This weekend Mason’s best friend from 10 years ago traveled to Arizona to play hockey.
It’s been many years since donut beach days and building monster truck ramps in the back yard. A big chunk of the sweetness of Mason’s childhood is found in this boy right here. (And in his mom who made everything exciting and magical for our boys.)
I don’t usually have longings for the what-ifs and where-would-he-be’s. By God’s grace, he’s given me the sweet promise of eternity and that really has become the filter I view my loss through.
I still picture my entry into Heaven being full of Mason’s 6 year-old laughter. Sweet abandon and pure bliss. I can almost feel his hugs and see his mohawk and hear his inability to say his ‘r’ sounds. In my imaginings not one single second has passed in his aging from when he left this earth. I mean, it’s Heaven after all. Why would he age? Why would he step beyond the joy and perfection of 6? Life pretty much peaks in the imagination and innocence of these childhood years.
But I still have my moments. My moments of this isn’t fair. Mason should be losing his first tooth. Playing soccer games. Learning to ski. Watching his friend play hockey. Learning to drive. Developing independence.
Sometimes I see kids his age and have the thoughts of what-if…
What if he was 16 now. What if my life was never turned upside down? What would he be interested in? What would his friends be like?
Would I have ever had another sweet child? Would we have ever left California and RVed through the US, Motorhoming for Mason and experiencing all the depth and richness of our amazing country and the deep beautiful friendships with people we would never have otherwise met?
What if this large chunk of my life was not painted with the oppressive shadow of grief?
I can’t imagine the ways life would be so drastically different if my desperate prayers were answered in that hospital room and his heart started beating again.
But. I can’t live in the what-ifs. I can only live in the what is.
This life is temporary. The loss of a child is horrific. Grief is forever life-altering. Pain is severe. God is faithful. Eternity is real. Heaven is promised. Hope is tangible.
It’s the pain that makes the promise so much more real. The grief and loss is what has ultimately made this temporal existence so much more meaningful. All because it is so, so fleeting.
You know what’s super sweet about watching Owen play this weekend? Not simply his persistence on the ice, but his faithfulness with his life. He’s the only believer on his team and at the beginning of the hockey season back in August he would head out to center ice after the game and kneel down for prayer. All by himself. 15 years old, new to the team, new to the town. Yet as bold as ever.
Now, 4 months later, the game is over and 5 of his teammates are already on their knees at center ice waiting for him. He joins them, bows his head, leads them in prayer and spends a moment before the throne of the Almighty.
These boys don’t come from Christian homes. They don’t have parents encouraging them to join Owen in the middle of the rink after the game.
His teammates have been watching him. And seeing the way he lives his life.
With purpose. Intentionality. Focused on the eternal.
Hope is contagious. The promise of something more than this life speaks to the deep parts of our souls.
So, yeah, I sometimes have moments of wondering how tall Mason would be now or what his voice would sound like.
But mostly, I have moments of wondering… what will eternity be like? What will it feel like to not have to fight back tears or feel weary? What will it feel like to have hope fulfilled? The completion and culmination of everything promised and longed for.
I know in my soul that the Lord doesn’t waste a thing. He doesn’t waste the loss and the longing. He doesn’t waste the tears and the pain. He doesn’t waste the moments in prayer at center ice and the faithfulness of a 15 year-old boy standing for truth in a sea of people desperately needing the promise of Hope.
So, what if Mason was still here? What if I wasn’t longing for eternity? What if I wasn’t so desperate for hope? What if I was content more so in God’s blessings than in his presence? What if I was still clinging so tightly to this sweet life he has given me and not reaching eagerly for Heaven? Not fighting for what really matters?
Why was Mason taken from this world too soon?
I don’t have the answer to that. And really, I don’t need the answer.
I do know that the impact of his short life does indeed reverberate through eternity. I know that my perspective on the temporal drastically shifted on that Sunday morning in September ten years ago. And honestly, I’m forever grateful for that searing, dreadfully painful lesson.
Because it loosened my anchor hold on this world and tightened my pull toward heaven.
Eternity.
What if…
