Living in the light of eternity

Often you hear about how the siblings of an ill or disabled child develop unique strengths of character and frequently enter caring professions. Recently I have been encouraged by how my sons approach having had an older sister who died before they were born (more on our story is found here, here and here). Tomorrow would have been her seventh birthday. Her birthday brings such mixed emotions - remembering the fresh hope of becoming parents, the hopes and dreams (many of which may have been unrealistic) that we had, but also the sadness of having watched her die. But we do have hope that we will see her again. Yesterday we spoke of how she can't come back to us, but that one day we can go to her - as David said after the death of his firstborn son, 'But now that he is dead, why should I go on fasting? Can I bring him back again? I will go to him, but he will not return to me.” 2 Samuel 12:23. And in the light of that, I'd like to share some encouragements.

1) Heaven is a real place - they love the descriptions of heaven in the book of Revelation ie chapter 21 verses 18-21: 'The wall was made of jasper, and the city of pure gold, as pure as glass. The foundations of the city walls were decorated with every kind of precious stone. The first foundation was jasper, the second sapphire, the third agate, the fourth emerald, the fifth onyx, the sixth ruby, the seventh chrysolite, the eighth beryl, the ninth topaz, the tenth turquoise, the eleventh jacinth, and the twelfth amethyst. The twelve gates were twelve pearls, each gate made of a single pearl. The great street of the city was of gold, as pure as transparent glass.' They ask many questions about how that could be, and I have heard them talking to one another about how amazing and beautiful it must be. I envy their free, childlike imaginations which are filled with awe as they consider these things.

2) Eternity is real. Their questions about what happens when you die are very simple and direct. They want to know! What happens? Does your body rot away? Do worms eat your eyes? Tonight we read Luke Chapter 12: “I tell you, my friends, do not be afraid of those who kill the body and after that can do no more. But I will show you whom you should fear: Fear him who, after your body has been killed, has authority to throw you into hell. Yes, I tell you, fear him.' They understand that your soul lives on, and that there will be a time of judgement.

3) They care about their eternal destiny. Many times in recent weeks they have asked whether they will see their sister in heaven. We have explained that we very much hope so, but that they therefore need to know where they stand before God. As I've recently blogged, they are increasingly asking questions which encourage me that they are considering these truths carefully. Sometimes it seems like they want to go to heaven just to play with their sister! But on other occasions, they seem to understand that seeing her will be just one of the many amazing things that they get to enjoy.

4) Their questions about resurrection bodies are interesting! The Bible talks of how we will be given a new body - particularly see 1 Corinthians Chapter 15 verses 38-38. I don't think it is possible for us to fully understand what this means of what it will look like, but it is clear that there will be no more sickness, pain or death and that will be marvellous. (They also particularly liked how some of these verses are set to song in Handel's Messiah, and we enjoyed listening to this for a time). What I like here is that the children don't consider that there are some parts of the Bible that are 'good for children' and others that are 'more complicated' - instead they ask very real questions, and as parents we seek to provide them with the most honest answers we are able to. We also appreciate that with their childlike faith they may well understand some of these issues better than we do. This is something that I come back to time and again when I consider how we are seeking to raise our family - that we mustn't stifle their questioning, but also how as parents we need to be familiar with the Bible. As Paul instructed Timothy, 'Do your best to present yourself to God as one approved, a worker who does not need to be ashamed and who correctly handles the word of truth.' (2 Timothy 2:15).

5) Illness and pain and suffering are a 'normal' part of life to them. As doctors (and indeed as church members, or individuals within a society) we often see adults in mid-life who really struggle to cope when they face a bereavement, redundancy, serious illness or disappointment. Quite often it is the first time in their life that they have come across a real challenge, and there are often undertones of, 'It's not fair!', 'Why me?', 'I can't live with this situation', 'How can I keep going?' I do not want to minimise pain. However, as the Apostle Peter wrote to the persecuted church, 'Dear friends, do not be surprised at the fiery ordeal that has come on you to test you, as though something strange were happening to you. But rejoice inasmuch as you participate in the sufferings of Christ, so that you may be overjoyed when his glory is revealed.... So then, those who suffer according to God’s will should commit themselves to their faithful Creator and continue to do good.' (1 Peter 4:12-19) Our boys understand that people do get ill and die. They know that life can bring hardships and pain. These are lessons that many Christian parents will be seeking to teach - and I would also highly recommend Christian biographies which describe how people have brought glory to God through times of trial (reviews of Christian biographies for children are here and here). It is my prayer that the boys are equipped with the tools they need to stand firm in the face of trial when it hits them.

