Shower Doors Opening in Heaven

The sermon at our church led into the topic of whether we will recognize one and other when we get to Heaven, leading me to a memory that I have from so long ago and bending my mind to what I believe on the subject of Heaven.

In January of 1995, on a Sunday night, I was giving our 19-month-old daughter, Molly, a bath. Over the weekend, we had just moved into a new home and so Molly was enjoying a new tub. This particular tub was also a shower and it had the frosted glass shower doors attached to the tub. Our previous tub did not have these and so our daughter was fascinated by them. As she sat in the tub, I would pull the door closed and then open it again,  "Peek-A-Boo" with a shower door. After a few times, she learned that she could do it to me. She would close the door and then wait. Then the game evolved to her just wanting to close the door if I opened it. Then she would put her little face up against the glass and try to see if I was still there. And, I would see the outline of her. I couldn't see her completely, just the outline of who she was. And she would see my outline--and giggle.

I remember this bath time as clearly as if it was last night. Perhaps the reason I remember this so clearly is because it was just two days later that she was gone. Gone to be in the presence of the Lord. And, then it was just a few weeks later that I was sitting in that same tub on a cold February night--trying to erase the chill of grief--and staring at those doors. I was thinking of that special time of Mother and child and I was imbedding that memory into my mind. I wanted to hold onto it, to remember it forever. 

And, I don't know why, but that night, God used those doors to help me have a little better understanding of Heaven. While here on earth, I use my eyes and my ears to recognize those I know and love. When my family returns from a trip, I see them coming down the escalator at the airport and so I quickly approach them, ready to love on them. I use my eyes to know my family, because God has equipped me with vision. When someone in my home comes through the door, they drop their keys in the glass bowl on the hutch--I hear the keys and I say, "Hello?" And the "Hello" that returns tells me who has arrived. I recognize my loved one's voice because this is the tool for earth. In Heaven, I will use more. 

We are living our lives looking at each other through frosted glass shower doors. We can see each other--somewhat. We can make out enough of the outlines that we know who we want to approach and who we do not. But, when we are in the presence of the Lord and we are stripped of these bodies and living in our perfect bodies it will be as though the door had slid open and we can finally see each other. The enhancement of our spiritual nature will out weigh our physical side.

Will I recognize Molly in Heaven? Yes. The glass door will slide open and her perfect body will show WHO she is completely. No more distractions by shadows of aging. No cloudy outlines of an infant verses the elderly--just who she is.

"There are also heavenly bodies and there are earthly bodies; 
but the splendor of the heavenly bodies is one kind, 
and the splendor of the earthly bodies is another. " 
1 Corinthians 15:40

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Through the Valley of the Shadow

"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, 

I fear no evil, for You are with me. Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me." 

Psalm 23:4

Truth be told, I was nervous today.  

I had the opportunity to go and be in the presence of a young couple who are walking in the shadow of death. My husband is a pastor, and I asked him if I could join him as he went to meet with a young couple from our church to pray for their 5 day old son. It was a long trip to the hospital, in a car with no air conditioning, but I would gladly make it again to pray for this sweet child and to be in this place, where angels reside. 

I once walked through the valley they are traveling in, the valley that lies in the shadows of death. The unknown of what will come around each bend in the road. It is a tricky path, this rocky terrain, and it is one that is better traveled with the Shepperd near by.

Facing the hallways of the NICU valley with the tiny tubes, the nurses with needles, the doctors who share so little, the terminology that is so unfamiliar--and all with the most precious part of yourself in the clear plastic cradle. There are moments to celebrate, and then moments to grieve and they sometimes happen within a breath of each other. 

Truth be told, I was nervous yesterday. 

I had the occasion to go to the funeral of a young woman, a childhood friend of my daughter who is now walking on the other side of the shadow. I approached her parents at the church, because I knew from my time walking through their valley, that the best thing I could do, was give them another familiar face on this day. To allow another synapse to be fired in their brains and to release more memories. Precious and priceless memories. 

I once walked through the valley they are traveling in, the valley that lies in the shadows of death. The finality of what came around that sharp bend in the road. It is a tricky path, this rocky terrain, and it is one that is better traveled with the Shepperd near by. 

Facing the hallways of things that I will not ever do with my daughter. Watching as children her age grow and mature, but she forever remains as she was. Knowing that she is complete in the presence of her Savior, but that means she isn't with me. And so, missing her becomes part of what draws me nearer to He who could have saved her, but loved us both more.

Truth be told, I am not nervous for tomorrow. 

