I've been thinking a lot about Heaven...

I've been thinking a lot about Heaven. I've written on the subject before; it seems as though it's been at the forefront of my mind all year, and even more so since Mom died. It just feels like home.
I talk about it a lot, though not nearly as much as I think about it, for fear that those listening will find me morbidly preoccupied with death. In actuality, it is not death with which my thoughts are consumed - it's Heaven. However, if death is the road I must take to get there, that does not frighten me.
Recently, Heaven stopped being an idea and became a real place to me. It is not a state of mind which I will enter after death, but a physical space where actual beings exist. I have never believed that more strongly than I do now. I find myself longing for that place quite frequently. As I said before, it just feels like home.
There were days after Mom died that I didn't think I would survive. There were moments that the pain was so intense that I had trouble breathing. I would go to bed at night and beg Jesus to come back for us. When I would wake up in my bed the next morning, I remember saying to myself, "You just have to survive today. You can worry about tomorrow when tomorrow comes. You just have to make it through today. And maybe Jesus will come back before tomorrow."
It's almost as if I've felt entitled to enter Heaven now. I've told many friends that I feel old. They usually laugh it off and remind me of how young I am. At 24 years, I know that I am not actually old, but I feel it. I've lived a long life, and it has taken its toll on me. But while it is good and Biblical that my heart longs for the pains of this world to end and be replaced with the unending joys of Heaven, it is not right for me to feel as though I may enter Heaven at my demand just because this life has come with trials.
It's hard to think of wanting to be in Heaven as a bad thing, but it is problematic when the desire for Heaven becomes a distraction from the work believers are called to do on this earth. This is exactly what has happened. I became somewhat hard and bitter since my mom's death. I often felt as though I'd been wronged by God because He took her, and I used my grief as an excuse to live in a less than holy manner. I didn't go to church for several weeks after she died. I had a hard time praying and reading Scripture, because I knew what God had to say to me and I didn't feel ready to hear it. I knew the truth, and I knew I wanted to turn back to it eventually, but unless He was going to do what I wanted Him to do, I just didn't want to hear from Him for a while. I was hurt, and I wanted Him to know it.
I was only hurting myself more, of course. As if God was going to give in to complaints so that He could move on to accomplishing His plans. I was missing the miracle of why my parents are in Heaven, and why I'll be allowed to join them someday. I'd lost the joy of my salvation.
But God, in His goodness, helped me find it. The truth is, no matter how I feel, I have been saved, and my salvation is a miracle. It is God's grace that has made me a citizen of Heaven, and I should always, always be humbled by that fact. One day, I will go home; just maybe not in my preferred time frame.
God still has me on this earth - a fact for which I must be thankful, for it is an honor to know that He will trust me with doing His work for a while longer. If I spend this lifetime wishing I was in the next, I will have wasted the time He's given me. However, there is a way to be satisfied in this life and to hasten the coming of the next. Christ has saved me for a specific purpose - to let others know about the salvation He offers. The more people who know Him, the closer we are to Heaven.
I will experience pain in this world, because it is not Heaven, but I am still responsible to live in a way that reflects my salvation. I am still responsible to praise God for the life He has given me. Because until I make it to Heaven, nothing else on this earth will satisfy.

Dear Mom (2)

I miss you so much more than I know how to say. I miss you every minute of every day. It's as if a part of my own self has died with you. 

The pain has been constant, and is often overwhelming. I find myself fighting tears several times a day. I find myself wanting to talk about you every chance I get. I find myself wanting to talk to you. I pick up my phone and expect a text from you. I pick up my phone to call you. I feel as if I lose you all over again when I realize I can't talk to you.

I don't hide my struggles well. I feel sorry for myself most of the time. I feel sorry for David, Sarah, and Josh, too. I feel sorry for Judah, Asher, and Selah. They should have you here with them. 

You were so good to all of us. Our lives will always have a void where you belong. And it will never feel real that you are gone. 

I love you so much; every day I realize just how much. I realize I didn't love you enough while you were here, and I would do anything to be able to let you know now what you mean to me. 

I wish you were here, selfishly.  I now dread future events that I should look forward to. Wedding days, births, and other milestones seem like just another mountain I'll have to climb without you.  

But I trust that you are where you should be. I trust that you are Home. I trust that you are happy and perfect. I trust that you are serving Jesus alongside Dad and the other saints. And that's what gets me through. That and the knowledge that one day I will join you.

I hope that day is soon. 

Alaska

Despite the pain associated with going on this trip that I expressed in my last post, I loved Alaska. I knew I would; I knew that I was dreading it without cause and that it would turn out to be a good trip. But it was far better than I ever could have expected.

First of all, Alaska is the most beautiful place on earth. The views never got old. The mountains were never any less breathtaking. I was never any less fascinated that the sun shone at all hours.

The view from my window the night I arrived. Taken at 1:00 AM.

Various views of Alaska

 I am so grateful that I had the opportunity to see such beautiful aspects of God's creation. That He opened my eyes to the fact that He is bigger, more powerful, and more beautiful than I knew.

We spent our days ministering to children in a local park. We brought them lunch, played games with them, taught them about Jesus, made crafts with them, loved on them, and let them love on us. I will never forget the time I spent with those kids.

