|If I could pick every one of them for her, I would.|
I woke up yesterday and, as usual, she was one of the first thoughts on my mind. I felt my eyes well up, but the feeling quickly turned to anger. I HATE that she's gone. As I threw my blankets off and got out of bed, I resented that I couldn't have been faced with a temporary trial. Like, why couldn't I have had a serious illness that got really bad and I had to cling to God through and then after He healed me physically, I could say it was a trial I endured in the past? And "Praise God! I made it through and learned so much and now I can live like it never happened." Why did I have to have a trial that meant my life could never be the same? Why did it have to mean that every day for the rest of my life I would know that I could never fully recover from it because she will never return to me on this side of heaven? And why did it have to be a trial that so few people around me understood?
I went into the kids' rooms as always, opening blinds and shutting off fans and as I swung the boy's blind string to the right, I bashed my funny bone on the bunk bed. I wanted to cry, but instead I said a bad word.
My mother always said anger was a second emotion... and I've found that to be true. It's always followed after a different emotion that isn't quite as comfortable. It's easier to be mad then to face the truth, that in my pride, I think I deserved to keep her.
She was never mine.
And the daisies everywhere are reminding me of that lately.
But maybe the biggest blessing on the path I have had to walk is that God continually breaks my pride - which has never done anything but keep me further from Him and allow me to falsely believe that I was better than I was. Pride allowed me to think I didn't need him in certain parts of my life. Pride kept me believing that I had control, even if just a tiny bit, over MY plans for my life. Pride allowed me to think somehow that God was supposed to keep me happy, rather than showing me that in order to follow Him, I needed to be willing to pour myself completely, utterly out in order to be more like Him. Pride told me I didn't have a problem with pride. Pride built me up for a much bigger fall. The higher you are, the further you have to drop - and everyone does eventually.
The daily reminder of this as I miss my girl, knowing that this trial doesn't mean I have met my quota and will never suffer again, keeps me lower to the ground. It keeps me humble. It hurts, but brings life at the same time. It used to take a lot more than a hurt funny bone to get my attention.
When Rachel was lowered into a hole in the ground and covered in dirt, my entire being knew like never before how little control I have in this life... how helpless I am...how much I need Jesus. I'm thankful that my pride was buried right along with my girl. That my identity will never again be in anything but Jesus....that my devotion to Him got deeper and more true.... That I know where my true home is and that as a result, I am more sensitive to what God desires in my earthly life. That having been loved so tenderly by The Great King during those days, my love for Him became richer and I became aware of His jealousy to own my heart completely....and more willing than ever to let Him.
I'm thankful that when I'm tempted to forget those things... I have the daily pain of losing my daughter, always breaking my pride and reminding me that I am entitled to nothing good in this life...yet He gives me so much more than I deserve. Starting with the time I did get to spend with Rachel and how sweet it was to taste the goodness of the Lord and hold a piece of my heavenly home in my arms.