Your brother’s not here with us. Your mom was buried years ago this day. Your father didn’t tell you he loved you ever in his life. You remember your youngest son’s birthday each fall before this time comes. I still remember when your little precious one had a machine breathe for him. Your dad died before you were old enough to move from his farm. You were supposed to have twins.
All six of us filled a pew in this white church house. We laughed as we entered that there was probably not a baby changing table in the outhouse, as the littlest of us needed a new diaper. My big sister and I sat next to each other as her son bounced up and down in a dance for Jesus that only he knew. We’re older than we used to be; than we were all the years we were the ones bundled up and dancing on a pew. My big brother, here for five years since at that time, he asked my sister to take his hand for the rest of life. Mom and dad watch with the proudest eyes as we sing Silent Night, always a reminder of what we’ve lived, each time we pass a glance to each other. There is no ache in these hearts this night. Grandma and Grandpa are buried outside the doors, and the glow of the red, green, blue stained glass leaves a multitude of peace on the new drifting snow. They’re Home. I had on purple sweat pants and camo boots and we all laughed as the same announcements were made that are each year. There are familiar faces, and the feeling is the same. Overwhelming peace.
Because as I turn my head and look, my breath is taken away.
A precious nine month old with sparkling new eyes.
A family to call my own.
My entire life is not thanks enough, dear Jesus.
You give eternal rest to a weary world. Emmanuel, You have come. “Tiny heart whose blood will save us.” Oh, thank You for coming to our world. For we need you, every moment. Forever.
…because love wins.