it always comes too soon

I am going to be brutally honest: 

I did not plan on going to calling hours Sunday night. 

I didn't want to go. 

I told Anita I wasn't going. 

At 5:25, when I left the farm after celebrating Landon's birthday, my plan was to go home. 

Because to go to calling hours and see Dax's body and hug his family would be hard.

Flashback triggering.

Uncomfortable.

Teary.

And I wanted easy, mindless comfort.

God had other plans.

As I approached town, it was if my car was on autopilot and I found myself in the First Church of Christ parking lot 15 minutes before visitation was to begin. I noticed others gathering at the door, so I grabbed kleenex and stuck them in my cardigan pocket "just in case". 

I was right.

It was hard and uncomfortable and teary. 

But what has happened before will happen again. If I am able, I will always choose to go to visitation. Because life isn't about me and my comfort. Dax's battle against cancer is a boulder his family has carried for most of his life. Now the weight of his death is added. This is a family I have known and loved since Ruth was in middle school and she played basketball with Dax's mommy. Part of loving them well means helping to bear the weight of the boulder. And that means showing up for hard things.

I wasn't planning to go back to the farm, but that's where I headed. I needed the peace, quiet and solitude that come from sitting in my chair, alongside the firepit, surrounded by nature's sights and sounds and smells. 

Pond reflections as I sat in my GCI Rocker chair:

miscarriage

stillborn

six weeks old

four years old

thirteen

twenty-one

thirty something

sixty

and anything in-between

I've looked directly into the eyes of mommas and daddies whose beloved baby has left this earth at those ages and I've seen the same thing in every single face. Pain. Disbelief. A haunting. "This isn't natural." "I should've had more time with them." (Regardless of their age, it is always too soon.) And my heart cries out in agreement.

Through my tears, as I sat with the pond in front of me, I noticed the hills. Psalm 121:1-2 came to mind: "I lift up my eyes to the hills. From where does my help come? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth."

When the psalmist looked to the hills he saw places where the people built altars to worship idols. He was proclaiming that isn't where our help comes from. Look higher. 

The One who created the hills and the heavens and the earth is the One who is our very present help in trouble. Even in the darkest night,

He sees.

He cares.

He loves.

He comforts.

"God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear though the earth gives way, though the mountains be moved into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam,though the mountains tremble at its swelling."           Psalm 46:1  

"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that e may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which ourselves are comforted by God." 2 Corinthians 1:3-4

I have said it in the past and will likely repeat it in the future:

I do not have to understand what God is doing,

I do not have to like how He works,

I do not have to agree with His timing,

to know that I can trust Him

because 

I know that He is good

I know He is not surprised by what I am facing

I know He has an eternal plan that He is working

I know that I am loved, lavishly

I know He is faithful because He has proven Himself over and over again

There is so much more to life than what we experience here on earth. 

Read 1 Corinthians 15.

For those who believe and follow Jesus, the best is yet to come.