Today is not a very good day. It seems that everywhere I turn/look something is reminding me of my empty arms. Reminding me of the baby that should be crawling around the house. Reminding me of the crack in my heart from the last year of disappointment. Some days I feel like I’ve got this whole life after loss thing down. I’ve got the smiles and the “I’m ok” or the “it is what it is” answers ready. I don’t cry in my sleep or break down in sobs at random moments anymore. I’m holding myself together nicely. But that’s a big fat lie. I’m not holding anything together. I’m a huge mess. It’s only by the grace of my loving Father that I’m up and out of bed everyday. It’s only by the mercies He shows me with each new day that I’m functioning as Audrey’s parent, and Adam’s wife. It’s days like today, where it seems I can’t escape the heartbreak, no matter how hard I try, that I realize just how much I’m relying on my excellent Savior.
Audrey has been hyper focused on the story of Jesus’ death on the cross the last couple weeks. She opens her children’s bible and finds the illustration of Jesus wearing that crown of thorns and begs me to read it. She tells me, “Jesus died on the cross, Mama, read it” she points to his wounds and tells me his booboos must have been like George Mason’s, too big for bandaids. Even the story of the most amazing gift makes me long for my sweet son. Audrey doesn’t understand yet that those holes in Jesus’ hands and the big wound on his side are the reason her brother is in heaven. She doesn’t understand the massive amount of grace that was poured out on us in that moment. She just knows that Jesus died and for whatever reason it made the highlight reel of the story of Jesus. I know that her focus on this particular story is a gift in this season of my life. As I get further from George Mason’s day, I easily forget how much I need my God, but reading the depiction of his death on that cross over and over makes it so abundantly clear how much I need him. It makes me run toward that cross when all I think I want is to turn away. It makes me see the cost of the grace that assures me my son is in the most amazing place. It reminds me that my son’s life was precious, so precious in fact, that if he had been the only person who needed grace, Jesus would have still died simply for him. Except George Mason wasn’t the only person that needed grace, and Jesus was the perfect, and final payment for all that grace. As a mama who can’t hold her baby and teach him about the cross, I am beyond thankful for that story and for what it means for my baby who was gone from this earth far too quickly.
I’m trying not to have a bad attitude about losing my son. I’m trying to grieve his life while also rejoicing in his salvation. I’m trying to be respectful of his life and my needs in this grief while also continuing in my calling as Audrey’s mama, as Adam’s wife, as friend, sister, daughter. That story, this cross, reminds me that I can’t go it alone. That it is impossible for me to be all the things to all the people. But what is really exciting, is that God is exactly that: all the things to all the people. AMEN TO THAT.
Today is a bad day, and that sucks, but it’s not the end of the story. Today, my heart hurts and there are tears welling up in the crevices of my eyes, but God is gracious and He has never not been exactly what I need. Exactly enough. No, abundantly more than enough. God is going to wipe these tears. Maybe not today, or even this year, but He promises that one day there will be no more tears, and that until that day, He will be my Shepherd. My son is in glory. He is spending eternity with his good and excellent savior. That is something to be joyful about on even the gloomiest, most emotional, heavy of days.
“For the Lamb in the midst of the throne will be their shepherd, and he will guide them to springs of living water, and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.” - Revelation 7:17