The Yellow Bench : Part One

It was towards the end of our Sunday evening "Sanity Drive" (in other words: "How to use up time before bedtime without going insane").

From the middle seat, our four year old son with an unusually long memory suddenly pipes up, "When can I see Hope?".

Wow.

Really?

He had heard me.

Several weeks ago, on another 'Sanity Drive' (i'm a big fan) I had decided to delve into the topic of their big sister, Hope, who is alive and quite well in her Heavenly home.

I kept it simple, happy and brief. Something along the lines of:

"Before all of you were born, mommy and daddy had a little baby growing in mommy's belly. While she was in my belly, she became very sick and Jesus decided to bring her to Heaven so that she would be well. Since she's in Heaven, which is the FUNNEST (i make up my own words) place EVER, she never gets sick. The sad thing for us is that we cannot see her because we do not have our 'special eyes' yet. We only get those when WE get to Heaven. I do not know when we'll get there, but I do  know she will be so happy to see us and we will be VERY excited to see her!"

At the time of this profound, yet simple revelation, I recall very little response. Mostly silence, as the two oldest's big brown eyes watched the passing farm fields, digesting the information imparted from the front seat.

He had heard, though. He remembered Hope and he remembered she was alive in Heaven.

Sweet.

It reminded me of a story I've been meaning to document for myself and share with you, if you care to read on. I share it not just for the sake of sharing a sweet story, but to express a greater view of life that I have. Today, I'll simply share the story...and my thoughts on it will have to wait for a seperate post.

I sat down on the bright yellow bench that  was in the hallway between the Bistro and the Arcade. It was the weekend after I had given birth to our little girl, Hope, at 27 weeks.

I had not been warned that I would be dealing with engorgment, hormones and the general discomfort that comes with having given birth. My dear sister had come in from Ohio where she went to college at the time, and she along with my husband and stepson, decided we should get out of the house for a change in scenary and a little distraction.

We decided on a local bistro-style restaurant that also had a huge arcade area that Rick (stepson) loved going to. After dinner, I realized that the noisy, crowded arcarde area was not the best place for me. I was struggling to keep it together, especially at the sight of what seemed  like an unusually dense population of little girls in one place.

And so, i told my husband that I would wait for the rest of them in the lobby.

They had a bench there, and they could find me on it when they were finished.

A bright, shiny yellow bench.

The bench provided my weary frame much relief, but as I watched families pouring through from the restaurant into the arcade, tears continued to threaten as there seemed to be so many little girls. Little bundles of feminity bustling by, reminding me of the dream I had left the hospital without just days before.

And so I sat with my head turned away from the entrance, keeping my eyes fixed on the exit sign high on the wall of the arcade area. As I sat there I was talking (in my head) to my Heavenly Father in a raw way, finding myself asking of Him something that sounded a little odd, even to me. 

"Father, I know Hope is fine. In fact, I know she is more than fine. She is alive and well in your perfect Home. But please, could you somehow please let this hurting mama know how happy you are to have her there? That her laughter is ringing in the halls of Heaven? That she is a breath of vibrant joy to the many already living there? I mean, if I cannot enjoy her on this side of Heaven, I just really, really need to know that she is being enjoyed and cherished on the other..."

As this internal conversation was going on, my eyes shifted their stalwart focus on the red glow of the exit sign onto a head full of brown curly hair, bound up in two little pigtails. A little girl, certainly no more than two years old, passes by holding the hand of her daddy. At the precise second my requests were placed, this pint-sized, pigtailed girl stops. She turns her head, looks directly into my eyes, slightly smiles and NODS.

I kid you not.

There was no imagining it.

I sat up on that yellow bench. Stunned at what just happened.

In my painful reality, God had heard.

In that second Heaven touched down on Earth in a tangible, unforgettable way.

That beautiful experience was a part of the formation in a shift in perspective for me.

Heaven used to be a belief of a world that had nothing to do with the present, other than offer a pleasant hope for the future. In death, there was a complete and utter separation from the life we had lived on Earth....that is what I used to think.

Hope had changed everything.

More thoughts to follow in the next post....