Another heap of suffering has been put into words eloquently here:
What we see in the midst of great agony and strife is usually a glimpse into both Heaven and Hell - and in the glimpsing, there's a gift. In my broken, four-pound baby, who looked a little different, lived a great deal differently, and ultimately left me here to grieve her loss, I found a sort of joy that I'd never known, a real joy, and my time with her was not only laced but literally steeped in happiness and blessing. And yet, the hour of her departure and certainly the last moments I held her were wracked with a sorrow and heartache that I could not have imagined. There was a bit of Heaven, and a bit of Hell. How I long to fully know the one and fully spurn the other! Therein lies the real gift. Perhaps God's will is more wrapped up in removing the blinders from our eyes than in giving or taking anything away...
Before Copeland was born, I prayed that God would give me a "vision for eternity." I think I probably uttered those words more in a moment of personal satisfaction - "wow, that sounds good!" - than true desire, but nevertheless, they seemed to have been Spirit-filled. I want a clearer understanding of Heaven, to be sure. I want to know more fully where Copeland is. But my prayer at that point, while I thought it regarded her experiences, was really about my own. If the only vision I have is for right now - she's gone, i'm here, and the world's literally going to Hell in a handbasket - then I'm going to be one bitter girl. The vision I need is one that tells me that what makes sense to my senses isn't necessarily true. Broken bodies often equal whole spirits. Strength can sometimes house itself in weakness. A vision for eternity turns the truths of this world on end. It's the only way an unattractive, unpopular renegade hanging on a cross can possibly mean more than brutality and devastation.
Now obviously she has the ability to see Him, not as an unattractive renegade, but as the cherished Bridegroom of her soul. That comes with the gift of faith. I think in reading her entire post and the background of this child's short life, we must remember two things. There is a difference between God's perfect will and His permissive will. It is in the latter that we come to understand that "all things work together unto good for those who love Him" (it seems to be misunderstood in the comment section there); and secondly, we have to understand that, in a fallen world, to love is to suffer.
The two errors that tempt us are either to stop caring so much, and to withdraw into a world of sterile, distracting amusements, or to wallow in our suffering without hope, without faith, and without perspective. Our feminine genius is to bridge the personal suffering incumbent in our motherly love with the transcendent suffering of the One Who gives it meaning -- without losing eye-contact with either the souls in our care or the Beloved, Who loves them more than we do, Who suffers with them still.
As difficult as it can be at times, be the bridge -- like Mary. Make the eternal present in your maternal concern. Yours is the face of His bride.
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