A heavenly perspective

I want to write but once again I don’t have a clear idea of what I want to say. Hopefully my thoughts will start flowing once I start writing, like it often does. If this is too rambly I simply won’t publish it! 😀

Last weekend we were facing the 3 month anniversary of Jenna’s heavenly birthday. Hubby and I were out of town in the company of my mother-in-law, our pastor and his wife and another dear couple from church. We were just killing time in the early part of the day waiting to go to a meeting in the evening.

Killing time when you are remembering your last day with someone you treasure, is excruciatingly hard. It is easier to be busy and not to notice the passage of time. It is a small mercy that Jenna died at the same time that we have our church services here. Instead of being acutely aware that yet another week has passed without Jenna, I spend every Sunday surrounded by my church family, worshipping Jesus and being filled with a renewed sence of his peace and his goodness.

Anyhow, so last Saturday at around this time I was re-living my last day with Jenna. The time we spent shopping for a pair of shoes for daddy. Jenna sleeping in my arms in Woolies, and later resisting my efforts to buy her the South African dress that caught my eye a few weeks before. Buying treats and goodies for the flight home the next day. Opening one packet of candies in the store, and watching the muffin enjoy them while she stood in the shopping cart. (I still have that empty candy container). Seeing Jenna follow the patterned lines the tiles made on the floor of the mall as we exited, and secretly enjoying the fact that one young couple pointed at her and smiled and said something to each other about her cuteness.

Cuddling her for the last time next to the pool at my sister’s house, her wet body wrapped in a towel, her head tucked under my chin, and my inward laughter at her for once again insisting that the towel covered all of her, despite the fact that her feet kept trying to pop out at the bottom. Our last precious conversation in the bathroom about ‘curly hairs’ (Jenna’s word for hair accessories). Sensing her little presence next to my right leg for the last time whilst I was standing in my sister’s office sorting through our photos before going home the next day. And then she was gone.

I wanted so badly last week to do something in memory of Jenna. To let a balloon go…anything. I didn’t push for it though since there were other people to consider. We were just aimlessly driving around when we passed a bead shop. I asked hubby if we could stop and go in. I have a watch face at home that I want to make into a bracelet, but there wasn’t anything in the store that caught my fancy. I simply had to get something for Jenna though, just to do something in her memory, so I bought two beads for a ridiculous $4 each, in the hopes of incorporating them in my watch bracelet. My mother-in-law whistled under her breath at how over-priced they were, and I don’t blame her a bit. But I wasn’t in my right mind. I was missing my girly-girl and I wanted to do something physical to show it. Whether I will use them I am not sure. I don’t even really like them but the color matches my other beads and they had pink roses on them that reminded me of Jenna.

That night, I begged God to re-connect my tied tubes so that perhaps I could fall pregnant again and have another little girl. Jenna was my companion in enjoying everything girly and I find it so hard to walk past the pretty shoes in Walmart or the little pink dresses and to realise I won’t be able to shop for her again. So I do shop…but instead of twirly dresses and barbies and little tiny doll house accessories I now buy pink flowers and foil balloons for her grave, and beads and small things that can serve as a reminder of Jenna. I even went back to Bealls and bought a pink velour night gown for myself, since the last time Jenna and I shopped there she couldn’t get enough of rubbing her cheek against their luxurious softness.

All of this just brings home to me how I am still so caught up in this physical world. I want another daughter, to enjoy and shop for. I need the physical expressions of letting balloons go and putting flowers on her grave to demonstrate the fact that I love and miss Jenna. There is nothing wrong with that. Yet I am aware that these are all temporal and worldly things, in a world that is actually more spiritual than we often realise. A spiritual world where Jenna now resides.

It is a struggle sometimes to turn my gaze from the here and the now and focus on the eternal. I can feel God calling me to come up higher with him, and sense a call to enter into something which is just as real as this world can ever be. Something heavenly…a heavenly perspective. To adopt another girl so that I can recapture a lost dream is a yearning of my heart right now. But I think that God is asking me to seek his kingdom first, to focus on what he is calling me to rather than to try to restore what I have lost in this world.

Perhaps actual physical restoration will come, in its time. I will absolutely rejoice in that if it happens. Yet what I truly want goes deeper than that. I want to fulfill God’s call in my life. I want to be able to say, like Paul that I have run my course, and I have finished my race. I want to run with all I’ve got and I only want that in my life which he has intended for me. I don’t want to take a side-road and take my focus off of Him.


