Happy 3rd Heaven Day

Happy Heaven Day, Gwenny.

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

birthday post script

There were a few interesting things about your birthday today, Gwenny.

First, while I was pulling out the wish lanterns that we would send to the heavens later this evening, I accidentally tumbled over a shoebox. To my surprise, the shoebox was filled with old love letters from your dad, and our long lost wedding vows! I have searched high and low for those vows, but never found them until today. That was a gift in itself for me, and it was precious for me to be reminded that your dad and I had vowed to love each other through hardship and joys- both of which we've endured. The Spirit may not give me a picture of you yet, Gwenny, but today He reminded me that He is what has sustained my marriage, enabling us to keep what we promised each other exactly four and a half years ago today.

Second, the lighting was just right and I had just enough spark of creativity to put together a quick photo shoot of your little brother. I took a photo of him and our "gwendolamb" - a gift that a sweet friend had given us after you went Home. Gwendolamb has caught many a tear and allowed me to hug her fiercely when I've longed to hold you these past two years, and is often sporting the pink and white crochet hat that you wore while in the hospital. She's my favorite cuddly thing, and now I have "you" and Cai in a great photo together. (Good photos just make me happy, hon.)

Third, we had a birthday party for you tonight. I made you a pumpkin cake and many of the people that had known you came over. We ate a lot of sweets, sent off two wish lanterns, and sat by the fire after everyone had left.

I didn't know how to feel today, Gwen. I told the Lord this morning that I was unsure how to go about today... and was reminded that even though I may not know the layers of my heart, He does. And so even if everyone mourned/remembered/celebrated with us, or no one did - the Lord knows. There is great comfort in that, isn't there? Hmm. I just realized that it was exactly about this time that I met you face to face two years ago... what a moment that was.

I'm thankful that I can count on many more to come. I love you, Gwendolyn Hope Cushman. You have profoundly changed my life, in nearly every way imaginable. I'll see you soon.

Happy Birthday, Baby

Good morning, darling.

It's the morning of your second birthday, and I'm enjoying a cup of coffee at the kitchen table while waiting for the monkey bread to finish baking. (I've decided that monkey bread will be a birthday breakfast tradition.) From where I sit, I can see your little brother rolling all over the floor and chasing the blocks that stay temptingly out of his tiny reach. Your footprints are staring at me from Daddy's coffee mug, and I'm already teary and overwhelmed by how people are loving  our little family today.

bringing me back

Dear Gwendolyn,

I wonder if the end of summer will always bring me back to you. In 2010, the end of summer made us deliriously happy, thinking that you were so close. We started driving to San Antonio for birthing classes and once a week appointments with gusto. Back to school supplies and fall decorations flooded the stores. You dad and I went to a pumpkin farm for kicks, and you rivaled the size of an 18 pound jack-o-lantern (in my belly of course; you were a bit smaller once you were out... but just a bit.) Fall brings me back to you, making your absence "like the sky, spread over everything" once again.

I miss you, Gwen. I'm so thankful that I can look forward to seeing you, and that the grief of losing you has softened from a raging despair to a deep, abiding longing. I can hope and trust and cry at the same time. (I think this is healing?) And yet, the reality of our separation has created a yawning chasm of fear in me. I am so afraid of being separated from my Loves here. Last night I laid in bed, with a hand on both your Dad and Malacai's backs, just feeling them breathe and reminding myself that it's okay to fall asleep; they will be there in the morning.

"The Lord did not give you a spirit of fear," your dad reminded me after I woke him with my tossing and turning. And yet I am afraid. So that leaves me to conclude that I am not trusting Him... which causes me to be afraid (and I smile ruefully, recognizing the cycle.)

My problem is this: I want to want Heaven more than anything else. I want to long for it the way that Jesus tells me to. I want the reality of it to so own me that I cease to hold so tightly to everything here. But I am afraid to pray for that kind of conviction, because the Lord just might give it to me. And if He does, then will He take Blair and Cai away?

And I recognize my faulty reasoning; my thought process reveals a faulty belief about God's character. And yet...

And to think that I could have an almost two year old toddling around instead of all these fears! Oh Gwenny. What a different life I would have had. But this is God's goodness;  I am determined to discover all of it's treasures.

I love you Gwendolyn Hope Cushman. I will see you, sooner than I know.

Mom

one year; one thousand faces

Dear Gwendolyn Hope,

Happy birthday, precious one. It's 10:24pm on the night of your first birthday, and as I sit here wondering how to encapsulate 365 days into one post, I'm remembering you. I can't remember the exact time, but I know it was close to now when I was finally able to see you. I remember being wheeled through the hallways, up the stairs and praying that they were able to revive you... your heartbeat had plummeted, you know. I was so consumed by the fear that I would arrive in your NICU, and they would tell me you had passed. But the Lord sustained you -- and us -- and allowed us to love on you before you went to Jesus.

