your two-year-old says, “Oh Mom, you’re gotta get dressed!” as we rush out the door to a friend’s house.
Thank you, Noa. I know my jeans and sweatshirt aren’t as cute as you and Martha’s matching everything, but seriously… I guess we can’t all be as put together as you are.
Me (to Noa, when she was acting silly): You’re a crazy girl!
Noa (without even skipping a beat): You’re a crazy Mama!
As Eric always tells me, “if you’re gonna give it, be ready to take it.” 
(or, rather, in my car)
MARTHA: “Go! Tee! GO!” as she slapped her own hands, one on top of the other.
What I think she was trying to say?
“Go, Team, Go!”, a phrase Noa and I often use when she needs a little extra motivation to eat her dinner or clean up her toys quickly or do anything she is not feeling like doing at the moment. We stack our hands on top of each others’ and use this to encourage her. I guess Martha wanted in on the action. I can’t believe the stuff these kids pick up.
our little monkey
… our first-born looked like this:
Now, she looks like this:
Oh my, how they grow!
Today has been a hard and sweet day for me personally as I have reflected on the day this day is named for. Good Friday.
It always surprised me that we call this day “good” when so much bad happened. I guess we call it “good” in anticipation of the resurrection and the goodness of our salvation, sealed through the atoning work of Christ is both his death and resurrection.
But today I did not really think about the good, as much as the bad, or rather, the pain of the day. The sorrow of what took place at Calvary was more acute to me today than it has been in the past for one main reason.
I heard yesterday that our friends and members of our church lost a child at around 20 weeks into pregnancy. Several weeks ago the baby was diagnosed with “dropsy” (I think that is the English translation) and the condition had worsened each week. Our church has prayed and cried for this little baby, hoping and trusting that even though the doctors couldn’t do anything, God could, if he willed.
And all yesterday and today, I kept asking God why he willed to take that precious, greatly hoped-for and anticipated child. I know that this happens often, and that any lost life is heart-breaking. But this time, having rejoiced in the child that God had given these parents who had prayed and asked for him, and having watched my friends’ belly start to grow, showing the visual promise of new life, my heart has hurt – ached - more than it has in a long time.
Today, as I was praying for these friends and wondering how I could support and encourage them in this time, wondering, “what will I say when I stop crying next time I see them?” the Lord was gracious to remind of something I have known to be true before, but has never struck me so powerfully.
The Father knows. God the Father lost a child. He knows better than I do in all my weepy, anxious, questioning, I-can-only-imagine-your-pain ache for this family. He watched his Son suffer at the hands of brutality and IT MUST HAVE BROKEN HIS HEART. And yet he went through that, his Son went through that, for us.
As I read through the account of Jesus’ death in Matthew today, I was struck by Jesus’ request at Gethsemane that God take the cup from him. And I wondered, “how could a Father’s love, knowing what the next day would hold, not take the cup from his beloved Son?” But Jesus, asked for God’s will, and God willed his Son to die. He willed it. And we believe that his will is perfect, and we saw the love that drove that will, as Christ suffered and died and begged for our forgiveness in his last breaths. We saw even more of the perfection of that will in the fulfillment of the plan for salvation, a Risen and Exalted Son of God, Conqueror over death
How comforting to think that the God we serve not only knows my friends’ pain and hurt in a real way, but that he also died to give hope in that pain. They can grieve this precious child – we can grieve any loss – with HOPE, because of what was accomplished that good day.
And how I long to trust in that good will of my Father, that loved me enough to forsake His own Son. How I long to pray, “not my will by Yours” knowing that the cup may seem too painful to bear, but that the will of the One I trust is perfect and his plan is most certainly good. Even when arms and hearts will feel empty where we think a child should have been.
In times like that, my comfort – our comfort - as his children is that the Father knows. And his plan is still good
May you and yours have a blessed, hope-filled Easter.
And please pray for this dear brother and sister and their family as they grieve the loss of their baby.