I loved almost everything about Alaska, but that doesn't mean it was easy to be there. It was hard to come back from the park at the end of the day and know that I couldn't call my mom. I longed to tell her about everything I had seen, the people I had met, the work we had been doing, and what I was learning. I knew she would have loved to hear about the trip. I knew she would have texted me every day that I was there. I felt her absence more strongly while I was there. I missed her more than ever.

It was hard to remember all that I would have to face when I went back home. Bills, decisions, etc. It was hard to know that when I left Alaska, real life would go on.
There wasn't a day that went by that I didn't feel as emotionally tired as I felt physically. But there also wasn't a day that went by that God didn't give me what I needed for that day. There wasn't a day that went by that He didn't remind me of the importance of my mission. That no matter what I'm going through, my mission is the same. It's always just as important, whether I feel like I can do it or not. And that I can't do it on my own. That I can only give from what He has given to me, and that He will sustain me to accomplish the mission that He has given me.
I can't wait to go back.

Alaska Bound

I'm on a bus to Nashville right now and will be flying to Anchorage, Alaska later this afternoon. I should be excited. Or at least nervous. Or something. But I'm not. The only feeling I can muster up right now is the aching in my heart; the gut wrenching knowledge that my mom should have been there to send me off this morning.
She was so excited for me to go on this trip. And I was too, at first. She had always wanted to go to Alaska, and she shared in the joy of three of her kids who had the opportunity to go. And I was excited to come home and how her pictures and tell her how much she would have loved it.
Now it all feels pointless. I feel as though I don't have the energy that this trip will require - physically, mentally, or emotionally. I feel as though I have nothing to offer to the teens going on this trip, or to those to whom we will be ministering in Alaska. I feel empty. I feel tired.
But here I am, making this journey anyway, trusting that it will be profitable. Trusting that God will supply what I need while I'm there. Trusting that He knew what would be going on in my life at this time when I signed up for this trip months ago. That He has a plan to use me, as well as teach me on this trip.
So pray for me. Pray for our team. Pray for Alaska. I know our mission is not in vain.

Dear Mom

Dear Mom,
Happy Mother's Day. If you had asked me two weeks ago, this is not how I planned on spending this day. When you went into the hospital, I decided that we should really do something special for Mother's Day. I knew you'd be out of the hospital by then and we'd be able to celebrate you however we wanted. But obviously, that didn't work out quite like I expected it to, and today was actually one of the hardest days yet.
I miss you so much, and I can't help but think of how I wanted to spend time with you today, and how I should have wanted to spend more time with you when you were here. I'm so sorry for that. I'm so sorry that there were so many days that I would stay in my downstairs apartment, and not even come up to say, "Hi" to you. I'm so sorry that I was so bitter that I was still living at home with you. I'm so sorry that there were so many days that I was just a downright jerk to you. I would do anything to take those things back.
However, I am so thankful for how God was working in me and changing my heart in the week and a half before your death. I'm so thankful for all the time I did get to spend with you while I stayed with you in the hospital. I'm so thankful for the talks that we had and the friendship that we developed in those last days. I'm so thankful that I saw you mouth the words, "I love you" to me as you were being taken away to surgery. I'm so thankful that during my last visit with you, you were able to just be my mom and to comfort me, and that I didn't have to be your caretaker. I'm so thankful that the last words you spoke to me were, "I'm so proud of you."
You were a gift to us, even though we didn't always realize it. You were strong, hardworking, gracious, and loving. I would do anything to be able to look into your eyes and tell you that. I love you, and I miss you more than you could have imagined, and I hope to see you soon.
                                                                 
                                                                    Love,
                                                                 Stephanie

Trusting in God's Goodness -- Part 3

As a father shows compassion to his children,

 so the LORD shows compassion to those who fear Him. 

For He knows our frame; He remembers that we are dust.

Psalm 103:13-14

The last two weeks have been the most difficult days of my life. I am honestly having a hard time remembering anything that happened before my mom went into the hospital. Memories of seeing her in the ambulance, having her admitted to the hospital, being with her when she passed out last Saturday morning, waiting through hours of surgery, crying to her as I had to leave her for the night in ICU, hearing the nurse tell us the news that she had died, have all consumed my mind. 

I don't want to be around people, but I don't want to be alone. I feel hungry, but eating puts my stomach in knots. I'm exhausted, but sleep does not come easily. I want to talk about it, but doing so frustrates me. I wake up every morning and beg God that this nightmare is over. But it never is. 

I was lying in bed Friday night, praying for the first time since Mom took her last breath, and all I could do was cry to Him. I begged Him for sleep. I begged Him to turn my mind off for just a few hours. I begged him for answers. 

I told Him this was too much. It was too hard. He was taking too much from my family. It was hurting too deeply. 

The answers I begged for never came; only this verse entered my mind. I know we're not "supposed to" get mad at God. I know we're not "supposed to" question His plan. But I kept feeling in my spirit that He was saying, "It's OK. I can take it."

The fact is, this is too much. It is too hard. I can't handle it, and He knows that. He knows my frame. He remembers that I am dust. And He doesn't expect me to handle it.

So for now, I'll keep crying to Him. I'll take comfort in knowing that He's listening. And I'll trust that He is still good.

Trusting in God's Goodness -- Part 2

If I had words, I would write them. The pain is unimaginable. It's physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual. The loss is too deep. I know the words I wrote several days ago about my mother and my God are still true today. I'm unsure of everything else, but I'm sure of God's goodness.

Your prayers and messages have meant more than you can know. Please, keep them up.