We celebrated Christ in you this past Saturday. We wanted to acknowledge your birthday, and give our humble props to God for how tenderly He moved us this year. Gwen, it was such a beautiful party. It was just how it should be - beautiful, full of friends and laughter. It's just what we wanted. And we got to light a wish lantern! Did you see it, lovely?

(Oh Gwen. I am anxious for the right words to say, as if I only get one chance to speak to you! Thank God we have all of eternity.)

In the last year, I've often felt like God gave you the best... and I've been thankful for that. But have held a hurt, begrudging heart toward Him as if to say, "Lord, you gave her the best... but you gave us the short end of the stick." Yet somehow in the past few months, the Lord is shifting my theory.

Gwen, I have seen Christ in one thousand faces. I have been touched, hugged, and kissed by Him every day for the past year. I have been fed meals, sent cards, had my house cleaned, been provided for financially, been given memorial gifts, vacations, days off from responsibilities... all little gifts of Love to salve my broken heart. I love your dad more now than I thought possible. I value life, family and friends more dearly. I (hope) am more empathetic and compassionate to ALL suffering, no matter the cause. I LONG for Heaven - that in itself is a miracle! I know the character of God in a way that I honestly would never have attempted to find.

And maybe, darling, it sounds terrible. You know that I love you; that is unchangeable. But I don't know that I could trade what God has done in me to have you here... what kind of a mother would I have been? Selfish, consumed, petty, close-minded. (I am obviously not perfect, and struggle in a thousand ways.) But Gwendolyn - I know Jesus better. And I know that you value Him above all else... so I think it's okay that I can value Him and knowing Him above you.

This wasn't the short end of the stick for your dad and me. This was His best for us too... just in a much more raw, unimaginable way. God's best may seem like a stone to me, but that doesn't change the truth. And the truth is that He always intended you for Heaven, and us to grow from your death and our short separation.

So here we are... 365 days later, one year closer. I think I wanted today to be some kind of "sob day", where I felt close to you and full of you. I was looking behind Gwendolyn, instead of ahead. Because what you and I have is yet to come! I have all of paradise to chase, tickle, laugh, explore, dream, and create with you.

Our best is coming soon... closer by the day. In the meantime: Gwen, I love you deeply and am so profoundly thankful to be your mom. God took this unformed, unresponsive clay and wet it with the tears and prayers from one thousand friends, family and strangers who have loved you. He began to pull, stretch, roll and shape me into something useable... something of value. I am so humbled to be your mother.

I love you deeply, forever and ever.

Mom



If you were one of the amazing friends who have loved, prayed, written, served, gave, or in some other humble way have loved us --- please know that Christ used you to shape us, drawing us closer to Himself and into His likeness. He is sufficient, and He works through His children. 


And if you do not know Him... can I tell you that you are missing out on the best thing that will ever happen to you? There is no hope, no future, no paradise awaiting you without Him. Don't miss out. 


Christ - You saved me. From eternity away from you, yes. But You also graciously saved me from a year spent in bitterness, anger and depression, have saved my marriage from becoming torn apart by grief, and have sustained my relationships with those who still have earthly children. You have redeemed my soul, and I love you so much more. Thank you for being the best part of my life. 

Gwendolyn Hope Cushman

October 18, 2010 - October 20, 2010

First time we ever saw her was this photo.

a new leaf

Dear Gwenny,

Hello Sweetheart! Happy Fall. Though we're in a drought and everything stays brown here, I can close my eyes and imagine the fall leaves and "sweater weather" that I love so much. (I wonder if there are seasons in Heaven?) Right now I'm enjoying a hot chai and listening to Pachelbel, wondering what your days are like in Glory.

a new canvas

Before Gwen was born, I started writing her letters. Not very many... less than I wish. But I cataloged the pregnancy with her, and told her about our life in progress, waiting for her arrival. Since she's been in Heaven, I've kept up with writing her. I have this idea that just maybe God reads her my thoughts, and when I see her again she'll understand me a little better for it.

letter #4

Hi sweetheart.

Do you know that there's not a holiday about children? At least, I don't think that there is. Tomorrow is Mother's Day. But what does tomorrow mean for me without you? It means sympathy hugs, instead of laughter and shared anecdotes. It means awkward looks instead of smiles. It means a quiet house, instead of breakfast in bed with a six and a half month old baby. It means lots of tears, and not all of them worth crying.