One Year in Heaven. I know that there is no time there. No clocks, seconds,
minutes, hours. No need for the sun to shine because our God is bright enough
in Himself to be the light of all of heaven. There is no waiting. There is no
crying. No tears. No sickness. No more dying. No separation. No confusion. There
is worship. There is God. Jesus. The Holy Spirit. My grandparents, my anchors.
My son, my heart.
One year in heaven might feel like one second or one million
years. There is worship showing up in all different forms. Perhaps laying at the
thrown of God in awe. Perhaps singing and dancing or building something
beautiful or painting a masterpiece. Worship. Worship. Worship. No tears.
One year in heaven without pain. No surgery. No medication.
No blood tests or needles. No beeping machines. No flat lines. No sin. No brokenness.
No hospitals. There is joy unspeakable. Perfect peace. What we know in part,
you know fully there. Glorified like your savior, knowing the whole story of
redemption. What a beautiful story, indeed.
One year in heaven. So far, one year ahead of me. I don’t
know how many years you will be there, my son, before I arrive. I imagine you
whole. This isn’t a fairytale to hold in my grief. It is true. As I write
through the tears, my broken heart knows that your heart is whole. I don’t
understand it or like it. I can’t even fully appreciate it but it is true.
One year in heaven is one year away from this mama who loves
you so much. I can still recall how you would jump in my womb and get the
hiccups and the fear of your early delivery, not knowing if you would breathe.
The first time we met face to face and you WERE breathing! All of our little
talks about life and the world beyond hospital walls are still with me. Your
cheeks are the best in the whole world. Your sideburns are legendary. Your big
brother talks about you each time we see hand sanitizer. “Bubbles! We get those when we
see Huddy!” Your daddy is brave and
works so hard and I catch him with tears rolling down his face as he remembers
you, sweet boy. He wanted to teach you to fly a helicopter and take you to the farm. A dream lost. We miss
you in the big things like Christmas morning but also in the little moments
like bath time. I see your spot in our family at our table, in our car, in the
grocery cart next to Graham. I see tired mamas with two little ones and I just
stare at them to figure out if their kids are my kids’ ages. To see what it
would look like if you were here with us. Just a glimpse of what it would be
for us with two. With Huddy. Big Brother Grahambo and I have a game. We play, “If Huddy were here, what would we be doing?” Often his answers are things like
hiding in the closet, dancing, playing with trains. My answer is kissing those
awesome cheeks.
One year in heaven feels like forever for me. Part of me
went with you. That’s okay, I’m your mama. The rest of me will arrive when God
chooses. Sweet boy, worship has been so hard for this mama and done out of
obedience and not delight. But, I’ve learned that is what we still have in
common. You worship Him there and I’ll worship Him here (though it isn't always pretty). See, that’s what we’d
do if Huddy were here or we were all in heaven, we would worship Jesus.
Let us worship...out of obedience and awe....
The Lord gives and the Lord takes away.
Blessed be the name of the Lord, in heaven and on earth.
Mama loves you, sweet boy.
You enjoy Jesus.
Sweet, sweet Jesus.
He surely is enough, even when your son has spent one year
in heaven.
