Choosing to SEE - Mary Beth Chapman [60]
Steven and I bent over and kissed Maria’s forehead. My hand shook uncontrollably as I stroked her face and tucked her hair back behind her ear one last time. Then we walked out to meet our friends and begin our long journey of grieving and waiting until we would pass through heaven’s door ourselves. Heaven is the face of a little girl
“Heaven Is The Face”
Words and music by Steven Curtis Chapman
With dark brown eyes
That disappear when she smiles
Heaven is the place
Where she calls my name
Says, “Daddy, please come play with me for a while”
God, I know, it’s all of this and so much more
But God, You know, that this is what I’m aching for
God, You know, I just can’t SEE beyond the door
So right now
Heaven is the sound of her breathing deep
Lying on my chest, falling fast asleep while I sing
And Heaven is the weight of her in my arms
Being there to keep her safe from harm while she dreams
And God, I know, it’s all of this and so much more
But God, You know, that this is what I’m longing for
And God, You know, I just can’t SEE beyond the door
Heaven is a sweet, maple syrup kiss
And a thousand other little things I miss with her gone
Heaven is the place where she takes my hand
And leads me to You
And we both run into Your arms
Oh God, I know, it’s so much more than I can dream
It’s far beyond anything I can conceive
So God, You know, I’m trusting You until I SEE
Heaven in the face of my little girl
23
Not As It Should Be
We’re not necessarily doubting that God will do the best for us;
we are wondering how painful the best will turn out to be.
C. S. Lewis
Time stopped.
We could barely breathe. I walked slowly out to the hall, where the rest of the family was waiting. Our pastors were there too.
Some other part of my brain took over. “I need Caleb, Emily, Julia, Ruthy, Tanner, Danny, and Melissa,” I said.
Steven was holding on to Will as the rest of our family filtered into the little room. I told our children that their sister was no longer with us. Tears. Disbelief. Pain.
There was screaming. Crying. Rocking back and forth in anguish. Desperate hugs as we held each other up. Steven, Caleb, and our pastors holding on to Will. Collapse.
“I’m going to go tell everyone else,” I said. Emily and Tanner came with me to the emergency room waiting area where friends had gathered. People were on the floor praying, waiting, hoping. My brother came next to me. He held me up.
“Maria didn’t make it,” I said.
People have told me I was calm, that I quoted Scripture, and that I gave them all a real sense of hope. I don’t remember.
Emily and Tanner actually started leading everyone in singing a praise song.
I went back to the other room and the rest of my family. I passed members of Steven’s management team huddled together, tears rolling down their faces as they made decisions for us about how to handle the media.
Maria’s body – her shell – was taken to a private room and covered with a soft blanket. I sat quietly with her as our closest friends and family streamed in to say goodbye. After everyone had gone, Steven and I prayed and kissed her goodbye.
I asked for a few minutes alone with her. I wanted to hold her, but I didn’t know that I was allowed to. I consciously gave her back to the One who had allowed us to have her in the first place. But then I felt stabs of guilt. Had I let Maria down? Was this my fault because I was “busy”? I tried to talk with God louder and louder as I felt the voice of the Accuser become louder and louder inside of me.
Finally, in all my tears and anguish, it was time to leave without my baby girl. One last kiss.
Will asked if he could be alone with her for a little while. I stood outside the door, watching through a small rectangular window as Maria’s hero and big brother wept over her. I never asked him what he said.
Then Geoff and Jan Moore took Steven and me by the hands and walked us out of the hospital. They drove us back to Franklin, to our church. Everyone who had been at the hospital had gathered there, as well as hundreds