He is with us. Really.

 

{written April 5, 2013 }

Friends, I wrote the story of our baby’s death in the early morning hours of last night – the day of my surgery – while emotions were raw and exposed and unpolished and not just a little bit ugly.

I realize the stuff of death and loss and vulnerability in life is hard to swallow, but part of my process and part of my grieving is—and always has been—to write. Often I can’t understand how I think or feel unless I write. I’m wired to tell the story and I know it’s for me.

And there are times when it can’t stay tucked in a journal; it has to find the light of day. So this is for me and this is for you and this is for them. And this is for wherever you’re at in your own pilgrimage, whether you’ve known the sorrow of losing a child or not.

Because this peace that I talk about is for you. Though excruciatingly beautiful, this world is too harsh and too unforgiving and way, way too unkind to forge on without knowing peace. I simply can’t understand how anyone could endure suffering without the knowledge and presence of Jesus.

My faith is always real, but right now it is more real than real could ever be (if that were possible?). I realize that faith made tangible can be hard to convey, hard to articulate with paper and pen, but I need you to know: despite the pain and the heart ache, Ryan and I can already see joy.

 

I don’t understand this but it’s true. It’s true.

Hope springs, friends. Grace has moved close. Jesus is near. These are sweet times in the Booker home as we lean in to one another, and soak in the love of our village, and rest in the great arms of our God.

Thank you for your prayer and encouragement – oh, how we cherish it! and oh, how we neeeeeed it.

But know also that we’re well aware that our heartache isn’t contained within these four walls and so we pray for those that grieve with us. We don’t do brokenness alone. We can’t – we’re just not strong enough.

And we never walk through the storm on our own either. He is always, always with us – utterly committed to bringing beauty from ashes. He can’t not come to the rescue. He just can’t. And we see it friends, we do. I hope you can begin to see it too.

A few weeks ago a new favorite song was born into my world – Oceans (Where Feet May Fail). I would cry every time I would hear it, not knowing why but sensing the power and prophetic nature of it seeping from the lyrics into my soul. Little did I know the comfort that it would bring me in the days to come as this great shadow of loss moved into our world.

I’ve had it on repeat this week, ministering deeply to my heart. I could spill out all of the lyrics here – they’re all so relevant – but instead I’ll give you a snippet and encourage you to listen for yourself:

 

Your grace abounds in deepest waters

Your sovereign hand

Will be my guide

Where feet may fail and fear surrounds me

You’ve never failed

And you won’t stop now

So I will call upon your name

And keep my eyes above the waves

When oceans rise

My soul will rest in your embrace

For I am yours

And you are mine

Tonight, we fall asleep with smiles on our faces, knowing that joy comes in the morning, and that life—no matter how short—is always worth celebrating.  (She is worth celebrating.)

So in the flood waters we prepare to set our feasting table where we’ll lift our glasses to the tender assurance of heaven and our dear, sweet baby who lives with Him there. Heaven is real – close enough to touch, and we pull it down tonight. Amen and amen.

Immanuel. He’s here.

Shalom.

___

 

(April 8th) Dear friends, I’ve written so much in these last several days – it’s been part of my salvation from the pain. I’m still deciding what to keep private and what to share. This one was written with you in mind though. Thank you for all of the ways you’ve reached out to me (and our family). Your comments and emails of encouragement and sharing your own stories have meant so much to me. Many of them I’ve read over and over with tears streaming down my face. It amazes me how God can use strangers alongside those closest to us to minister in different ways and on different levels. I’m so grateful. Since I’m a “words” person, I highly value heartfelt words from others.Thank you, thank you. I wrote the post above at the end of an incredibly grace-filled day, and I’m glad to be chronicling the beautiful parts of the journey along with the uglier ones.