Honey Again
"Tired" is a word that seems to have been plastered across my forehead for the past...well...weeks. I suppose that's what comes with mothering a toddler while pregnant. At any rate, I went to bed at a decent time tonight and tried to fall asleep. I tried to convince myself to let my head sink into my pillow and let the rest of me just settle into rest.
But then, the tears came. I couldn't manage to get the family I mentioned in one of my first blog posts ("God is Good") out of my head. The Pearsons' little girl, Paxten Reede, went to be with Jesus this afternoon after battling leukemia since December 2010. She would have been two in March this year. She left behind an incredible legacy and parents whose faith and candidness throughout this difficult journey have touched the lives of countless people.
I can't even fathom that sense of grief. I just find myself at a loss for the appropriate words, crying out for God to wrap that family up in His arms, feeling grateful that He's bigger than the hurt down here--grateful that this life is just a blink in the scope of eternity and that Heaven offers a "forever" to make up for lost time here on earth.
Anna and I have been praying nightly for Paxten for awhile now. I would mention her name and Anna would often say, "Paxten so sick." As we prayed, I found myself joining the hundreds of other people who became linked to this family aching for miracles. I'll admit I felt substantial disappointment mixed with sadness when I heard the news that God opted to heal Paxten by letting this life end rather than heal her according to the terms I had drawn up so neatly somewhere in the back of my head.
I know that His ways are not my ways and that His will is infinitely greater than my own. I know those things.
Moments like this make it hard to shove my perspective out of the way long enough to remember that, though. I guess that's why prayer continues to be so important. I keep reminding myself that prayer is a discipline and a communication line--a life line. It can't be picked apart, watered down, and viewed as a guaranteed means of calling in healing or asking for grief to vanish in 30 minutes like a divine pizza order. God loves us more than that; He gets us more than that, and He has so much more in store for us than we can even begin to process.
My Anna has been having a hard time with bedtime (and sleeping through the night) lately. She wants to "rock-a-bye Mommy" until she falls asleep every night, even though a couple of months ago, she was much more willing to fall asleep on her own. We're working on it.
As part of our nightly ritual, she wants me to be her personal juke box. For the past week or so, she has wanted to hear primarily one portion of one song on loop. The song is this one for those of you who know the tune:
Jesus
Jesus
Holy and Annointed One
Jesus
Your name is like honey to my lips
Your spirit like water to my soul
Your word is a lamp unto my feet
Jesus, I love you
I love you
It took me awhile to figure out what Anna was saying when she kept insisting from her spot perched on my shoulder, "Honey 'gain." Now, I honestly look forward to singing "Honey Again." Singing the chorus on repeat tonight as I rocked her felt like therapy. The song became full of emotion for me--a sort of surrender.
Now, this woman who finds rambling so easy, is starting to come to a loss for more words tonight. I guess I'll just end this here. Good night, all.
But then, the tears came. I couldn't manage to get the family I mentioned in one of my first blog posts ("God is Good") out of my head. The Pearsons' little girl, Paxten Reede, went to be with Jesus this afternoon after battling leukemia since December 2010. She would have been two in March this year. She left behind an incredible legacy and parents whose faith and candidness throughout this difficult journey have touched the lives of countless people.
I can't even fathom that sense of grief. I just find myself at a loss for the appropriate words, crying out for God to wrap that family up in His arms, feeling grateful that He's bigger than the hurt down here--grateful that this life is just a blink in the scope of eternity and that Heaven offers a "forever" to make up for lost time here on earth.
Anna and I have been praying nightly for Paxten for awhile now. I would mention her name and Anna would often say, "Paxten so sick." As we prayed, I found myself joining the hundreds of other people who became linked to this family aching for miracles. I'll admit I felt substantial disappointment mixed with sadness when I heard the news that God opted to heal Paxten by letting this life end rather than heal her according to the terms I had drawn up so neatly somewhere in the back of my head.
I know that His ways are not my ways and that His will is infinitely greater than my own. I know those things.
Moments like this make it hard to shove my perspective out of the way long enough to remember that, though. I guess that's why prayer continues to be so important. I keep reminding myself that prayer is a discipline and a communication line--a life line. It can't be picked apart, watered down, and viewed as a guaranteed means of calling in healing or asking for grief to vanish in 30 minutes like a divine pizza order. God loves us more than that; He gets us more than that, and He has so much more in store for us than we can even begin to process.
My Anna has been having a hard time with bedtime (and sleeping through the night) lately. She wants to "rock-a-bye Mommy" until she falls asleep every night, even though a couple of months ago, she was much more willing to fall asleep on her own. We're working on it.
As part of our nightly ritual, she wants me to be her personal juke box. For the past week or so, she has wanted to hear primarily one portion of one song on loop. The song is this one for those of you who know the tune:
Jesus
Jesus
Holy and Annointed One
Jesus
Your name is like honey to my lips
Your spirit like water to my soul
Your word is a lamp unto my feet
Jesus, I love you
I love you
It took me awhile to figure out what Anna was saying when she kept insisting from her spot perched on my shoulder, "Honey 'gain." Now, I honestly look forward to singing "Honey Again." Singing the chorus on repeat tonight as I rocked her felt like therapy. The song became full of emotion for me--a sort of surrender.
Now, this woman who finds rambling so easy, is starting to come to a loss for more words tonight. I guess I'll just end this here. Good night, all.
Lacey, I love you so much! I'm at a loss for words... How blessed I am as I hear your heart through your words. Thanks so much for sharing.
ReplyDelete