Kiss Your Miracle

On Monday afternoon, my cell phone rang. The caller ID said “Jilly” so I immediately answered it. But it wasn’t Jill. It was her husband James, and I could tell right away from the tone of his voice that he didn’t have good news. A minute later the words “Jill passed away last night” were pressing their way into my brain against my will.

Jill battled cancer for several years and had recently begun hospice care, but that doesn’t make saying goodbye to her any easier. She is leaving behind her husband and toddler son, her parents and sisters and their families, and countless friends. Even though we know the truth – that Jill is with Jesus in heaven, fully healed of her pain – it’s still sad to think we won’t get to make any more memories with her on earth.

All of us who knew Jill would probably agree that there is no one else like her. She loved God in a radical way that drew people to her. I met her in 1999 when I first went out to the Youth With a Mission (YWAM) base in Kona, Hawaii. She was my small group leader. I’d just graduated from a private Christian university and my life at that point was a confused mess of regret. I’d convinced myself during college that most Christians were hypocritical and judgmental, but I also knew that God was real. I hated that I felt so far from Him, but didn’t know how to find my way back. Then I got to know Jill, who loved God without a touch of cynicism. The way she talked about Him shocked me. Her faith was not about doing the right thing. She was motivated by an intimate, genuine love for Jesus, and that translated into a joyful life regardless of her circumstances. She helped me articulate the problems I had with God and work through them. She was in the water with me the day I was baptized in the Pacific Ocean, and I knew at that moment we’d be friends for life.

I know I can speak for many people when I say that our grief right now is overwhelming. At the same time, I don’t want all my attention to be on Jill’s death – not when she lived so fully for God each day. Thinking through my favorite Jill memories has been therapeutic for me this week, and I have to share some of them with you:

~ spilling my guts to her about all the stupid stuff I’d done, and the way she just sat there and listened for the longest time, and then prayed for me.

~ how excited she was for me when I joined the YWAM staff six months later.

~ watching her drive a stick-shift van on the left side of the road during rush hour in Auckland, New Zealand with no stress whatsoever.

~ making pancakes for breakfast on our “illegal” hot plate in Building 4.

~ our staff worship and prayer times together.

~ hanging out at the Kona Denny’s with Jess and Ad, hearing Jill explain that she wanted us to be her Assistant School Leaders (ASLs!) for the school she was about to lead.

~ sitting in a church in Thailand, listening to Jill tell the girls on my outreach team, “It’s good for you to go a long time without washing your hair. The grease is like conditioner.”

~ watching her completely flip out over James when they first got together. When he called to tell her he was coming to visit her in Kona, she actually leaped across the room and head-butted my leg.

~ her entire wedding week – getting to know her family (who treated me like another daughter from the day I met them), running around Missoula, and the way she had the reception set up outside even though the weatherman predicted thunderstorms. “I asked Jesus for clear skies,” she explained, and that’s exactly what she got. We all watched her dance to “butt-rock” that night beneath an orange sunset with the love of her life.

~ all the weekends Adam and I spent hanging out with her and James during our SBS in Montana, how we ate cereal from massive serving bowls, and the way she just smiled when I told her Adam and I would never be more than friends, and then smiled some more a few weeks later when I told her Adam and I were crazy in love with each other.

~ that she made my hair look incredible for my wedding, and liked her bridesmaid’s dress so much she actually wore it again.

~ how she and James couldn’t wait to move to Thailand to be missionaries.

~ walking around Miami with her when she had no hair from chemo, and the way she didn’t wear a wig. “I don’t really care if people stare at me,” she said.

~ the way we had one conversation about the things we didn’t like in the whole “Prayer of Jabez” phenomenon, and afterward sent a “Prayer of Jabez” coin back and forth to each other hidden inside birthday and Christmas gifts for years without ever talking about it.

~ when she and her friend Carla came to Ocala to see me at the end of my first pregnancy. I was overdue and miserable, but she made me laugh anyway, of course. We went out for Thai food and Jill had a full conversation in Thai with our server.

~ talking with her about our miracle babies.

~ sitting on the lawn outside her house this past summer, studying all the flowers in her garden that she was so proud of while William played nearby.

~ how she never waivered in her faith. During one of my last conversations with her, she said she’d never felt more strongly that God loved her.

I cried for a long time after I heard the news on Monday. Later that night after Sky was asleep, I was lying on the bed curled up next to Adam. My mega-sized belly was resting against his side and the baby was in high-energy mode, kicking and twisting and making us both laugh a little through our tears. “I can just picture him in there,” Adam said after a few minutes, “so comfortable all squished up in the dark, thinking he’s really living his life. But pretty soon he’ll be born. And that process will probably feel like death. But then he’ll open his eyes and he’ll know for the first time what it really means to be alive.”

It says in Revelation that when life on earth has ended, believers will be with Jesus in heaven, where there won’t be any pain or sadness or death, and where God will wipe away every tear in our eyes. My brain cannot fathom what that will be like. But I believe in that promise, that heaven is a real place, and that Jill is with her Savior right now. And I don’t think it’s possible to spend too much time dwelling on that fact today.

A little while ago Adam asked his parents if they wouldn’t mind watching Sky for an evening so the two of us could have a date before the baby comes. They told us they’d love to and even offered to keep her overnight. At first I thought no, that would be weird. Sky should sleep at our house unless there’s a real reason for her to stay somewhere else, right? Like when we’re actually at the hospital having the baby. But the more I thought about it, the nicer it began to sound, especially because John and Terry seemed so excited to have her.

