Back to the Beginning III: Missing Her Footsteps

It's 3:30am. I was awakened an hour and a half ago and sleep is elusive. Thoughts of my baby girl blanket me. I've purposely distracted myself these past couple days, not allowing myself to just sit with my tears. I'm afraid they won't stop. I'm looking at her precious photo and footprints we've recently gotten framed, and I can't help but weep. My baby girl is memorialized on the mantle when all I really want is to feel her warm soft body against mine. A photo can't hug you back. Footprints can't be stroked or kissed like little toddler toes can. My mommy heart wants to hear those little feet patter into my room at 4 am as she wakes up wanting to sleep with mommy. 

I probably shouldn't be typing at this time: early hours, sleep deprived, and wallowing in my tears. I need to redirect. So, dive (or fly- your pick) into day five with me: the day of sea creatures and birds. 

These sea creatures were placed among the waves; the birds among the wind. I'm reminded the same waves that threaten to capsize my boat still hold life. The same winds that threaten to knock me over still carry the birds. The water and air teem with life. Even amid our storm there is life all around me: life God has blessed and called "good". 

Frankly, there are moments I wish He didn't extend His hand towards me, keeping me above said waves. Some days I can't imagine Him not doing so as I clasp and cling to life. I vacillate between these two schools, sometimes multiple times a day. Some days I want to sink beneath the waves- where the storm is less violent and my screams are muted. Other days I gasp for deep breaths of precious air as He keeps my head afloat. Some days I see the birds and feel the wind, wishing so badly He'd blow this pain off me, out of me. This pain that anchors me to a sinking ship. Or so it seems. Truth and feelings aren't always parallel. I want to fly away on the same wind far from this storm. But that would mean letting go of the arm that clasps my clawing hands which are slippery and wet with sadness. 

God blessed those creatures of the sea and birds of air. That's where He placed them. Of course they're blessed. But beneath the waves or on the wind? That's not where He placed me. I cannot sink, nor can I fly away. 

We'll dip our toes into the front end of day six. The living land creatures. The land now holds life as well, and it's wild, creeping, crawling, moving life! 

I couldn't help but think prior to this the land had a barren time: before the plants, before the sea creatures and birds. There was a time minus the wild, moving, thriving life. All was still. The wild and moving life was centered in the sea and air-just out of reach. The land was just watching, awaiting it's turn. It was watching life move and live all around it; meanwhile there were no sounds of footsteps yet to be heard across it's soil. But land was not forgotten. It held a purpose known only to God. Neither are we forgotten. You are not forgotten. There is purpose, some of which only known by God. There will be "life" - moving, wild, exciting life again one day in our "land". His words still have power- even here on the land we now find ourselves. And lest we need reminding, while our home is now void of the wild, full life of Abigail it is still teeming with three wildly precious lives of whom we do still hear footsteps. Three lives also watching and missing the sounds of her as well. 

There are five people now in our home. And all five grieve differently. Watching our children grieve the loss of their sister compounds grief in that not only are our hearts breaking over the death of our child, but we're also grieving over their loss of a much doted upon sister. I could not shield my three year old from death, and I cannot shield my three other children from pain, deep pain. At seven and nine I never knew this depth of pain. The weight of guiding them through this is so heavy. Weary as I am, I remember Jesus said something about what to do with those heavy burdens. 

I cannot necessarily see the good He will speak into their lives (and ours) through this. But I know He knew what their future held before they took their first breath. And He knows all it holds until they take their last. They haven't been forgotten. He will breathe life into the barrenness: theirs and ours.