It’s 12:18am and you cry out in your sleep.
I stand by your bedside, rubbing your arm. Whispering, “It’s ok,” as you roll around, unawake.

A nightmare is disturbing your calm, child-like slumber. Something in your dreams is unsettling you, scaring you. I watch you wrestle with a hard thing somewhere beneath your consciousness, in a place I can’t reach.

And I think I know what it is.

Death.

Your new awakening to death is ravaging your rest.

Hours earlier, we all sat around the dinner table, and among the banter and spills and “just three more bites,” you asked The Question. The one that must be asked. The one that must be answered.

The one I dreaded.

“Mommy, Daddy, what does ‘died’ mean?”

Gulp.

How does one put death into words? How do I explain to a four-year-old that someone can be here and then suddenly they are somewhere else? How can that be?

“Honey, when people die, their body stops working. They stop breathing and their heart stop beating. It’s like they are sleeping, but they never wake up again. They stop being alive.”

I see the struggle to comprehend, the flash of fear in those probing eyes of yours.

And I realise how many times I said stop. Your whole world until now has known start: start life, startwalking, start talking, start doing chores. You ask when you can start school, start sitting in the front, startballet.

But to stop?

How foreign it is to you. How foreign it is to me still.

We try to explain how a person’s soul leaves his body and goes to live in Heaven or Hell. That our only hope to survive death is to enter God’s family.

“But Mommy, how long does it take?”

Another question. Oh sweet girl, what a question. How long does it take? The transition from life to death? From earth to eternity?

And so we struggle to answer as best we can.

Because being sure of something doesn’t make us comfortable with it.

And the truth that has sunk to the pit of my stomach is that I can’t shrink the vast mystery of death into something that will fit into your child-sized world.

And so your world must grow to make room for it instead. And I watch those growing pains as you dream restlessly.

I’m sorry, my sweet, innocent girl. I’m sorry that such a deep, dark, scary thing as death exists. I’m sorry that your eyes must open to it and your mind must expand with it and your heart must wrestle with it.

You lost something tonight.

A little piece of blissful unawareness exchanged for this frightening knowledge of ending.

And I hate it. Because I know that this is only the first. As your childhood merges into this thing called growing up, there are many more hard truths that you will have to uncover.

That people hate and are scared of other people just because they look different.

That so many tiny babies die because their mommies went to a doctor and asked for it.

That mommy’s just like me must watch helplessly as their precious little ones just like you waste away because they are hungry and thirsty and sick.

That some mommies and daddies break up and live in separate houses.

That lots of little boys and little girls go to bed each night wishing, praying, hoping for a mommy and daddy, because they are all alone in the world.

That grown ups do really, really, really bad things to one another because of greed and hate and lust and the love of power.

If these unspeakable realities lie heavy in my grown-up heart, how can your little heart possibly bear their weight?

And yet bear their weight it must. And that’s what I am here for. I will teach you…

To carry the heavy things carefully without being crushed.

To guard the sacred things closely without being broken.

To handle the hard things directly without becoming callous.

To question life’s injustices fiercely without doubting God’s goodness.

To deal with the unfathomable things thoughtfully so that you are spurred to God-motivated, Christ-centred, Holy Spirit-empowered actions.

Sweet little one, this is where your childhood begins its end.

And Baby Girl, mama’s here, ok?

The post Dear Baby Girl, I’m Sorry About the Hard Things appeared first on Proverbs 31.

As she tried to soothe her gums with her fingers, screaming in pain, I still had to finish giving her a bath, and do the whole night-time routine before she could take some pain medication and fall asleep. I kept reassuring her that after her bath and medication, she would feel better and fall soundly asleep. Mind you, she is 18 months old and probably had no interest in (or idea about) the words coming out of my mouth. I kept wanting her to hold on just a little while longer, knowing she would be fine soon, but she just wanted the pain to go away immediately. 

As a mother, seeing your child in pain is one of the hardest things. For an 18 month old toddler, there is no “let me just try and suck it up, the pain will go away” way of thinking. In fact,  all they are thinking is, “I am in pain and I want it to go away now.”  In these moments, I think about how that childish mindset is often our mentality when facing trials in our lives. We become like little children who don’t know that trials are temporary and good for them. Trials often cause us to become stronger, having learned something from them or accomplished something through them. We go through life thinking that trials should not be a part of life and each time we come to a bump in the road, we think “This is the end” or “This is the last straw”. Yes, we can be that dramatic. 

All our trials and all our pain and suffering is temporary, and there is no way to prevent these things from happening in our lives on this side of heaven. What matters is how we handle our trials. We can wail and scream or completely retreat from what is happening to us, but that won’t help. It may even worsen our situation, leaving us asunder from the lesson to be learned. Most mothers wish that our little ones would know and understand our murmurings of, “It’s okay, you’re safe with mommy. I know you feel like your teething woes are the end of life as you know it. Mommy can relieve the pain with some teething powder; you can fall asleep and the pain will go away for a while. You need to go through this so that you will have a full set of teeth and be able to eat yummy, nutritious food and grow up to be strong and healthy; it’s all part of the plan.” However, the poor child doesn’t know this; he or she is not mature enough to understand.

So it is with us in this life we have been given. [eltdf_blockquote text=”When trials come, let us look to our heavenly Father, our Lord Jesus Christ who says in Matt 11:28, “Come to Me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” James reminds us to “count it all joy when you fall into various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience. But let patience have its perfect work, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking nothing. If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask of God, who gives to all liberally and without reproach, and it will be given to him.” (James 1:2-5)” title_tag=”h2″ width=””]. These words are our very own “You need to go through this. Soon enough it will be over and you will have learned or accomplished something, with God as your guide, strength and comfort.  It’s all part of the plan.” But we cannot see this unless we know who our Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ, is. Like little children, we need to grow in our spiritual maturity to understand and put our faith into action. We cannot do this apart from the Word of God, because that’s how we know who He is — through His Word. We cannot know His Word without the Holy Spirit, and we cannot have the Holy Spirit without a repentant heart drawn by Christ by His grace and by faith in Him through His word. For then, “Blessed is the man who endures temptation; for when he has been approved, he will receive the crown of life which the Lord has promised to those who love Him.” (James 1:12)

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