In the last moments of her brief four-day stay, she spent most of her time in our arms, and I spent all her time praying she’d stay, then with grace, anticipating her departure almost with a jealous sorrow;
my daughter was about to awake to the sight of the King of Kings.
I felt the honor in that moment. It would be that very honor that would carry me through the void I would feel for the rest of my earthly life. I would also feel a longing that lingered all my years.
All these years I’d spent as a small earthling-singing-praise vessel, earnestly seeking to usher in the tangible healing presence of the Lord, our King, through worship and music, digging a deep well so that other seekers could taste and see that the Lord is good…and in an instant she would see and know all of Him, not in part but in full, not in a mirror, dimly, but
her face to His FACE.
She’d have instantly my heart’s desire, a drink of the refreshing living waters of Jeshua, with me seeing only just a tiny portion of His perfect love, the love that I had longed for all my 29 years, she would be consumed and fill her everything. I would remain engaged but she, she would be his wife.
I looked down, Kellan’s sweet little face, trying so hard to make the tears stop so I could see her beautifully feminine and perfect, fragile baby. Everything I would want in a little girl. I could see all of us:
Lillian-like,
Suzanne-like,
Brenda-like
Lynda-like, yet
Kellan-like.
His masterpiece original.
Wavy dark brown hair and
her Daddy’s Cowan hairline,
her Blythe-shaped head.
Knowing the King was near, I lifted my baby tightly, as if I were holding up my very own flesh-heart, my costly offering of great price to the Lord, pulled her up to my face, my hand the pillow for her precious head, and breathed in slowly and deeply and smelled
her fragile flower babygirl-scent one last time.
I whispered in her perfect tiny baby ear, “Worship the King for me, sweet daughter, Worship Him for me.”
I felt a deep sense of Mama-pride and basked in what was to be the Holiest moment of my life.
I knew HE was drawing nearer, and then He was right in front of me.
Though I cannot describe in words how very gently HE lifted her from my arms, I knew He held her and it was okay.
She was safe, life completed, ready for her wedding, her chariot: His scarred arms.
The LCU fell quiet,
Silence revealed Heaven’s wedding bells.
I trusted Him.
I love Him.
His word hidden in my shattered heart:
“though He slay me,
I trust.”
Strength made perfect in weakness.
Given to me,
taken from me,
He could do either.
His Promise kept.
They both left. but their thickness lingered for some time.
I would return to this moment in my mind for the rest of my life.
Years from now on a day not so far away, I will leave, too.
My wedding bells will ring. And whether this comes to pass, I won’t know until that moment, but on days that I miss her the most,
With my earthly mind
I imagine it:
I’ll open my eyes and see Him, my King, not in part but in full.
A tear-filled jar will be clutched in one of His hands. And I’ll start to bow before Him.
Just as I bow and my forehead makes contact with His feet, a sweet and familiar voice will call,
“Mama, mama” I’ll turn and see her, and get up to run, embracing my Kellan in joyful laughter. Ever-so gently Her hand, a pillow for my head, will pull me close and she”ll whisper in my ear,
“Let’s worship Him together, sweet Mama. Let’s worship Him together.”
Then, jar emptied on the King’s feet, I will be whole.
(Written on my Daughter’s 20th Wedding Anniversary to the King. )