So on Saturday morning while Sky ran around at her grandparents’ house, I sat in a perfectly quiet kitchen, slowly drinking a cup of coffee. Of course, I still woke up at the crack of dawn. But instead of getting up with Sky I stayed buried under a mountain of blankets for another hour.

The evening before was just as peaceful. As Adam and I shopped in Orlando and went out to dinner, I couldn’t help but notice how relaxing it was to just talk to him. I think that’s one of the hardest things about parenting a toddler – constant interruptions. At the end of a typical day when Adam gets home from work, my brain is full of things to tell him and ask him, and I can’t wait to have a real conversation. But when every other sentence is cut short because Sky needs something, wants something, or has decided to throw a random temper tantrum, I lose my train of thought. I tell myself we’ll talk about it when she goes to bed, but by then I’ve usually forgotten.

I know we won’t have little ones around forever; people in the grocery store are constantly reminding me how fast they grow up, which is probably very true in hindsight. So for now, Adam and I are doing our best to enjoy life with our family today, interruptions and all. But I have to admit that having a break was wonderful. I was excited for Sky to come home on Saturday, but I also appreciated the slow, gentle start to the weekend. Thanks John and Terry! You are a HUGE blessing to us.

Most of the country has been in a cold snap this week, and we’re even feeling it down here in Florida. It’s been in the twenties at night and we’ve actually been wearing coats outside, sometimes even in the late afternoon. The northerner in me loves it. It seems like weather shouldn’t make that much of a difference in my day, but I have to confess that the chilly temperatures definitely improve my mood, even if it is more work to get bundled up before we go out.

Today Skylar and I were getting ready to go to the library when I noticed she was walking around the house with her hands in her coat pockets. She looked so grown up, just casually waiting for me like a bored teenager. And as I snapped her picture, I felt this intense surge of love for her rise up inside me. A minute later I scooped her up and covered her face with kisses, even though she squealed and squirmed in my arms. I think this is my favorite part of being a mom – the random moments on an ordinary days, when I’m suddenly aware that motherhood is everything I thought it would be and more.

Our baby boy’s due date is less than a month away now and I’ve spent my share of time wondering how I’ll manage Sky at eighteen months along with a newborn. Today though, it occurred to me that I should be spending at least an equal amount of time enjoying my little girl. Right now she has my undivided attention, and although it’s uncomfortable to carry her on top of my oversized belly, I can still cuddle her whenever she wants it. I admit that sometimes she frustrates me, but she also makes me laugh – a lot. This morning when I was getting ready in front of the mirror, I realized she was being way too quiet. I expected to turn around and find my dresser emptied or my journal destroyed or something like that, but instead she was sitting quietly on the floor, studying a People magazine as if she could read every word. I love taking pictures of her and looking at them later when she’s in bed for the night. It helps me remember the good moments from the day and washes away some of the tension.

When the two of us are home alone during the week, we go on plenty of outings to move each day along. We go to the park and outside for walks and to the children’s section of the library, but I also take her to the places I like – Barnes and Noble and Panera. Sky loves being out and interacting with people, and although she’s pretty demanding while we’re in the car, I’m still only responsible for one child at this point. There’s just one car seat in our Forrester and I’m still using a single stroller. Hopefully by springtime, I’ll be out and about with both Sky and her little brother, and I’m sure I’ll take plenty of pictures of our son and both kids together. But it won’t be quite the same as life now with just my daughter. And as I appreciate having two kids, I also want to know that I enjoyed the time I had with just one.

It’s New Years Eve, which means today marks the end of 2009. And even though I’ll probably be fast asleep at midnight (unless I happen to be up for one of my many nightly trips to the bathroom at that moment), I’m looking forward to this holiday. I’m sure tomorrow morning will feel almost the same as this morning, but there’s still something nice about the start of a new year. I’ve always been grateful for beginnings and endings. I don’t think it’s a mistake that sunrise and sunset are the most beautiful, peaceful times of the day.

This year especially, the thought of a new start brings relief. I won’t say that ’09 has been all bad; it’s definitely had its share of blessings. In June we found out about miracle baby #2. We celebrated Sky’s first birthday in July and then in the fall learned that our second child is a boy. But this year also held financial stress and health problems for our extended family. And overwhelmingly, 2009 will be remembered as the year of my dad’s cancer diagnosis and his death on November 3^rd. The past few months have been difficult, so in that sense, I’m ready to move forward.

At the same time though, there is a part of me that actually wants to hold onto this year. The pain of my dad’s death is still new and shocking, and every first my family goes through without him stings. Sky still remembers her Papa, but she’s only seventeen months and I know that as time ticks by, her memories of him are fading. I don’t want my dad’s absence to become normal. But I also know that living in a state of grief indefinitely isn’t healthy, and maybe that’s part of why God steadily pushes us on to new months, new years, and new phases of life, even when we might not feel ready.

I hope that for Adam, Sky, and me, 2010 will include a good birth experience and a healthy newborn addition to our family. I hope this year includes a healthy set of twins for my brother and his wife in April, and I’m also asking our Almighty God to give miracle pregnancies to the couples I know who still struggle with infertility. I’m excited at the possibilities of 2010, but the unknown is scary too. I’m sure this coming year will include surprises, some so wonderful we haven’t imagined them yet, and some we would never choose for ourselves. More than ever, I can’t escape the fact that life is fragile. But God has promised that goodness and mercy will follow each of his children all of our days. And I plan to do what I can this year to take Him at His word, regardless of what the future holds.

“God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea…” – Psalm 46:1-2