15 April 2009


I sit in my roasting kitchen staring at this picture of a dear, precious baby boy. I can't stop looking at his chubby little face. Mannaseh was born 5 months ago to two amazing parents. They have given up so much to serve our Lord Jesus. They have overcome many obstacles in their past. When their son was born, his mother named him "He will make me forget" because it was his new little life that would bring joy to her heart and help her put so much pain behind her. He did just that.

But now, my husband is driving across the city to choose a patch of ground in the cemetery where Manasseh's little coffin will be laid. It's terrible. Devastating. Heart-wrenching. Maddening. Why should this special couple have to suffer MORE? It makes no sense. And I know what all the answers are supposed to be. And I don't care. I just want to see him in his Mama's arms again. I want my boy to have a chance to play with him as he grows up. I want to see his Dad's proud face as he holds him during the prayers. I want to balance him on my knee, get my very white face really close to his deep black face and try my hardest to get him to grin again.

I don't want to see his parents in an hour with empty arms as their firstborn lies in a coffin at the front of the church. I don't want to see them this evening with empty arms as we gather as a team to bear the weight of the grief together. I don't want to see them next week and next year... with empty arms when their son should be crawling, walking, giggling.

It's unbearable to think of the pain that has once again entered the hearts of his parents.

Lord Jesus, come back. There is too much hurt in this place. Please come back.

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