I’ve said that date a million times. Even the words of that date flowed with femininity. We knew you were a girl, and we called you Isla.
This side of heaven I’ll never know your face. I’ll never hear your cry. But you never had to cry. You only knew Love because the first face you ever saw was the face of Jesus. Nothing brings me greater comfort.
I will never, ever forget running that half marathon 3 days after we lost you. At mile 3 I had a vision of you sitting right next to Jesus. You looked much like Josiah, with long, sandy blonde hair. He had one arm around you and with his other arm he pointed down and said “That’s your Momma – she’s so strong.” What a gift, what a priceless treasure.
I wonder, all the time, why God created you. I hope that we’ve honored you in your short time in this world. I hope that we’ve brought God glory through our story. One of the things I’ve prayed the most is God please don’t let our loss be in vain! Please use our story. And I hope that you are never forgotten. I don’t want to be afraid to face the pain sometimes, to face the questions of what could life have looked like? But what a beautiful sight to imagine you skipping through golden fields, innocent laughter lighting up your face, with your hair blowing behind you. You only knew Love.
I’ve wondered how I’d feel today. At times I dreaded it and just wanted it to pass. Other times I felt absolutely nothing. Today I think I just feel peace. I’ve sensed the sweet usherings of my Heavenly Father holding my hand and leading me into the garden. His Spirit has been like ivy, reaching through the walls to heal my broken soul. I’ve been leaning into Him, heeding the whisper to abide. His vine is wrapping tightly around my soul in a comforting embrace that can’t be broken.
June 2nd. May you always be a day that reminds me of hope.