9 responses to “A heavenly perspective

  1. sorry you having such a hard time, I found your blog over at Angie’s blog, I can’t imagine your grief I am an angel mom also but my little one was only “with us” for 52 minutes, be good to yourself, grieve however you need to grieve and I hope when you get those beads put together you share them with us…praying for you

  2. Sumi,
    You have brought back so many things with this entry. I had two miscarriages right in a row, and thought that I would never hold another little girl in my arms. I braided pink, mauve and cream colored ribbons together and hung a cheap rose pendent on them as well as a rose colored quartz. It gave me amazing peace to do ‘something’ to grieve the loss of those two babies. When I lost the baby in Nov. 1999, I wrote the whole experience down so I wouldn’t forget it. I even named that baby not knowing for sure it was a girl but trusting my heart. I understand your need so well to mark your love for Jenna, I still do it once in awhile even after all these years.

    Love and hugs.

  3. I just found your blog (through Aubrey’s story) and I just want you to know that I will be praying for you in the days, months, hours, minutes ahead! I can see the faith and love for the Lord you have. I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through – blessings and comfort …

  4. I wandered over here and wanted to say hi. What you’ve written is beautiful, and I feel the pain in your words. I have a Jenna, too. She is 7. I can’t imagine the horror of losing any of my children, but I’m thankful that any child lost is living with God, and you will be able to see your Jenna again someday.

    I wish you peace.

  5. jesslovesjesus

    i love reading your words – how you invite God in, how you share the gut-wrenching, mind-blowin pain. i hope that the next three months are even more filled with a sense of His Presence for you –



  6. Sumi-
    This is JUST food for thought… When I gave up my first child for adoption, a precious baby girl, I grieved my loss for 3 years until I was married and pregnant again. I hoped for a girl, but gave birth to my son who filled my empty arms. Another 3 years would bring my long awaited daughter who filled my heart… but I never stopped grieving the loss of my firstborn… until 22 years after her birth she found me. All of the years of pain, loss & grief melted away with one phone call and the long awaited, “Hi, Mom” I heard. Now that I have lost my son to death, I know there is no one that could take away the pain or the hole that he has left in my heart. Not until I get to heaven will that melt away when I can hear him say, “Hi, Mom” again. I remember after his death getting an appointment w/ my GYN and exploring the thought of another child… I was 46. Not a good option at my age and not one that would guarantee a boy. Adoption is probably the better option but after two years of grieiving my son, God has made it clear that another child is not the answer for me. Of course it may be for you, but I would suggest giving Jenna’s memory a year of grieiving before you make such a big decision. Prayer will reveal how God plans to restore what has been lost. I am also praying for you.

  7. Sumi,

    I found your blog from Audrey’s several days ago. I’ve been praying for you and your family. What a precious little girl you have. I pray that you are able to use this loss to glorify God and to fulfill God’s call in your life.

    I have a dear friend who lost one of her twin girls 2 years ago to cancer. It has been her desire to have another girl. She will be 40 in a few months. (She had problems getting pregnant the first time and had become pregnant by insemination. It was their original plan to start trying to get pregnant again when the girls started kindergarten, but Kraleigh was diagnosed with cancer one month before started school). I have seen a father, mother and twin sister who have grown in the Lord in the last two years. They have been able to use this to glorify our Lord. They were brokenhearted when Kraleigh went to Heaven. But they have not become bitter. They miss their little girl and they always will. Life will never be the same. I think probably as your Pastor describes it. They have tried over the last year to get pregnant with artificial insemination, but I believe this has to be in our Lord’s timing. It seems now that all the pieces are falling in place for this precious family to adopt a baby girl.

    I will continue to pray for your family and for you. I pray for your healing. I pray that you fulfill God’s will for your life. And, I pray you are granted all the desires of your heart.

    Thank you for sharing Jenna. She is an absolute doll! May the Lord bless you.

  8. When I lost my daughter, I, too, looked for a tangible way to remember her, something I could touch, feel, see… something she would have loved.

    I thought about a weeping willow tree, my favorite tree, but we wouldn’t have been able to plant one far enough from the house (they damage foundations in search of water). They don’t survive well in our zone either… It also would have taken years and years to get to the majestic size I had in mind. I researched for weeks, months, and finally came upon the perfect tree. A miniature weeping cherry tree, it blossoms in the spring, it’s small enough to place in my memorial garden, in view of my bedroom window… the double pink flowers are tiny, precious, delicate, just like my daughter, and the branches swoop down protectively over the rest of the flower garden, and over the angel statue at it’s feet.

    It comforts me to see it grow, change, and fill out every year. I needed to see something alive and thriving.

    Now my youngest daughter and I tend to the memorial garden together every spring, summer and fall. My boys have a quiet place to be when they need to be alone with their thoughts. And we enjoy the physical reminder of our daughter, their sister, every time we see the garden.

    Nothing, ever, could take the place of the loved ones we’ve “lost” (we know full well that they’re not lost, but in Jesus’ arms), but sometimes, having something special that reminds us of them, and gives us something to do, helps heal a little more.

    Praying for you…

  9. I believe I would feel like you do. I would want another little girl. Adoption would be great as there are so many children who need a home. There are Christian adoptions available if you find God leading you in that direction. I like what JD in Canada did with her little garden. Take care.

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