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.
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.
posted by Brandy at 3/16/2005 03:34:00 PM
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