Ours on Loan

I can't sleep ...

There is this sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach, at the back of my throat, in the depths of my heart. I feel awful, scared, ... faithless.

Erin, as I have mentioned several times lately, has been extremely in touch spiritually ... sharing Bible stories with friends she meets at the park, restaurant workers, at church ... picking out lonely hearts and seeking to ease the pain ... praying lots of prayers throughout the day and at bedtime (although sometimes it seems as if those are sometimes stall tactics, but what can you do? "Sorry, kid, no more prayers."?).

Tonight was different. On our way home, Erin was thankful for the stars, as she often is, and started saying like, "Is that Jesus' star? It's the brightest one. That must be where Baby Jesus is, and Mary and Joseph too. I want to go there, and be with Jesus." Nothing worrisome here, infact, very sweet, if off a bit theologically. As the trip progressed, things got a bit more serious, and she began asking more questions. We were listening to her Veggie Tales Worship Songs tape, and when the intro for the song In the Secret came on, it spurred a traumatic response in Erin ...
"... there's a place where we can hear God's voice ... it's a secret place ..." (kids on tape)
"Mommy, did you know there's a secret place we can go to hear God's voice? I wish I knew that place. I try and try and can't ever hear God, mommy. Why can't I hear His voice? I want to see Him and know Him." (I realize the last few phrases are from the song ... "I want to know you, I want to hear Your voice, I want to know You more. I want to touch You, I want to see Your face, I want to know You more.")

I tried to explain that we don't always hear God's voice, as in a physical sound or words, but that we know He hears our prayers and answers them, He gives us peace, and creates a beautiful world for us to enjoy and take care of as well as we can. Of course, I'm feeling very "out of my league" trying to explain this to her fairly literal mind in very abstract terms. The part that got me was when she started crying, no, sobbing, because she couldn't hear God talking to her. She kept spitting out phrases like, "There's so much I want to talk to Him about ..." "Why can't I hear Him?" "Why can't I be in Heaven too?" This continued all the way to the house, up the stairs, and through bedtime preparations (yes, she was exhausted from an early morning, and no nap). I pulled her onto my lap, and tried to comfort her, but she would not be comforted. During prayer time, she cried again, asking God if she could be in heaven and why her wishes (to be in heaven with Him and Jesus) had not been granted. Still distraught, she finally ended, and laid down to sleep. By this time, Avery was really hungry, so I moved to the rocker to feed her, which brought more distress to Erin, who enjoys me snuggling her at bedtime. She finally calmed down, and went to sleep, looking crumpled and defeated, but relaxed.

Now, why am I such a mess? "People say" (whoever "they" are) that sometimes people are more spiritually aware as they near death. They make closure with family/friends, take care of financial issues, wait for the "ok" from their family before breathing their last ... I can't help but wonder as I think about the last few weeks with Erin. The thing that tears me up, is that she seemed so unhappy in this place, and longed for intimate communion with her God ... and I had to fight the urge to try and dissuade her from that, because for her wish of being in heaven to come true, means that I lose my little girl.

That being said, I am reminded of several things ... 1. When Erin was born, actually, before she was born, we dedicated her to God, taking the view that she is a precious gift to us from our Father, on loan until His timing says different. 2. "Better is one day in Your courts than 1000 days anywhere else" 3. The song sung at her dedication service by a dear friend and his two daughters, I Can Only Imagine. 4. Sunday morning in our livingroom/kitchen ... David and I were running through music for worship service that afternoon, and were singing Blessed Be Your Name, one of Erin's favorite songs (on the Veggie Tales Worship Songs CD), and she drug a chair out from the table, stood up on it, her arm around me, bellowing out all the lyrics at the TOP of her voice.

How can I be so selfish, and want to keep anyone here, much less, my own child, when we, as the creations of the Holy God, will have the amazing (such a lame word choice, but what else is there?) joy of worshipping Him without end in the courts of Heaven? As the song says, "Surrounded by Your glory, what will my heart feel? Will I dance for You, Jesus, or in awe of You be still?" If you've ever met Erin, you will probably smile at this, and guess, as I, that she'll be dancing in His presence. Why am I not dancing myself, because my almost 4 year old longs to be in the presence of the Most High ... she looks at others through His eyes, follows the leading of His Spirit, and shows the compassion of His Son -- okay, maybe that's a proud mama talking, (if you've read many of the "Erin" blog entries, you'll know that she's no angel, and is very good at disobeying, hurting others' feelings, and being a general pill at times!) but every since Erin has had a personality, I feel God has used her as His vessel, creating opportunities in her life for ministry to others.

I still have yet to say exactly why I am sitting her snivelling and diverting tears away from the keyboard ... I guess, to come out and say it, I am afraid of losing my child. Just typing those words brings a flood of silent sobs to my throat, and a fresh stream of tears to my cheeks. I cannot imagine the feeling of going into her room and finding her cold and lifeless. I cannot imagine the pain of choosing a funeral home or picking clothes for her for the last time. I cannot imagine going into the girls' room to take her things out ... calling the relatives ... driving past a park full of kids playing without mine ... explaining to her baby sister in later years that her sister is with Jesus ... which is where she belongs ... we all do, it's where He desires us to be.

I said earlier that I felt faithless. I guess that is not completely true. Faith is what is keeping me from running down there every 10 seconds to check if she's still breating (I've only checked on her twice, and I was in there to lay Avery down both times), or laying down to hold her while she sleeps. I know she rests in His arms, as she has every night since they placed her in our arms at the hospital, and will every night until He really does take her home. I know He has had her days numbered from the beginning of time, as are mine and yours. It's funny, because just today she and I were talking about something that happened before David and I even met, and she asked where she was. I told her that she wasn't born yet, and was just a dream in God's eyes. Her eyes shone, and she said with awe, "I was a dream in God's eyes?!"

Yes, my beautiful, loving, ornery, mischeivous, stubborn, confident, amazingly faith-filled child, you were, and He is loving watching you grow in all matters -- he probably thinks it's hilarious to watch you make streamers out of toilet paper to decorate my room, mix up "cakes" out of salt and milk, and pick up that darn dead bird that keeps resurfacing in the backyard because you're curious. I will too, someday, I guess. No matter what happens this night, or tomorrow, or the day after that, I guess this is His way of reminding me what a precious gift He has given us.

This blog entry isn't meant for you, it was for me. Sorry for run-on sentences, bad punctuation, 500 links to song lyrics, and all the rest -- I don't care, it was raw, and I had to sort through my feelings. Throughout the course of this evening(morning), I gave Erin back to God ... maybe I have an inkling of the feeling Abraham had as he led his son toward the sacrifical altar, before the ram appeared. I am going to go kiss my children and go back to bed now.

Thank You, Father, for the gift of my beautiful girls. They are so precious to me, and I know even more precious to You. I know I have been selfish, and I want to lay them at Your feet, knowing that if You choose to bring one or both to You at any time, they will rest with You, in Your perfect arms of love, as you cradle our other baby. What a blessing, to know we have nothing to fear when we're safe in Your arms. Good night, Father. Thank you for holding me in Your arms, loving me, comforting my heart, and calming my fears. Good night.