This Shore, Part III

Continued from This Shore, Parts I and II

*****
Jubilee was born around noon that day, and that afternoon we shared her with our family and friends.  We passed her around and kissed her and held her and just looked at her for hours and hours, memorizing her sweet face and the weight of her tiny frame.  

Her brother came, not long after she arrived.  And, my goodness, the blessing that meeting was to my heart!  In his overalls and his blond curls, he came running into the room, so happy to see his mommy and daddy, and crawled up into my lap. 

His daddy held her and he peered into the blanket and drank her in just like we had.  “Her yiddle nose!  And yiddle fingers!”  And as he looked, I reminded him of all the praying we had done and the bandaids we had put on Jubilee’s bunny, and I explained with tears in my eyes and the greatest joy on my lips that Jesus had taken away all of her bandaids and that she was in Heaven now with Jesus and his other little sister Eden and that she was not sick anymore.  And my sweet boy didn’t see any brokenness or hurt, he heard only his momma’s happy words and saw only the beautiful craftsmanship of his God and he felt only pride for his new title as big brother and love for the yiddle nose and fingers that he couldn’t look away from.  In those moments, my son taught me how to see the world the way God does- with eternity in mind and beauty and grace and gifts abounding, and only joy joy joy because God is always good.

We snuggled as long as a two year old in a hospital room full of people can snuggle, and then he went home with his grandparents.  We took more pictures and gave more hugs and slowly the room cleared out and it was just us and our girl.  

And I just held her.  I just drank her in and smelled her whispy blond hair and gently kissed her forehead.  I tucked her blanket more tightly around her, slipped my finger into her tiny ones and did everything I could to capture every last detail in my memory. My eyes couldn’t soak in enough of her, and I desperately worked at memorizing all of her.  Her daddy took her and I watched him do the same.  We took turns holding her for a while and then we knew it was time to say goodbye.  We prayed over our girl and we read Psalm 100 again because you can never, ever have enough reminders to shout for joy and can never be reassured enough that God is faithful to all generations.

The hardest moments followed.  I held her wrapped up in the soft blanket in my arms and the tears began to fall.  I wept because I didn’t know how to hand my daughter to a nurse, knowing she would not be coming back.  I didn’t know how to send her off out of the room and not chase her down and hold her in my arms forever.  I looked up at her daddy and told him so.  And I’ll never forget his words to me, and he’ll never know the gift he is to me or the depth of my gratitude for the way he carried my burden for me that day.  

Through tears I tried to articulate the words of my heart, “I can’t do it.  I don’t know how...I don’t know how to let her go and just give her to someone to take away for always.”

And that’s when my husband touched my arm, looked into my heart, and took my yoke, carrying it as his own.  He has never looked more like Jesus.  He told me I didn't have to- that I could just hand her to him and that he would take care of her for me.

Tears slipping down my cheeks, I passed her to him.  I could hand her to her daddy.  Her daddy’s arms were safe and strong and he knew her and loved her as much as I did. I could surrender her to them.  And with longing arms, and a breaking heart, I did.  And he held her there, kissed her, and stood.  I watched them then, taking one last picture of her with my heart.  Her tiny blond head resting on blankets in her daddy’s arm- and from that angle, she looked just like a healthy little newborn baby.  And that’s how I wanted to remember her- just like that- safe and loved in her daddy’s arms.  

What happened next, the tear-filled, gut-wrenching moments and days and months that followed, are miraculously erased by the hand of Grace when I remember where she is now: safe and loved in her Daddy’s arms.

*****

Its time to swim back to shore.  I stand up in the sand, the waves lapping at my feet, always lapping.  And I’m dripping with the salty waters of remembering, the sea water softly sliding down my cheeks in this little corner of the coffee shop in town.  And this place along the beach, standing here soaking wet again, knees red and skinned from the battering and lungs burning from the swim, I have never been more grateful for this place.  This place where the shores of joy and the ocean of sorrow meet.  I’ve never been more grateful for The One who knows when I need to feel again, to swim in the deep and grieve and feel and remember, and the One who firmly plants my feet back on the sand. I’ve never been more grateful for The Story He’s written- for hers, and for His, because hers is His, and I want to forever be a part of it, this beach and His story. I forever want to find myself walking along this shore, feet planted on the foundation of joy, waves of heartache lapping over my feet so I never forget where I’ve been, what He’s done, and where I'm going.  

Its the ocean that reminds me how desperately I need my Rescuer.  

I look up, and the snow is falling slowly in large flakes outside.  My husband and son are waiting for me, curled up on the couch at home this morning, and there’s a little flutter in my belly reminding me of another one who will soon be here.  And there it is- the sway of the palms against the brilliant blue sky and the rest of the breathtaking view.  Still dripping, hair matted by the waves and lung tired, I start walking again, drinking in all the gifts of now, and I am singing His praises as the waves lap at my feet.  

Praise the Lord, my soul; all my inmost being, praise His holy name. Psalm 103:1