I came to faith at a very young age, so I feel like there is very little of my life without knowing Jesus. I have strayed, as most do at some point, but even in my straying I have always known and felt God has been with me. Some claim to hear God speak often. While I do feel the Holy Spirit and his leading in my life, I haven't had many occasions where I have heard God speak to me. I think if we were honest most of us don't, at least not in the way some think and like to portray or us crazy Christians. So anyway, here is my story of hearing God speak to me.
The night before our sweet Koralyn died I was standing by her bed talking to God. Not out loud of course, which sometimes I do when alone, but talking to him none the less. My pleas went something like this. God you cannot take my baby from me, you have already taken my grandma and my mom and if you take my only daughter I will not make it. There is no way I can walk out of this hospital and go on living if you take my daughter God. Please just not that Lord. Don't ask me to do this, I have already had to bury too many, not her Lord, not this. Please God, Please. Later in the PICU bathroom, I got down on my face and prayed that the Lord would please send us a miracle, I knew he could do it if he wanted to. So please let us, let Koralyn be a miracle. As I finished my prayer on my hands and knees in that bathroom I told God I wanted this miracle more then anything I have ever wanted but that ultimately it was His will not mine. If he decided against a miracle please give us the strength to go on somehow. Your will, God not mine oh but please can our wills be the same this time.
Earlier, as I was pleading with God and standing by my daughter's hospital bed holding her hand, I heard God speaking to me. Not audibly of course, like some big booming voice in the movies, but I knew it was him. You see as I was telling God I wouldn't be able to live if he took my daughter, a song suddenly started playing in my head. This song wasn't one I grew up hearing all that often. It wasn't a family favorite or one I had even heard more then a few times. Yet suddenly, this songs chorus kept replaying in my mind. "Because He lives, I can face tomorrow. Because He lives, all fear is gone. Because I know, He holds the future, and life is worth the living just because He lives." I think standing there in that moment, I knew my daughter was going to die. God was telling me, "I am going to take her Kenda, but you can go on living, because I live and that will be enough. Sometimes it may not feel like, these days ahead will be your darkest yet, but rest assured dear one, you can indeed go on living, because I live."
Fast forward a day or two and we are at the cemetery to pick our daughter's plot. The care taker took us to the baby section first. The cemetery where Koralyn is buried is considered historic and was started sometime in the late 1800s. The baby section is located in a newer, less used part. I immediately hated it. Unlike the rest of the place, this section had no trees and in July, standing there for just a few minutes I was burning up. It felt so bright and blistering hot. I stood there and thought about my baby in that ground next to the other babies and I hated it. I didn't want her to be hot and in the constant unforgiving Texas sun. I of course know its not her, only her body but it just didn't seem right. So the nice man, in his boat shoes and his Carnival cruise shirt, told us he had some spots open in the more historic part of the cemetery. I told him yes, please take us there because I hate this place.
We stopped in front of two very large trees near the back of the graveyard. He told us which plots were available. I liked this spot much better, I could see myself coming to visit her here. Sitting with her and bringing her flowers and such. As we were standing there, my Aunt pointed out the cross directly in front of the spot we had decided on. It had the name Sheila on it. Sheila was my Aunt that passed away from a brain tumor years earlier. She was an awesome fun lady, and I have many happy memories that include her. I walked over to look at the front of the cross and noticed a bench. On the pink marble bench were engraved the words, Because He Lives, I Can Face Tomorrow. I knew in that moment that this was the spot I wanted my daughter to be buried in. As I have visited her grave often in the past two years, I have noticed how many other babies and children are near her grave. Some living a month, others a few years. Some buried the same times as their mothers. Some lived and died all in one day. As I stand over these graves I often wonder if my Koralyn has met these precious souls. I picture her up in heaven knowing of me, knowing these other children who were probably as loved and as missed as she has been. I take comfort in that, and one day I picture meeting all these beloved souls myself. I often go to the bench and marvel at how God can speak to us even today, if we are willing to listen. I don't believe that bench just happens to be there because of coincidence or fate. I believe its because of God and his care for the brokenhearted.
Then on the 2nd anniversary of Koralyn's death, we found ourselves far from her grave and asked friends to take her flowers and balloons so her grave would not be bare. I had a hard time being away from her grave on that day, but took comfort in the fact that my sweet friends were taking her special things. Again not that I believe Koralyn is there, I know she is not. Her grave is all I have left on this earth to take care of for her. As a mother I want so badly to take care of her, and visiting her grave and keeping it nice and decorated is a way I can tangibly do that here on earth.
We had decided to take a quick family vacation to Arkansas. Our original vacation to Boston was canceled, when just a few days before, it was determined the time had come for my dad to be put on hospice. While in Arkansas, I decided we were so close to Branson that we should detour and take our boys to Silver Dollar City. This theme park is based on an 1880s mining town and celebrates American craftsmen and the good ol days. I have some very good memories of going to Silver Dollar City with my dad, my cousins, and my grandparents. So we thought this heavy day, would be a perfect day to go have fun and make happy memories with our boys. It was a very bittersweet day. As I walked the park and remembered the happy memories my Dad tried to make for me, during a very scary time in my life, as my parents divorced and I moved around. It was made even more bittersweet by the fact that my sister had told me,that morning, that Dad's condition was starting to deteriorate rapidly. He seemed confused and a lot of his talking was jibberish. He didn't really want to eat or drink much either and was sleeping a lot. I remember standing on a bridge waiting for the boys to ride the Log Ride with their daddy, and thinking about the weight of all this death and grief. I wondered what it would be like to take our Koralyn to a theme park, would she enjoy riding in her stroller and people watching. I remembered my grandfather Pop, and my dad, trying hard to give me good memories here and how strange it was that Pop had been gone for awhile, and now it wouldn't be long until his second son, my dad would join him. I thought back to those days with my young dad, thought about what I would do differently, what I would do again. I also thanked God that I had these moments and memories and that I could make new ones with my boys. Part of that description of being joyful and yet having grief as a constant companion.
It so happens that there is a little chapel at Silver Dollar City. In this chapel they actually hold weddings and church services and hymn sing alongs, just like in those good ol days. Well I wanted to go into the chapel as we passed it that morning. The boys protested of course, so Amos offered to stay with them outside while I went in and sat awhile in this quaint place. As I walked up to the door that morning, July 25, 2014. 2 years to the day our Koralyn died, I realized people were inside singing. Normally that would be enough to make me turn around, but as I got closer and opened the door, it hit me what song they were singing. Because He lives, I can face tomorrow, because He lives, all fear is gone... I sat down in a back pew in utter amazement and disbelief. I sat and sang and listened to the song, the song that in many ways has carried me over the last two years. I sat in awe at the wonder and care of God for my broken heart. You see, I don't believe that they were singing that song, on that day, in that little chapel by coincidence. I believe that our big God cares enough about the little things in our lives, and he knew just what I needed to keep me going on that sad day, and in the weeks to come, as I would sit with my dying dad. For me, hearing that song again in that moment, was reassurance that Jesus does indeed live. He sees me and my broken heart, He knows me and what I need. He cares for all of us who mourn and are brokenhearted. He lives and He is in every detail of our lives. That moment for me breathed life into the dark and dead places and was a sweet reminder of his care of me and for me. Indeed, as I have learned over the last two years, I can keep going, because He lives.
No comments:
Post a Comment