Yesterday, I shopped for a Christmas gift for my great niece. She’s eight months old, and a real sweetie. I found a darling corduroy outfit, but also wanted to buy her a toy. None of the rattles or teddy bears seemed right. Then as I strolled through the baby aisle, I noticed a soft doll - perfect for little Ainsley.
But as I carried the doll through the store, I suddenly missed my daughter. Rachel was only three months old, safely growing in my womb, when she died. Although it’s been 27 years, I still miss her. I grieve because I never had the opportunity to hold her, to kiss her, to watch her grow up.
Completely overcome by fresh grief, I retreated to a quiet corner and cried for my loss – for the years I had spent apart from my daughter, for the missed birthday parties, for the dolls I never bought her.
“Oh, God,” I prayed, “please tell Rachel how much I love her, how much I miss her. And thank you that someday, I’ll see her in heaven where we’ll never be separated again.”
Although it’s healthy to release our grief, it’s important to keep our focus on the One who gives comfort. Hope waits for those who wait for us – the mothers and fathers, the grandparents and the sweet children who leave us early. Hope waits to see Jesus Himself, who holds our loved ones in the palm of His hand.
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