Ella made this for me for Mother’s Day this year:
And when she did, she said to her brothers, “You know, God wrote this verse for our mom.”
“She is clothed with strength and dignity. She can laugh at the days to come.” -Proverbs 31:25
Oh the tears.
For all my moments as a mother, this one ranks right up there near the top.
At the end of each day I typically see all the things I didn’t get done or all the things I failed at. At the end of each school year I see the books we didn’t finish or the educational gaps that we never quite filled in. I often think of my missed opportunities… all the times I didn’t have that tea party little Ella begged me for or the bedtime stories I couldn’t conjure up the energy to read.
It sure is nice to have moments like this one on Sunday. When your kid who sees all your faults and shortcomings on a daily basis says something so gracious and kind. A moment God whispers through your child, you are doing great. Hang in there. All the little things, as well as the big things, matter.
Life has dealt me some serious pain. Burying a child is enough to suck the air from my lungs forever. Rip away that false security I clung so tightly to. The false security that told me it would never be one of my kids who died, not my family who would suffer such horrific grief.
The harsh reality that basically, anything bad can actually happen settled on my heart like a gigantic slab of concrete. There is a lot of fear in this dark place. Much awakening to all the nightmares I never thought I would actually have to live.
Left in those dark moments, when the world as I know it collapses, it is certainly enough to take away the dreams of a happy future. Definitely doesn’t leave much to laugh at.
And yet, I think it was then that the Lord did his best work in my heart. Because before Mason died I had a lot of “hope” in the future that was sometimes founded on temporal, unreliable things. Many of my hopes were more wishes, that everyone would stay healthy and happy and we could live our safe and privileged American life. I probably never fully realized these were my hopes. I certainly wouldn’t have verbalized it this way, but looking back, I’m pretty sure this is what made up much of what my security was based in.
Circumstances. Happiness. The future looks bright when the paychecks are coming in and the kids are happy. It’s easy to laugh at the future then.
Plunging in the depths of darkness helped peel back all those facades that don’t offer security. Yes, I still hope my kids are healthy and happy. But my security is no longer founded in that. It’s not based on circumstantial conditions.
Losing Mason built in me a strength to rise above the circumstances. To see what real hope is. The Lord was gracious to me in my grief. He brought great clarity of eternity. Amazing peace amidst uncertainty. It was during these times when the future should have looked the dimmest that it actually became the brightest.
The days to come for me literally mean eternity and redemption. Hope because of Christ. And until that day of eternity, I know that my future holds a God who blankets pain and uncertainty and the unexpected with hope and peace and purpose.
So, I can’t say I always feel like laughing at the days to come. Sometimes the pain still cuts so deep that laughter is far away. But more certain than laughter, is hope. And God’s great mercy has given me the strength to see hope with great clarity.
The most redemptive thing about all of this, is that my daughter sees it. She sees my failings and my faults of course, but most importantly she sees my hope. That even though I’m not always laughing, I have confidence. That even when life deals cruel blows, God’s promises are greater. When darkness comes, there is always light.
Today, I encourage you, find the hope for your future. Search for those deep things that bring an ease of laughter looking at the days to come.
The Lord is good. The happy ending is certain. And the future is bright.
