It is well with my soul.
I was reading an email about how whatever happens, God’s still good and He’s still God…I was smiling thinking how true those words were when I saw Emily standing beside me. She told me she needed to talk but I was busy. I was responding to an email, my coffee was the perfect temperature and I was trying to Skype my parents. I asked her if it could wait and she said no. I walked to the door with her as she grabbed my hand.
She said something about my babe, Althea…dead…Tondo…Facebook message…sorry. It all ran together. Nothing made sense and I just stared at her. I mumbled incoherently about needing to be alone and staggered to the bathroom. The dizziness was overwhelming and I shut my eyes. My heart started beating rapidly and I had to breathe in and out. I can’t really remember.
My Althea was dead?
The long lashed, gorgeous yet severely malmourished toddler whom my supporters and I had fought for, sought medical attention and cried over was gone?
What the heck, Jesus?
I was pissed at The Philppines, annoyed with God for a hair of a second and mad at this freaking broken world.
She shouldn’t be dead.
She should be running around playing with her toddler friends and learning to eat pancakes. She should have braids in her hair and should be prancing around in her mom’s high heels. She should be getting ready for preschool in a couple years and learning to read. Then heading to middle school and dealing with silly drama then high school and prom and maybe even college. Then shouldn’t she be finding her prince charming so she can live happily ever after?
No. She shouldn’t. Because that’s not God’s awesome plan for her. She is sitting up there in heaven on my Granddad’s lap and they are sharing a smile as I sit here aching over the loss of them both.
Jesus has given me this capacity to love intensely so I have. But with love, often times comes heartache.
Love is its own language.
We started praying for the Carbonel family and as we did the anger lifted. The frustration vaporized and in its place a sweet peace fell on my mind. I started praising and rejoicing in a God who has plans that are far more extravagant than anything I can comprehend. God is so holy that He can’t be exaggerated. In Psalm 19 I was struck by the verse that talks about letting the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart being acceptable in His sight. It goes on to say, Oh Lord, my strength, my redeemer.
Jesus, that is my heart. I want everything that passes through me to be you. I’m sorry I don’t understand Your ways and I release the expectation that I am supposed to get it. Thank you that you are my strength and my redeemer. Thank you that you are powerful, that You do what You do because You are God.
Father you are the blessed Controller. You’re the same yesterday and today and forever. You are constant and Your love never runs out.
His plans are infinitely good and though this hurts, though my heart breaks for Althea’s mommy and daddy, I rejoice in the Savior who knew this would happen. Who took the sorrow, the sins, the pain and the aches and He wiped it out. Jesus, thank you for taking on this pain. Thank you for being you.
They say rejoicing comes in the morning. But why wait? Let’s sing praises to God who loved us first for the sweet blessing Althea was on our lives. God used her in ways to rock my world and change my heart. I’m forever grateful for the awesome privilege of knowing her, loving her and she will always be part of my life.
Her sickness is gone. She doesn’t live in the worst poverty I’ve ever seen anymore. She has plenty of food and she can finally be a fat baby.
Now she’s a fat baby angel!
This is bittersweet. I know the stages of grief all too well but right now, right here, I will be still. I will rest that He is God. That He is good and that He’s got Althea.