It’s been a beautiful season here at our new home. So much of God’s goodness written abundantly in every corner of my life.
Our first Christmas in our new house meant new memories, new traditions. With a white blanket of snow still covering most of my view, we listened to the songs and decorated the cookies. Played our Christmas games and watched festive movies with a huge Christmas tree fitting perfectly in my front window, gifted to us by our new neighbors who no longer needed it. (Side-note: We won the neighbor lottery here. God’s kindness continues to greet me in so many ways.)
As we did the baking and the wrapping and advent reading, all in preparation for the celebration, I missed Mason. A lot. The longing changes a little each year. This year brought a new filter of sadness. Everything is new here. His laughter never filled this space. My memories with him were in another home. I hate that, really. I hate the passing of time that takes me further and further away from when I last held him. He’s not here. And that’s never ok.
The pain of this Christmas wasn’t as crippling as the pain of that first Christmas without him. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to breathe back then. And while I still have moments that seize my heart in a debilitating sort of way, I’ve learned to live with his absence. Sometimes the missing comes with fewer tears and a few more smiles. Sweet memories of laughter and the richness of his life.
I miss him. Something fierce.
And while he wasn’t here to complete his gingerbread house or pour way too many sprinkles on his sugar cookies, I like to dream about what his Christmas celebration was like, with the King of Kings. The Savior of the entire world. I imagine it was pretty spectacular.
And yet, my most grand imaginations don’t even come close to the wonder and magnificence of it all.
1 Corinthians tells us that the heart of man can’t begin to imagine what God has prepared for us.
Can’t even imagine. I can imagine some pretty exceptional things. And yet all of Mason’s experiences in eternity are better than my best imaginations. All that he is drinking in, all the celebrations. He never gets tired or bored or crabby. There’s no disappointment or annoyances. No drudgery or weariness.
And all of that is waiting for me too. Promised to me.
Makes me wonder… why do I still cling so tightly to this world sometimes? Why don’t I let eternity’s strong pull release me from these things that weigh me down?
Maybe that healing process people talk about means that as the years pass I think a little less about the hole in my heart and about what I’m missing, and a little more about what’s waiting for me. A little less about the unfairness of burying a child and a little more about the redemption. A little more about eternity and hope and how all that goodness will dissolve all the heartache and pain.
A little less about what breaks me and a little more about what will heal me.
The theme of my life is one of God’s goodness. I see it in the big things and the little things. It’s everywhere really, when I choose to look. And what I have seen is only a faint reflection of all the depth awaiting me. All the depth Mason is experiencing even now.
God’s storehouses of goodness are filled to overflowing. Some days I long to break open that door and truly see the abundance he has in store. If I could just breathe in the sweet pure air where only his presence resides, untainted by pain and sorrow. Suffering and monotony. Sin and selfishness. Heartache and longing.
My mind cannot comprehend the magnitude of this place where his goodness is abundant. With the experiences of God’s kindness in my own life, I can guess. I can begin to imagine. His presence amidst my grief has been so beautiful and sweet and so indescribable that I believe in faith that which I can only now dimly see.
My experience has told me that since what I see dimly is so beautiful, what awaits me, what my son is living at this moment, is beyond comprehension. And that is worth longing for.
I look forward to 2023 with hope. Because God’s goodness is abundant and his kindness is extravagant.
May you live and breathe this hope this next year.
“What no eye has seen, nor ear heard,
I Corinthians 2:9
Nor the heart of man imagined,
What God has prepared for those who love him.”
