If someone said that you were dying, what would you do? What would you say?
I would watch my husband and my children as they slept, wondering how I got so lucky; wondering how God could love me so much to give me the miracle of love from an amazing man and two precious daughters. I would wonder how my husband could love me even when I was stubborn and prideful, and hope that he knew, even when I was at my worst, how much I adored him and didn't want to live without him.
I would wonder if my children would remember me or if they would only remember a to-do list of activities that I had created for myself and for them. Maybe they would remember the simple things like our car time chats, my anticipating each giggle, or listening for their sweet dinner time prayers. I would wonder if my friends knew how much I adored them...each person who was hand-picked by God to walk this journey with me. I would wonder if they understood that with each call or text which came from me, there was woman who prayed for them and their families and sometimes hourly. If I was gone in six days, would anyone know how much I loved God, how much He has changed my life, and how much I believe that He can and will do that for anyone. Would anyone know how far God has delivered me and how far I KNOW He can carry them? I write this because I have realized how short life really is. When Heather died two weeks ago, my mind wandered. She is 31 years young...just like me, has a husband who adores her...just like me, two children who she adores...just like me, a love for her friends that they will never be aware of...just like me. This weekend Chet and I celebrate our 11 year anniversary and it is a day of mixed emotions. One year ago, on our tenth anniversary, we were participating in a funeral for Devin, a 17 year old who died too early. At the funeral, I spoke of the Prodigal Son and how God is always calling us to come home and Chet served as a pall bearer. One of the hardest days we have shared as a married couple. We attended a service for someone who we had worked mission trips with, Vacation Bible schools, lock-ins. We had been to his house and visited with him and listened to his piano playing that was
beautiful. We had gone to see him when he was in the hospital and we had prayed over him and with him and held his mother's hand while she prayed...she loved her son...just like me.
I pray for all those reading this...that no matter how broken life seems to be, there is a God that specializes in putting pieces together...just like He did with me.