another woman:

"Our culture wants to put the Band-Aid of heaven on the hurt of losing someone we love. Sometimes it seems like the people around us think that because we know the one we love is in heaven, we shouldn't be sad. But they don't understand how far away heaven feels, and how long the future seems as we see before us the years we have to spend on this earth before we see the one we love again." 


Now i have definitely not felt the first section... people are so gracious to me in my grief, crying with me and encouraging me to continue to cry out to the Lord. But heaven does feel so far away. And while i hope in heaven, and have the security of heaven awaiting me, i feel the loss of "upcoming" hope. I hoped for October 14. I lived in constant anticipation of Gwen's birth. I reveled in every baby blanket, cloth diaper, and knit hat i planned on her wearing. I looked forward to sewing her christmas stocking, excited to take her for holidays with the family. When i finally started having contractions, I was unable to sleep, even though they were light. And every moment during labor brought me closer to her, and that made the pain of contractions bearable.

Now i have no 'upcoming' hope. Nothing awaiting me, nothing joyful on the horizon. I love my husband, i love our ministry, i love my life. those are still all good things, and i'm very thankful for them. but i am missing something small, round and pink, weighing a beautiful 10 pounds, 1 ounce. I identify with Nancy,

"Part of my heart is no longer mine. I gave it to [Gwendolyn] and she took it with her, and i will forever feel that amputation."