Every now and then I get a picture stuck in my head. A vision, if you will. I know I've written about it in the past, Sunday I had the blessing of another one.
I was having all these memories of December 28th flashing back into my mind while at church. The ultrasound, our pastor coming to pray with us, delivering my child knowing it was already too late...
In my mind's eye I see myself in the hospital bed, Mark at my right side helping me get ready to push. On the other side of my bed stands Jesus. In his arms, he is holding Jairus, all snuggled up and perfectly content and peaceful and beautifully alive. Jesus seems at once grateful for the beautiful baby in His arms, and broken, he is watching Mark and I and He has tears streaming down His cheeks.
We were so confused, so broken, so scared. Hope for our child was dashed and we couldn't even comprehend what we were experiencing. I was about to deliver. But not my child. Only his earthly body. My son was already in the arms of his Savior. His perfect, eternal, glorious life with Jesus had already begun. And we were being watched, cared for and comforted by the One who knows the depths of suffering and the joy of Resurrection. Jesus is our fellow mourner. He is also our comfort and our hope. He holds our child because we cannot. His love is deep and pure and healing. And for it I am eternally grateful.