In Memory of Jackson

3/16/05
On Saturday, I went to a wedding—a wedding resplendent with laughter, dancing, and joy.

On Monday, I went to the funeral of a beautiful baby boy—a funeral filled with tears, sorrow…and joy.

Little Jackson Katsion should still be safe and warm in his mother’s womb. He was supposed to be born in April—when the flowers were blooming, new buds were forming on the trees, the sweet smell of spring in the air. But he arrived in December, when the wind was blustery and cold and the ground hard and frozen. He came in with Christmas—and we cautiously celebrated his birth.

He left with Easter, which was oddly appropriate; the promise of resurrection was what kept us from losing all hope.

But hope is what we clung to. In the beginning it was hope that God would heal Jackson. In the end, we testified with hope that Jackson was healed—a whole and complete Jackson had gone home.

Selfishness made me wish Jackson was still here. I wanted to hold him, to stand in line to see him at church, to rock him to sleep in the nursery. I wanted to see him playing with his brothers and cuddling with his Mommy and Daddy.

Instead, I stared at a casket, my heart brimming with the declaration “He is not here—he is risen!”

In his two and a half months, Jackson taught me about perseverance, about fulfilling Good’s will. His parents taught me about reckless love and boldly claiming God’s promises.

And God showed me his infinite love for His children. He weeps with those who weep. And his plan is perfect even…or perhaps especially…when I don’t understand it.

March 5, 2005

I woke up this morning crying, my wet face buried in my pillow. In that hazy state between wake and sleep, I had let my guard down, and at first I couldn't quite figure out why. Then memories from the dream that still floated under my eyelids came rushing back. I had dreamt about Dennis. In my dream he was still here, and it seemed so real. I could feel him as I snuggled next to him on the couch and we joked together about something I've already forgotten. The realness of it all made me grieve his death all over again. I wish he was still here. I could fill this whole journal with that sentiment as strongly as I feel it right now. I wish he was still here.

I don't think I've cried like this since the days immediately following his death, three years ago today. I miss him. I miss his hugs, his laughs, the feel of his beard against my cheek. I miss how I always felt safe and cared for when he was around. I miss Dennis.

This morning's dream was like a gift, but the pain of waking up was almost too much. I feel like he was here, and now I remember again that he's not. It's hard for me to believe that it's been three years. Three years since we joked together, since he played the guitar for me, since his last hug for me. I miss him and this morning I let myself remember. And now the tears won't stop. I try to focus on the good, but somehow that makes the tears come faster. There are so many good memories that I was never thankful for until it was too late.

I know the tears won't last forever. I'll blow my nose, wash my face, and move on. But I'm somehow thankful for this early morning mourning. God has allowed me to miss the only real earthly father I've ever known. And I'm thankful He understands these tears I cry.

3/7/2005
Nashville is a city of Starbucks, cell phones, and senseless drivers. Somehow I remembered there being less traffic and more parking spaces; less noise and more quiet. You forget a lot in two years, I suppose.

I was disappointed today when I couldn’t find anyone who could, or even wanted to, hang out. So, I drove downtown (and was reintroduced to the IDIOT drivers in Nashville) and just walked around. And each step made me feel less and less like I belonged. There are still friendships here that I cherish. I miss the fellowship I had here. I miss the shopping.

But maybe I’m just a small-town girl at heart, destined to always be the one who visits the city. Right now everything in my life is upside down—like when you get knocked over by a wave in the ocean, and when you reach for the sky you grab a hand full of sand.

When I left here two years ago, all I dreamt about was moving back. I kept recalling the verse about God giving us the desires of our hearts.

But today, as I walked down the street, the only person without a cell ph one or iPod pressed in my ear, I remembered the beginning of the verse: “Delight yourself in the Lord…”

And I feel like the more I seek to delight myself in God, the more he is delicately adjusting my desires to His—His perfect will that is infinitely better than mine.

I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t terrifying, though. But who ever said God’s will was safe? Much the opposite, I’m learning.