I wish I could blog more.
I wish I could climb into this warm, downy cocoon of writing. It’s my Safe Place, otherwise known as Working-Through-Life’s-Challenges-in-a-Comfy-Chair-with-a-Glass-of-Wine-and-the-Sound-of-the-Rain-on-the-Window-Nearby (yes, that’s right. It’s raining in central Texas. Woot.).
Of course, life is hectic and sleep is precious, and anytime I blog I end up losing sleep because I lose myself in words. I look up an hour and a half after I started, still reaching for the full expression of what’s on my heart.
Tonight, however, I don’t have an hour and a half. I have an half hour. Why? Because due to my tendency to struggle with/avoid sleep whenever Deputy Blue-eyes is on duty, the good deputy has now begun to monitor my sleep habits, reminding me to go to bed at reasonable times so that I don’t turn into a big, sniffly ball of stressed crazy (which is what happens when I miss too much sleep). All of that unnecessary info is to say that I need to write fast and choose carefully my subject.
I could talk about so much as this new year gets rolling. I could talk about how completely joyous and refreshing my two weeks off from work were, because, man, they rocked.
I could talk about how I dreaded going back to the reality of work, or how when I did, I discovered that the excitement of new semester, a new play, a new project, and the fresh young smiling faces I have missed more than I realized drew a happy me back in immediately and unexpectedly.
I could easily talk about how precious Christmas was this year now that Baby Blue-eyes is two and a half, and so fully aware of everything fun about the holidays.
I could definitely write a litany about how Little Miss Blue-eyes is acting more like 16 than 6, beautiful and wide-eyed and so very intelligent. Her commentary on life is so funny sometimes that I cannot help but grab her, hug her close and tickle her till she laughs the way she has made me laugh. My kids’ smiles light up every room in my heart every day of my life; though their habits keep life noisy and exhausting, they keep also life…well, alive.
A girl I knew in high school lost her two-year-old blue-eyed baby boy on Christmas Eve. I don’t know what happened; just that it was “an accident.”
God, save us all from accidents like that.
How would you get up the next morning? How would you eat? How would you sleep? How would you even breathe?
God, bless them; please really, really bless them and comfort them.
A few people will call it God’s will, or say that the child was too good for this world so God took Him home, or that He needed another angel in Heaven. However, though the child was most assuredly too good for this world (as all children absolutely are), I do not believe God caused a two-year-old boy to die for some selfish purpose of His own.
When Jesus saw a widow grieving for her son as his casket was carried down the street, He didn’t say, “Don’t worry, daughter; it’s all part of My will. It’s in My plan.” No! He was “moved with compassion,” and He brought the boy back to life, right then and there. That was, after all, what He came to do.
I cannot believe anything except that all sickness, all death, all evil is always a result of the work of the enemy, who brought sin in to this world and with it, all the violence and sickness and death that follow it. It is death, not God, that has no mercy; it is death that is not careful about who it takes or how. You may disagree, and of course you’re obviously entitled to do so. I’m no Bible scholar. My only evidence is my collection of undeniable experiences with a God so loving, so merciful and compassionate, that He sacrificed His own child to save a worthless sinner as stubborn as me. Purposely causing that kind of heartbreak seems to me to be out of character for Him.
Though there’s no doubt that the boy is resting comfortably in Jesus’s arms, I am abundantly certain that the good Lord’s heart is breaking for his family. After all, He knows the pain of losing a child…His own grief was so great that He had to turn away in order to go through with the loss of His own, even knowing the loss was temporary. I think His grief for parents who have lost children is bound to be powerful, and His desire to comfort them equally so. It’s the only thing that makes sense to me in tragedies, when there otherwise is none.
And I think it is His grief, His compassion, that resonate in us so deeply when we hear about tragedies like the shooting in Connecticut. I don’t know about you, but that one hit me on a level so deep that it can’t be described.
God bless them.
The Connecticut tragedy and my old friend’s tragedy definitely made me grateful. Grateful for every sunlit, golden strand of hair on Miss B.’s head; grateful for every little grimy fingernail on Baby B’s chubby, sticky hands. I am inexpressibly grateful for every breath they take, every noise they make, every little kiss and hug.
And when I forget that I am grateful, as soon as I realize that I have forgotten, I will get up and march into their rooms, wading through the toys on the floor and embracing the ceaseless noise childhood makes. I will pick them up, swing them around, and hug them. Then I will read whatever book they ask for, watch whatever cartoon they are watching, or play whatever game strikes their fancy. This is the only New Years resolution that matters to me.
Life is beautiful. Every moment that you have someone is beautiful. It’s a cliche, but one too important not to be repeated again and again and again, ad nauseum, ad infinitum.
Treasure today, please, and if you catch me forgetting to treasure it, feel free to remind me. Much love and many blessings to all in 2013. Hey, that only took a little over half an hour.
Happy New Year from Little Miss B., Baby B., Deputy B., and Mommy Me.