Sometimes losing what you had is made worse because of losing what you never got to have.
Recently I’ve been struck by the thought that in losing Oliver, I didn’t just lose my baby; I lost my child, my teenager, and my adult. I lost yet-to-be-had memories of paper airplane races, running around the house like a t-rex, navigating awkward adolescence, watching him marry the love of his life. They were moments I dreamed of as I felt his little body crowd my own enlarged one. Moments that I’ll never get to live with him now.
When this thought hit me yet again this morning, it was accompanied with a bigger question: what if this is the way God feels about us?
As our creator and our heavenly Father, he is crazy about us and longs for us to be in close relationship with him. The day in, the day out. The paper airplanes, the dinosaur impressions, the awkward, the joy and sorrow–all of it. Before any of us was born, he knew us better than we’d even know ourselves, had visions of what we could be.
From the start, God’s heart has been to dwell with us and for us to abide in him. Yet he gives us the choice to want him. It grieves him when we turn our hearts from that offer of an intimate relationship with him.
Being made in his image, I know many of our human experiences are a reflection of his heart and character. From this short stint I’ve had in parenthood, I wonder if his grieving is because he sees not just who we are right now, but who we could be, and he wants to walk through this life together.
Thank you, Abba, for calling me, making me your own, and dreaming up more for me than I ever could for myself.
[-Joy, for the band]