Of course it is not always so simple! My two year old nodded wisely as I described heaven and eternity, and then asked whether he could go to heaven now in the car, and take his toy plane with him! One of the five year olds wants to spend most of his time in heaven playing with his sister because of all the time he has missed playing with her here. And because tomorrow would be her birthday (and we always do have a cake, although a simple one with plain icing and no candles), one of them asked whether she would come and join us for cake. As with any children, their questions sometimes make me laugh, sometimes make me sad, and really my prayer is that as parents we have wisdom in knowing how best to make the most of opportunities that arise every day as they ask more and more things.

How have times of trial affected your children? Can you think of times when hardship has brought spiritual development to your family?

How does grief change with time?

Recently a couple of people have asked me how things seem now, six years after our daughter died. One of the first big changes is simply the pace of life – now that we have three young boys, and are both working part-time (which involves quite a lot of hours and a lot of juggling of schedules) there simply isn’t all that much time to really stop and think about it. Or at least, there doesn’t seem to be time to really reflect on things but that does not mean we do not think about her, some days more than others. We’ve recently passed through the strange week in May, where we remember her death and our second son’s legal adoption exactly two years later, and our first son’s birthday three days after that. That week is always a strange jumble of emotions, and really it is a reminder that God’s timing is perfect, that He can bring hope out of sorrow, and that He simply does not make mistakes.

There are some things which are harder as the years go by. When she died, we had been living in one African country, and then were evacuated to Johannesburg for the six weeks of her illness. We returned for a further two years after she had died, and during that time our next son was born (during a four month stay in the north east of Scotland, where we had never been and where we had no friends or family at the time when we arrived) and our second son was adopted. He had his life-threatening illness around that time, and by the time we returned to our UK base four years ago, we had a one year old and a recovering seven month old. A lot of the drama had passed, and the people who had walked beside us during those challenges were now many thousand miles away. Of course some people in the UK had met our daughter before we moved back to Africa when she was three weeks old, and many came to the funeral. But that was not the same as living the events with us.

I think that is the thing that is hardest now. I do not know whether it is a result of our itinerant lifestyle, or whether this is normal after several years, but people simply don’t remember or know that we even had a daughter. It can be a dilemma for me when meeting new people who often remark on our boys, whether or not to speak about her. Sometimes it just seems to make others uncomfortable. Much depends on context; if I think it is relevant or helpful I will talk about her. I always say I have four children, but then people are so taken with the three boys so close together in age that they forget to ask about the fourth. It’s often easier that way.

We never wanted to define ourselves as people who had lost a child. I do not wish to seem harsh, but it does seem that in countries where child death is a less frequent occurrence that a family who has a child die can be almost smothered by the responses of others. And yet at the same time, there is a distance, that ‘we can’t possibly imagine what you have been through’ kind of response. We were always clear that we were thankful for her life, and that God in His wisdom would be more glorified through that short life than through many much longer lives. And if God is glorified, and she is now perfectly restored in heaven, then what is there to be sad about? And on one level, it really is as simple as that. It certainly is to the other children, who cannot really understand why we get sad from time to time. For them, it is something to rejoice about and to look forward to!

However, despite that, perhaps more so now, I sometimes do wish that people remembered. There have been a couple of instances lately where I have found people a little insensitive as they have spoken with lack of faith about more minor illnesses in children, or where people have tended to put parents of an ill child on some kind of pedestal as though they have shown some kind of extremely remarkable faith. I don’t wish to sound unkind, and some of it may be me coveting a bit of human sympathy or encouragement myself. There are times when I feel like pointing out that sometimes children do die, and that is not a result of anybody’s lack of faith, nor is it a reason to fall apart, but rather that God knows the day ordained for each of us. Sometimes I want to point out that in the city where we were living when she died, one woman in two would have a child die under the age of five. It was so normal, so much part of life, that without minimising the sadness and sorrow, there was no room for dramatic emotions, and over the top responses. Sometimes I want to tell people to open their eyes to the world around them, to turn on the radio for just a few minutes or to read a newspaper, and then they will realise just how comfortable and easy many of us have things here.

