I am so fully aware of the beauty God is capable of bringing from the ashes of our lives. To be a young pregnant mom, squeamish with her own doubts and fears, and yet overwhelmed with the anticipation of the joys of mothering, to be that mom, walking into the hospital’s ER with back labor, days after her calculated due date and sensing that nothing was happening in accordance with “the book,” to be that mom, to be ushered into an x-ray room rather than a delivery room, to be told, “Your baby will not live” – to be that mom – ushered in a crushing, unimaginable darkness. I was that mom, and I am not the only mom who has faced that same crushing, unimaginable darkness when her child has died. With the knowledge of our daughter’s impending death, my husband and I were asked if we would be willing to donate her body to medical science for research. In the midst of the darkness, we reached for a glimmer of light – the possibility of helping another family avoid the darkness. Her body was taken, and in the months, the years, the decades that followed, we heard nothing. And the questions left a hole in Tonia’s story, a hole that paralleled the lack of closure we had in our own hearts. What had happened to her body? Was knowledge gained that could help others? Was her body left on a shelf, was it discarded in the trash, was it buried? And if she was buried, where could I go just to remember?
Beauty still came though from the ashes of her death. God gave me a heart of compassion. A heart that cared. A heart that wanted God’s answers and not my own. A heart, in time, that found a compulsion to embrace the hearts and darkness of other moms. And a heart that was able to focus on the joy of Tonia’s gain – the presence of Jesus, the perfections of Heaven, and the absence of all that sin stains.
And when it was least expected, God gave me the answers to some of my questions. Tonia did aid in research focusing on developmental and congenital defects. She was cremated, and a small, historical cemetery holds her ashes within a site trimmed with hibiscus bushes and marked with a plaque that honors not only the gift of her body, but also the gifts of others. The hole in her story was being filled, and my heart was finding a greater closure. But in the midst of joy-filled tears, the reality of Tonia’s gain began to shout. Jesus. The perfections of Heaven. The absence of all that sin stains. Her broken body made whole. And in her wholeness, she is embraced by the One who made Heaven possible, dancing, growing, becoming, joining the voices of others who sing His praises. A little girl I too will some day embrace while every darkness of earth will be fully turned to light. I sent an email to a friend, trying to conceptualize what I was feeling ... As much as her earthly story means to me, her Heavenly story is so much more important, so much more full of hope and expectancy. And as I reflect, I am reminded again that God tenderly holds it all in His hands. He has never left me, my husband, or my child. He cares about the beauty He longs to bring from the ashes, but He cares too about the details that may not matter to anyone else, but He knows they matter to me. It is my story woven once again into His story – a story that will vibrantly live through all of eternity.
Beauty still came though from the ashes of her death. God gave me a heart of compassion. A heart that cared. A heart that wanted God’s answers and not my own. A heart, in time, that found a compulsion to embrace the hearts and darkness of other moms. And a heart that was able to focus on the joy of Tonia’s gain – the presence of Jesus, the perfections of Heaven, and the absence of all that sin stains.
And when it was least expected, God gave me the answers to some of my questions. Tonia did aid in research focusing on developmental and congenital defects. She was cremated, and a small, historical cemetery holds her ashes within a site trimmed with hibiscus bushes and marked with a plaque that honors not only the gift of her body, but also the gifts of others. The hole in her story was being filled, and my heart was finding a greater closure. But in the midst of joy-filled tears, the reality of Tonia’s gain began to shout. Jesus. The perfections of Heaven. The absence of all that sin stains. Her broken body made whole. And in her wholeness, she is embraced by the One who made Heaven possible, dancing, growing, becoming, joining the voices of others who sing His praises. A little girl I too will some day embrace while every darkness of earth will be fully turned to light. I sent an email to a friend, trying to conceptualize what I was feeling ... As much as her earthly story means to me, her Heavenly story is so much more important, so much more full of hope and expectancy. And as I reflect, I am reminded again that God tenderly holds it all in His hands. He has never left me, my husband, or my child. He cares about the beauty He longs to bring from the ashes, but He cares too about the details that may not matter to anyone else, but He knows they matter to me. It is my story woven once again into His story – a story that will vibrantly live through all of eternity.
(Related Bible reading: 1 Corinthians 15:42-44; 2 Corinthians 5:1-8; 1 Thessalonians 4:13; Revelation 21:3,4)
