I'm not sure how many times I've read "I Love You Forever" to our boys, but there is one part of that book that arrests me each time I read it. The story is about a mother who watches her son grow up and each time you, the reader, think he is too big to be picked up and rocked by his Mom, there she is with a 9 year-old, a teenager, and even a grown man in her lap as she sings "I love you forever, I like you for always, as long as I'm living, my baby you'll be."
(SPOILER ALERT) Toward the end of the short book, the mother has gotten old and near death when the son reverses the pattern. He holds his elderly mother and rocks her as he sings "I love you forever."
The next page is where I always get a little choked up. It reads, "When the son came home that night, he stood for a long time at the top of the stairs." The picture on this page shows the son frozen at the top of his stairs, head down, just outside his newborn baby's room. What's he thinking? What's he feeling? I know now.
At the top of the stairs, he pauses, as he contemplates the death of his mother and the new life of his son. Death and life mingled together in a moment. I've been there.
I remember how alive I felt on February 12, 2010. We were finally pregnant. I remember Micah and Isaac's excitement when we told them over pancakes on a cold, February, Saturday morning. In all of the preparation for Chai's arrival, there was a buzz and an expectancy of something great in our house. Then came July 12. I will never forget the moment I knew there was no hope left for Chai's frail little body to make it. I came out of the neo-natal unit and told my sons and our parents the news. Shortly after, my precious little son would breathe his last breath in my arms.
A day or two later, (I really had lost all track of what day it was by then) I had my "top of the stairs" moment. I was driving home alone to be with the boys for a few hours. Before I got out of the car, I couldn't help but think about all three of my sons. Could they just be together for one day? Now, they are separated by death. Two very alive little boys will never be able to hold, feed, and play with their little brother because of the curse of death. In that moment, I prayed for the wisdom and strength to face my sons, to help them to understand both the reality of death and truth of the resurrection to come in Christ. I knew then that my family had been chosen for something special. Not special in the sense of its uniqueness, but in the depth of the results.
At "the top of the stairs", we feel the pain death brings but look to the hope of new life. This is the cross. Jesus felt the pain of sin and death as he prepared to be the firstborn from the dead, and the first of many brothers and sisters for whom death would not be an eternal condition. That Saturday, between the pain of Friday afternoon and the glory of Sunday morning, was a "top of the stairs" moment. The time we are now in, between the cross and the restoration of all things upon Christ's return, is a perpetual "top of the stairs" moment.
The great news in those "top of the stairs" moments, is the immanent new life. That's what I have in Christ. That's what my family hangs on in difficult moments in the year following Chai's death. Death is painful, but new life is coming. My boys will get to see their baby brother, not for one day, but forever. My memory of watching my son die will be replaced with the sight of him in a glorious resurrection body. Sorrow to joy. Pain to peace. Death to Life.
When I visit my son's grave on days like this, I can't help but visualize that memorial stone cracked down the center, lying at the head of an empty grave. Huh- kind of reminds me of another stone that sat outside another empty grave.
Come quickly, Lord Jesus...and bring our little brother with you.
1 comment:
Thanks for sharing. It's hard to read about those times, but we need to hear it. God's love, the Gospel of Christ, conquers death.
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