I don't know what will happen. I do not know if I will walk in a shadow of death tomorrow, but I do know that if I do, I won't walk it alone. The impulses I have to pursue God originated with Him. As much as I long after Him to walk with me through these valleys, He longs for it even more. And, ultimately, while I may walk through the shadow of death, there is another shadow that shields my heart.

"Because you are my help, I sing in the shadow of your wings.

I cling to you; your right hand upholds me." 

Psalm 63:7-8

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Ooops...I did it again.

Somewhere in the midst of this day, I lost her. I forgot my daughter's 18th birthday. It wasn't until 5:10 in the evening, while working in the cafe at my church, that I realized the date. A pastor of our church came in and wanted to put his apple turnover and iced tea on his tab. I opened the book to record the amount and when I asked "What is the date?", the words, "the 26th. June 26th."-- sharp as a sword stabbed me in the throat. 

 And time stood still.

Ouch. I cannot breathe. I am standing here and I need to smile because if I do not smile, and if I speak, I may explode. And when the explosion erupts every painful, fearful, awful part of me is going to flood this whole cafe. I turn away and I move on to the next task. 

Then, a college girl comes in to buy a bag of bar-b-cue potato chips. She smiles and asks, "How are you holding up with everyone being gone?"

What?! 

Oh...the trip. My husband is on a trip. 

I look at her and I whisper. "I forgot today was the birthday of our daughter who passed away. And, I just remembered." My eyes are welling up and the poor girl doesn't know what to do. She is full of compassion, but she is unsure of how to respond--why did I do that to her?

Voices are intruding. "What kind of mother are you?" Push it down. "Do you even miss her?" Get something to drink, wipe a table, make a panini--do something for Heaven's sake. But, do not talk, again. 

10 minutes later. I am calm. I am living in the full knowledge that there is hardly anything that the voice can say that would make me feel worse than I already feel at this moment. But, I know that I have to battle the voice. Letting the voice win just gives the voice ground. So, I want to argue my case with the voice---"I am concerning myself with the living. This is a good sign! This is a sign of healing!"

The voice acknowledges my plea, with a quick quip. "This is a sign of forgetting."

I have forgotten her birthday. This happened once before; I showed myself grace for it--and now it has happened again. How long until I forget her all together? How long until I feel nothing?

And then, a customer distracts me from the voice's snarl. A 20-something woman orders an iced coffee...and she has a gentle disposition. I am drawn to her as we talk of coffee habits. As the conversation unfolds she realizes who I am and she says she knows my husband. She goes on to tell me that she prayed with him once. 

I listen to her and I think about how much I miss him tonight and how it feels good to hear from her. Then she says, "It was a year ago and I was having a really hard time because my nephew had just died, my sister's son. He wasn't even 3 years old and he died of leukemia. And I was having a hard time, and then he talked about your daughter that died and I knew I needed to talk to him."

I cannot breathe again. She sees my eyes filling with tears, and I feel guilty because I know she thinks I am sheddidng tears for her nephew--but really, all I can think about is my baby girl and how I want to go back and hold her again. I am overwhelmed and confused because I cannot imagine her as an 18-year-old...an adult...and so, I hold onto the memory of her as tightly as I can. The memory of when she was here and she was mine. And somehow, I do all of this without breathing and without dying. And I don't know how I do that. 

Then, she stops talking. And we stand there. And I don't know what to say. So, I ask, "How is your sister doing, now?" 

She goes on to share about how her sister is involved with doing fundraisers to help fight cancer. She says that her sister is having a hard time because the anniversary is coming up and she has a hard time with dates.  And the whole time she is talking, I am thinking, "This is really bizarre. I understand you love me, Lord. I get that you watch over me...but really? Is this really happening?" 

Then the young woman asks, "Can I ask, what happened with your daughter?"

In this moment, I hold my breath and I walk to a corner in the cafe and motion for her to follow. I am sure that she thinks I am insane, and I then I say. "Today is her birthday. And, I just need to tell you this because I want you to know how awesome God is. I cannot believe that we met today and you shared your nephew's story with me."

The tears are coming now, and I don't think that I can stop them, but I want to stop them, because there are things that need to be said. 

"And, you can tell your sister, that it does get better, in fact, even today, I was so busy living life and being involved in the lives of the people who are here, that I actually forgot about the date on the calendar." 

Later, I stood and starred out the window of the cafe. And I thought to myself, "I can't believe I forgot." And, I swear, I heard a voice. But, this voice was the voice of the Lord, and he said, "Yes, you did. But, I didn't."