Till We Are Home

Last week would have been my youngest daughter’s 18^th birthday. There’s something about those milestone dates that bring an extra level of sadness and sorrow. 

Four birthdays of hers have happened without her here to celebrate. 

Though we make attempts to find ways of redeeming what we’ve lost, we’d all choose to have her here with us. We’d all choose to wake up and give her the biggest of birthday hugs and kisses. We’d all choose to find last minute gifts to wrap for her. We’d all choose to hear her exuberant expressions of delight when she unwrapped them. We’d all choose to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to her, watch her blow out all her candles, and see the sparkle in her eyes and the dimple in her cheek. 

But…we didn’t get to choose the path we now walk without her.

Oh, I miss her so much. We all miss her so much. 

After her birthday, my wife and I spoke a lot about our reactions to the day. We spoke of our continued pain and the increasingly quiet receipt of condolences. Maybe some think we’re beyond sorrow now that the days and years increase since she went home? Maybe some feel the pain isn’t as difficult nowadays?

It would be natural to make that assumption…I mean, who hasn’t, right? However, our experience of grieving our youngest daughter’s death demonstrates that the pain and sorrow do not go away. And, I do not think it ever will. 

Even more, I don’t think God intends for us to “get over” loss, death, or tragedy. In fact, I think He means for these to open our eyes. Maybe it’s because we are going through the book of Ecclesiastes in church, but I think the Lord uses monumental bouts of suffering and sorrow and loss to give us the eyes of Ecclesiastes. 

The Preacher in the book of Ecclesiastes lived life up. He had every advantage at his disposal and tried to find meaning and purpose in anything and everything in the world. But, in the end, he determined all was vanity and a chasing after the wind – this world and the things in it were not made to be able to hold our complete joy or purpose. 

Experiencing the loss of our daughter made scales fall from our eyes similarly to how scales fell from Paul’s eyes in his conversion (Acts 9:18). What I mean is the experience of severe loss opens your eyes to see the world and this life in a very, very different way. We were awakened to the severe consequences of living in a world wrecked by sin. 

I don’t believe Isabel died because of her or our sin…not at all. However, death comes to all of us because it’s a part of the curse for our sin. Tragedies happen in the world because the world is fallen and broken. Sadness and sorrow are realities we live with. 

So, maybe others do feel we should be experiencing our daughter’s death and days without her with a little less pain than we have. But, that may be because they have not been given eyes to see like the Preacher’s. These eyes are a gift from the Lord…a very odd and painful gift, albeit, but a gift nonetheless. For with them, we know more than ever that we are not meant for this world. Izzy was not meant for this world.

These eyes allow us to see heaven more clearly. And with that vision, we yearn more and more for heaven and to be with the Lord. These eyes allow us to see the reality of what we as people have done to this world and the things in it, and that we will not be satisfied in them…even the amazingly good gifts like each other.

My days are filled with so many thoughts of missing my sweet little girl. My pain over missing her won’t go away, either. And, it shouldn’t for my eyes are now open to see the world for what it now is and yearn for heaven even more…

Till we are home…