In some ways this is good. I feel very aware of how simple life can be, and of what a blessing it is to have a roof over our head, to have sufficient food, to have jobs which are challenging and enjoyable as well as providing enough money, to have family, to have friends, to be able to worship in freedom, to be able to read the Bible in our own language. I think part of this appreciation comes from knowing we cannot take that for granted. Some of this will be due to our daughter’s death, and some of it will be from having lived in several low resource countries and having seen the harsh realities there.

Sometimes I try to work out what it is that makes us feel different. The Bible talks in several places about being ‘strangers and aliens in the world’, or in other translations, ‘pilgrims’. I don’t think a Christian should ever feel fully ‘at home’ in this world, because our whole worldview is based on eternity. The Apostle Peter writes about trials which come for a time, in order that our faith, which is of greater worth than gold, which perishes though refined by the fire, may be proven genuine and result in praise, glory and honour at the revelation of Christ’. Paul talks about ‘light and momentary afflictions which are achieving a weight of eternal glory’. If our true home is in heaven, then nothing in this world (home, material possessions, jobs) should really tie us down, these things are all temporary. But I think there is another sense of restlessness. I had an interesting conversation about that with another family whose daughter died a couple of years ago, where they described the same restlessness. I think we know the reality of heaven, and there are days when we simply long for this life to be over, and to be reunited not only with our children, but to see the glorious reality of Christ face to face. The other factor that can make us feel a bit misunderstood is having moved around so much and having seen a different side of life. We find it difficult to relate to people who are keen to settle in a nice house in suburbia, get their children in to the right schools, and basically stay put living a quiet life for the next twenty or thirty years. There may well be nothing wrong with this, and that kind of stability can lead to strong relationships being built, commitment to a particular church, and from these, clear communication of the truth and hope of the gospel. But it is not easy for us to relate, because we tend to live one day at a time, perhaps having a ‘medium term’ plan, but always with the knowledge that God could change it all in an instant.

It is very rare that either of us will have a proper conversation about our daughter. Sometimes I long for that. I would love to sit with a friend and talk through her photo album, to laugh and to cry, to remember and to reflect. We don’t really have that level of relationship, again partly because we have moved around (since returning from Africa four years ago, we have lived in four cities in three different countries). Part of it is the pace and schedule of our life-work balance – that we often have work related tasks to complete in the evening, or are hosting Christian events or are attending our mid-week meetings, or there are additional professional training events to attend, and once a week or so we will both be on clinical duties until about 10pm. We home educate our children – there are many reasons for this, partly because it offers good solid continuity as we move around, but even more importantly, we can build the biblical worldview which is our greatest priority for them, embrace the opportunities that arise day to day, allow each child to progress at their own pace in each subject, allow them space and time for imaginative play and a ‘real childhood’ and to encourage the formation of healthy relationships across ages and different sectors of society. But this also takes time and effort, and whilst the boys are young, it is not often possible to have an in depth conversation with a friend.

Most of the time, I am content about this. Each day is filled with blessings and encouragements, yes there are also challenges, but there is purpose and direction. We are responsible before God for how we live for today, not for our reminiscence about yesterday or our dreams about tomorrow. And so we live very much in the present, looking forward to a future with hope. Sometimes it is simple pragmatism. Some things matter, others don’t. And there is no point in getting upset over things that have no lasting value. There is a kind of steadiness and maybe even emotional maturity, whereas when I was younger I would tend to get into a spiral of despair about something which was perhaps trivial, and which certainly could not be changed.

But alongside this, I am so moved when anybody does mention my daughter. There are those friends, although separated by many miles who really did walk with us, bringing comfort and encouragement. These are the people who really understand us. When I receive an email or text message that reminds me of her, or that tells me that others remember her, my heart sings. Often as I spend time out of doors with the boys, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the beauty of creation, as the boys run ahead, climbing and jumping, racing, laughing, playing, then I remember her, I remember the soft, warm bundle of hope that she was, and despite the beauty that surrounds me, know that there is something even more magnificent ahead of us.

Anniversary of a day that changed my life

It’s the 12^th April. Does a date really make much difference? I find anniversaries funny things – on the one hand, rationally you know that it is just a day. The thing that you remember with joy or sadness is still as sweet or painful as it is on any other day. Yet you are more focussed, and everywhere there are small triggers. The type of weather. Writing the date. Looking back and counting the years, wondering, ‘What if?’, yet at the same time, realising that isn’t really a question, as all things are in the hands of a sovereign God who ordains times with perfection. 

