Choosing to SEE - Mary Beth Chapman [64]
Some people might see little things like this as coincidences, no big deal. But to us, these small signs were like a little trail of bread crumbs on a shadowed path, showing us the way to walk.
I could only see a few feet in front of me. If I could see any farther than that, the journey ahead would be too scary. But He was showing me all that I needed, just a few steps at a time . . . giving me little glimmers of grace . . . if I would choose to SEE them.
“Jesus Will Meet You There”
Words and music by
Steven Curtis Chapman
When you think you’ve hit the bottom
And the bottom gives way
And you fall into a darkness
No words can explain
You don’t know how you’ll make it out alive
Jesus will meet you there
He knows the way to wherever you are
He knows the way to the depths of your heart
He knows the way ’cause He’s already been where you’re going
Jesus will meet you there
When you realize the dreams you’ve had
For your child won’t come true
Jesus will meet you there . . .
25
Jesus Will Meet You There
Every act of evil extracts a tear from God, every plunge into anguish extracts a sob from God.
Nicholas Wolterstorff, Lament for a Son
We were physically and emotionally exhausted. The sad had settled into every part of us as we headed back across town to the Andersons’. We all had worries and concerns about Will. I had lost one child, and I just kept crying out to God, “Please don’t let me lose Will too!”
Will had such a special connection with all three of his little sisters, and he had been Maria’s constant playmate. He called her “little dude” and would always take time out to play. He’d let her climb all over him. He’d swing her high in the air and tickle her until drool flowed freely from her mouth because she was laughing so hard.
Now that his little chubby buddy was gone, Will was in a deep, dark place. Wearing Maria’s favorite pink blanket around his neck, he’d walk down to the Andersons’ dock and sit there for hours, or he’d stay in the basement and not come up.
Someone was with him at all times. We felt like we were all fighting in a spiritual battle for Will . . . like the Enemy had come calling for him and we were praying him back from the edge of despair, in a conflict for his very soul.
On Thursday night, Steven and I went downstairs to check on the younger crew. We found Tanner and Emily, Caleb and Julia, Ruthy, David, and Brandon all circled around Will. Will was weeping, clutching Maria’s blanket. The others were praying fervently over him, interceding on Will’s behalf and begging God to help Will, to heal him, to prevent the Accuser from whispering lies of guilt into Will’s heart.
Then Emily and Tanner slipped away, and when they came back they had gotten a basin of water and some soft towels. While the rest of us surrounded Will, they knelt and washed his feet, praying that the Enemy would not get a foothold in his soul, praying that God would give Will peace and rest.
Steven and I looked at each other with tears flowing down our cheeks: we could not believe the profound sadness and the deep beauty of that moment.
Darkness fell on our second night without Maria, and just as the night before, the young people stayed close together in the basement family room on couches, blow-up mattresses, or the floor. Karen, concerned about my lack of sleep, made Steven and me go get in their daughter Ashley’s bed. She thought we might have a better chance of getting an uninterrupted night’s sleep in a real bed.
This real bed was the same one in which Maria would sometimes spend the night with Karen. On her last visit, she had absolutely loved a big stuffed yellow flower that Karen had for her to play with. It had a bright butterfly on it, and Karen had wrapped it around the bedside lamp so it would be the first thing Maria would see when she woke up in the morning.
Eventually, exhausted by grief, Steven fell asleep. But I was fitful and could not rest. I stared at the yellow