Homecoming

Last night Will and I sat curled together on the kitchen floor, mourning. I sobbed and touched pictures of my baby’s face. For the thousandth time in this nightmare I said “I miss him.” Will replied “murmur.”

The phrase “I love you” has long seemed insufficient in our marriage. We’ve often discussed how there should be other words, like in Greek. People say they love colors and foods and shoes. The commitment we have to each other, the emotions that go along with it don’t fit into the same category as peep-toed pumps. So, one night Will said “I love you,” I responded “more and more” but apparently my enunciation was a bit off and he heard “murmur.” Our expression was born.

To us, it means something special. Now it describes the deepening ache for our son. It isn’t getting better. It’s getting worse. We miss him more and more. The pain is more and more. The lost feeling is more and more. Murmur defines our lives today.

After last night I knew it was time to listen. When God was healing me, “the first time” as Will now puts it, I developed a habit, a specific way of approaching Him when I needed moments of deep intimacy. There’s nothing particularly special about it, except to me and Him. It places me in a position of physical submission and removes distraction so I can focus on Him. Since Damon’s death I have not approached God this way. I’ve talked to Him virtually constantly. He’s answered me clearly but I have not spent time in deep intimacy with Him. I was afraid. Afraid of what I’m not entirely sure.

This morning I hit my knees and entered His throne room. He welcomed me and swallowed me in peace. He soothed the screaming pain and waited. It took a long time for the swirling in my head to slow. Finally all I could say was “You took him, my son, You took him.” Then it occurred to me, Your throne room! I’m approaching the throne room! Is he here?! Is he here?! Yes.

I stayed there for a long time, soaking in the peace, His presence. Finally I asked the question that has been haunting me. What now Father? What do you want me to do?

In the chaos of agony that were the days between Damon’s death and the funeral there was one thing we knew, we wanted to help. I didn’t want flowers I wanted to help someone with that money. God placed orphaned children on my heart even before Damon was born and again in the months before his death. He tells us over and over again in his Word to care for the orphaned and these children are precious to me. I’ve felt so helpless to do anything. The answer was clear and Damon’s fund was born. We will use the money so many of you sent to help other couples bring their beloved children home.

I had my answer. God clearly directed my heart to this mission. What do you want me to do? Help them child. So, I will help. Undoubtedly, the paperwork will be tear-stained and it will hurt but I will help.

I’m so looking forward to the pictures, to the smiles, to the homecoming.