6:32 a.m. Blaring sirens caught the attention of those who were reading their Monday morning paper. Our elderly neighbors grabbed their robes and headed to the curb. Why on earth would an ambulance stop in front of the home belonging to the youngest family on their block?
We arrived home late the night before with our 7 month old daughter, Karissa, after an extended holiday visit with family. My husband had been working hard during our time away, restoring our old home…he had hoped we could delay our return flight one more day since the heat had not yet been turned back on.
Little did I know this precious night would be the last night I would ever lay my baby girl down to sleep…little did I know our 11pm feeding would be the last…the last time I would cradle her to my breast, her perfect, tiny fingers wound around mine.
That next morning is freeze-framed like snapshots of a motion picture:
Gary tiptoed into her room to bring his girl to bed with us…
KARISSA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Blankets had suffocated.
Screams shook our house while the piercing scream of an ambulance shook the street.
Curious bystanders gazed as if watching a parade.
A hospital waiting room turned into a fortress for prayer…time stood still.
A doctor entered, his face filled with compassion. “I’m so deeply sorry. There is nothing more I can do. ….your daughter has passed away.”
Wait! Time, STOP! He had to be mistaken. “Please,” I begged, “Can you, please try one more time!”
My daughter can NOT pass away. She is our miracle, conceived amidst staggering odds. I was told I would never have children…yet God spoke life into my womb…this would NOT be the end of her story. I TRUSTED the One who promised, “If you make the Lord Most High your dwelling place, no harm will come near your tent.” (Psalm 91) This was the most devastating harm I could imagine, so I knew somehow Karissa’s story would not end…could not end…No! Not now, not this way. She had not been sick a day of her life! She had too much life in front of her!
I KNEW the One who gave women back their dead in Scripture, who raised the little girl Tabitha from the dead, who opened blind eyes and mended broken hearts. I KNEW He wouldn’t shatter my heart or fail to raise my little girl from the dead. I KNEW Karissa’s life would lead thousands of questioning hearts to know a God who loved them deeply. I sang this over her daily. I promised him that her miracle would not be wasted! THIS was not the end of her story. I KNEW it without a doubt.
I knew all this until… the men I trusted most, my beloved dad and my heart-broken husband, escorted me down the steep hill of Forest Lawn cemetery, away from my little girl in her tiny casket. I was walking away from my Miracle, leaving the joy of my life to be buried in a hole in the dirt! NO…Oh God please… You must do something now! I beg you!
As we drove away from my girl, oxygen vanished. Frightening blackness consumed. The candle of hope was extinguished. The promises of God’s Word exploded like a volcanic eruption in my soul. Ash suffocated… I was buried somewhere deep beneath it. A lifeless grey existence replaced the brilliant colors of motherhood. Seconds dragged. Nights were endless. I’d awaken, praying for relief from the vicious nightmare, only to find our nursery empty…day after never-ending day.
Months passed. Mother’s Day arrived. My tender husband hoped to take me away that weekend. Instead, we were scheduled to lead worship for our church’s weekend services. An even deeper depth of despair settled over me as I braced myself for the huge weekend celebration. With mounting anxiety, I staggered to a nearby park, where I collapsed under an oak tree. Streams of tears and clenched fists were the only prayers I had the strength to offer. I opened my Bible randomly and my eyes landed on these words: … we would rather be away from these earthly bodies, for then we will be at home with the Lord.(2 Corinthians 5:8 NLT).
It was then that words formed into a prayer in the journal used to catch my scattered thoughts over the previous months. I slowly rewrote and pondered the verse I had just read:
… we would rather be away from these earthly bodies, for then we will be at home with the Lord. (2 Corinthians 5:8 NLT)
Oh God if this is true, then Karissa is truly home and alive with you. She is not just simply buried in the ground where life betrayed her.
And if she is with you…then you can talk to her…
If you can talk to her…
Words snagged in my uncertain soul. Did I dare ask?
“Oh, Father, can you pick her up right now? Can you hold her for me and tell her how much I…STILL…LOVE…HER?
One more thing, Father…Can you look right into her crystal blue eyes, give her a kiss on her soft, rosebud lips and tell her,
“That kiss was from your mommy!”
A shy appearance of hope flickered. Life dripped into my soul, like liquid from an I.V. line. I left that park, feeling, somehow, that I was not carrying my crushing pain alone.
Mother’s Day arrived. At the conclusion of our worship set, our elderly and accomplished organist (yes, our music was still accompanied by an organ at that time!) handed me a piece of paper, asking to speak with me after the service. We sat together in the front row following the celebration. She revealed the reason for the note:
Patty, as you and Gary were leading us in worship I had the most beautiful vision. I believe it was given to me for you. I also believe that I am supposed to share it with you. I do not want to exacerbate your pain, but I do long to be obedient to the Lord: I saw the heavens open and the Lord surrounded by a sea of people. Closest to him were the children. As we were worshiping Him, He picked up a child, holding her closely to his chest and as He turned I saw that it was Karissa! He began to talk to her, telling her how much her mommy loves her. And then He did one more thing….He looked directly into her crystal blue eyes, kissed her on the lips and whispered, “That kiss is from your mommy!”
Pause. Gary had not read my journal. This dear saint certainly had not read my journal. No one had read my private cries to my Papa God. Overcome by God’s intimate love, I slid off my chair and laid prostrate on the floor, tears soaking the carpet. The God of Scripture was given the name El Roi (The God who hears, the God who sees)…He saw a young, broken mommy under a desolate tree, at a lonely park. Our immensely awesome God, the Creator of the Universe, became small enough to simply sit next to me under that tree, to hurt with me, to listen intently to the deepest longings of my fragile heart.
Now it was His turn to speak. The Truth of His Word flooded back into my soul like an unstoppable torrent: I am not a man that I would ever lie to you. I am not the son of man that I should take back any promise I declared in my Word. If I said it, I will make it good! You CAN TRUST ME! Oh Patty, you can anchor your trust in Me! My ways are so much higher than your ways. My Understanding is beyond your fragile, finite understanding. You asked me to raise Karissa from the dead. I didn’t ignore that cry! I had already answered it! Because of My work on the cross, she is more alive than you can fathom or would ever dare to understand. You believed her life would reach 1000s for my glory. I assure you, it will.
*****
Oh friend, sometimes our faith is too shattered to be strong. It’s at these times in our lives that God whispers, “Let me carry you on eagle’s wings and bring you to myself!” The One who buried his only Son, knows our pain when motherhood ends….He will never leave our side even when our heart is hemorrhaging because life has torn us apart.
THE REST OF THE STORY: Little did I know, while tears soaked that church carpet on that Mother’s Day so long ago, that another tiny heart was lovingly thrumming within me. One year later on the day the ambulance carried our Karissa out of our home, we pulled into our driveway with our Hannah Joy! Shouts of laughter replaces screams of despair!
Over the next 8 years God showered this mommy with four more Treasures to love and raise!
To all moms who face this Mother’s Day with pain, I rose early to pray for you…to share my story of miraculous hope with you so that you, too, might experience His hope ! I pray that you would experience the love of your Father, who sees your brokenness…who hears the faintest cries in your soul. May your pathway of pain lead you straight to His heart…may you come to know His boundless, creative love in a brand new way!
Anchors of Hope:
Psalm 10:17 Lord, you know the hopes of the helpless. Surely you will hear their cries and comfort them
Psalm 18:6 In my distress I cried out to the Lord; yes, I prayed to my God for help. He heard me from his sanctuary; my cry to him reached his ears.
Psalm 22:24 You have not ignored or belittled the suffering of the needy. You have not turned your back on them, but have listened to their cries for help.