I'm having a hard time not thinking about the Noralus family. I can't even kiss my kiddos or snuggle on the couch or schedule a dentist appointment without thinking about them...without picturing Nora and Ben trying to understand the sudden loss of Mom, without picturing Matt suddenly with a full-time job and church and ministry and three little ones without his very best friend and partner....without picturing Josie if she had had access to the medical care that I suddenly do.
I want to be there for them in so many ways...pray with them, sit with them, take the kids for a while, cook for them. Help. Do something for such an impossible time.
Instead, I send emails and wire money, and it feels flat and short and choppy and small and a million miles away.
Instead, I help Sofie painstakingly type out her hypothesis for the upcoming science fair, glue all over my countertops and Ben, trying to "help".
Instead, I ask BenBen for the fiftieth time if he has to go potty, and clap for him when his Elmo undies stay dry...clean up the floor again when he was busy coloring his face with blue marker from the science board and forgot.
Instead, I call orthodontists with a ridiculously eager Lily at my elbow, trying to find the one that works with our insurance plan, trying to hear their explanations while Nora is is stomping through the kitchen in her tap-shoes and singing Mommy-Mommy-Mommyyyyyyyyy can we FINGER PAINT!?!
Instead, I bake heart-shaped cookies with Nora and Ben for a few neighbors, more for Bible study, because I am the stranger they are allowing in...and I show up with little white handprints all over my sweater.
Instead, I settle a nit-picky argument between the neighborhood girls who gather at our house every day after school, because we are always home, because there are always cookies, because muddy prints in this house blend in with the flour.
Instead, I listen to Lily pound out "You are My Sunshine" on mama's piano for the 1000th time, starting always right on middle C, the ivory she broke a few weeks ago out of frustration that has been forgiven, been forgiven,...but still pinches my heart every time I walk past.
Instead, I make soup for a friend dropping in, do a fifth load of laundry, pick up another random doll shoe...notepad...bouncy ball...lip gloss lid...pencil stub..all the little things NO one EVER seems to see and that litter my life to insanity.
I want to be grateful for the lipgloss lid, the piano key, the tappity-shoes, the potty book, the things of motherhood that by His grace, I HAVE today.
I want to be there for Claudin, for Christie, for Claudel, for Claudie, to hurt alongside their hurting ALONGSIDE.
But what I want most--this memory post from another lost baby of Josie and Claudin's at Christmas 2013 reminds me--is to be like them.
reminders
Not to be able to fix things, not to really do anything, not even really to SAY anything significant...just to be and to pray together and to hold hands and to connect. To say, "We are SO sorry." To acknowledge, "You must be so heartbroken." To pray, "God, we don't understand, but know that you are here with these dear friends and love them and cry with them."
The hour reaffirmed to me how discipleship actually fleshes out. How evangelism and sharing the Gospel often actually sounds. How sharing Christ actually looks.
It reminded me again how often I get caught up thinking the unimportant things are important...like getting such-and-such done, like how such -and-such will look, like what such-and-such will think.
Reminded me again that there is nothing more important that feeding the people who show up at meal times, whoever they are...because over the gift, we build.
Reminded me again that there is nothing more important than taking the time with each and every student who plops down at my desk to find out how things are going in their families, in their churches...to stop and pray with them for those things, even as they came for tutoring or copies or to pay a bill.
Reminded me again how important it is to not forget that Matt, Lily and Sofie are a great and precious missionfield.
Reminded me again to evaluate what we do and how we do it not through the eyes of others or even through our own, but through HIS eyes.
As we sat and shared Cokes and sang and prayed and talked with those two after losing another baby short of 40 weeks, I remembered how important it is to LET PEOPLE TALK. To LET her tell her story, even though we already knew it. To let her share it. And to let Claudin talk about what he thinks God thinks...and acknowledge it and encourage him in the truth.
I was also deeply blessed to see people there when we got there, people coming and going the whole time we were there, and people coming as we left. Because they have sat and been there for so many, discipling, evangelizing, sharing, building, there are SO many so anxious to do the same in their pain. The many coming and going was a great testimony of the authenticity of Christ and servanthood in Claudin's life. There is nothing sadder, in this culture, than to be alone. And they have yet to be.
Finally, it reminded me that terrible, awful, heartbreaking, painful crud just happens. This shouldn't have happened. They shouldn't have lost their daughter. But you know what? I shouldn't have lost my mom. And our dear friends shouldn't be watching their mom crippled by stroke. And many of you shouldn't have lost babies...lost children, parents, loved ones. Seen tragedy. Known heartbreak. Shouldn't BE LONELY.
The world is terribly broken and sin, from the start to the moment, has separated and destroyed so much.
But EVEN as we discussed in hushed tones their great pain--as if to speak it loudly would just crush the hearts--their eyes were clear. Filled with tears and clear.
Does that even make sense? Their hearts were soft. Their eyes were clear. Their spirits radiated a quiet joy. His Spirit that was upon them and within them and through them before hasn't wained whatsoever. It was as clear as day.
Crush them, life. And because of JESUS, you will find sweet outpouring, nonetheless.
IT. Does. NOT. MATTER.
They would give Him glory. She would dwell at His feet. He will remain.
What a testimony.
And what a testimony from the Noralus family, even as her stomach is flattened. Even as their little crib stands empty this Christmas.
It all reminded me the manger is full.
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