Five years ago today, we were just any other family with a nine week old baby. We got up and headed to the market, as we would on a Saturday morning. And whilst we were there, her heart stopped, and the rest of the day passed in a blur. Well, I say that, but perhaps that isn’t true. I could tell you in great detail exactly what happened during those minutes, those hours, the days and weeks that followed. I could tell you who was around, what people said, what I saw, how we felt, how we communicated with home, but would you really want to know that amount of detail? The fact is, five years on, there are probably very few people who realise that today was a day that changed our lives entirely. People may remember the day that she actually died (six weeks later, in a South African hospital, far from either of our homes, but surrounded by incredible love and support of Christians who drew alongside us). But today, for most people, is just a day like any other.

On 12^th April we knew that even if our daughter survived, she would be likely to have major and long-lasting complications. We didn’t know exactly what had happened or why (we still don’t really) but we saw something more of just how fragile lifeis, for all of us. Although we had often considered the words of Psalm 139, of how we are ‘fearfully and wonderfully made’, we recognised anew just what a miracle it is for any child to be born healthy, to grow, to develop, to become a well-rounded person. We planned for life with a disabled child, for terminal illness, and finally for her death. There isn’t really a word for that. When a husband or wife dies, one becomes a ‘widow’. When both parents die, one becomes an ‘orphan’. When a child dies, perhaps particularly if it is the only child, what does one become then?

Why am I posting this on a blog which focuses on the holistic education of our children? Firstly, because it was an event which not only changed us, but which helped crystallize our priorities and perhaps give us the confidence to stick to our convictions even if this might be unpopular among our friends and relatives. When I was pregnant, we had already decided that both of us would work part time, and that one parent would always be home with our expected child, and any other children who came along. I remember at the time feeling that I got a lot of raised eyebrows at this point; I was an up-and-coming medical academic on a ‘prestigious’ research fellowship, and a full year of maternity leave followed by part-time working was not the ‘done’ thing. After she became ill, I laughed at my superficiality. Could I have really questioned that the privilege and responsibility of raising a family meant more than academic success, or not even success, but simply the approval of the senior academics in my university? My husband and I often talked about how children are viewed cheaply in today’s society; anybody can do your childcare for you, and a well educated professional can surely find many things of far more worth to do than to look after their own children.... You will know some of those arguments.

We came to recognise more than ever that one day we will stand and give an account before God on how we have administered the various gifts He has given us – our talents – and these will most certainly include the family for which he has given us responsibility. Does it matter what the world thinks? Jesus asked, ‘What does it profit a man if he gains the whole world, yet forfeits his own soul?’ 

Educating your children in the way you believe to be right is of greater importance than what the world may think. It is more important than career success. Popularity. The approval of those around you. Material wealth and prosperity. Leisure time. Having a neat and ordered house where you can cook gourmet meals for your friends. It is far greater. When you are standing next on an intensive care unit counting the number of tubes coming out of your child, you see some of these things more clearly than before. 

At one point, either during her illness or after her death, I felt a clear decision to make. I could choose to let myself fall apart, to descend back into old habits of darkness, to turn away from the Lord of light. I could shut myself off from those around me, and allow bitter, self-pitying thoughts to fill my mind. Or, I could choose to embrace the life I have been given as a gift of God and use each and every day to serve Him. I remember thinking about what I would want for my own loved ones should I die unexpectedly, and although you cannot project sentiment onto a tiny baby, I wondered how my daughter would want us to live. There was a choice to make. 

So five years later, how did I spend today? Rushing around, going to a hospital appointment, disciplining my three year olds (who seem to have got into some difficulties in going to bed well when my husband is working away), stopping the baby climbing into disasters, making meals, cleaning up mess, driving between two cities, reading stories, singing songs with actions, and perhaps occasionally wishing for a moment or two in which to be more reflective. The boys don’t know. They are quite happy to talk about the fact their sister lived and died, is now in heaven with God, that we often go to visit her grave, that it says on it, ‘All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be’, but that is pretty much it. They don’t see it as a particularly sad or tragic thing, and often will ask questions about her and then talk about something as random as trains, tractors or potatoes. That we know other friends who have had children die, and have worked in a couple of African countries where they know many young children would die just makes it seem a ‘normal’ thing to them. And that is great. I pray that as they grow, they will see heaven as being a very real place, with a real God, and the fact that their sister is already there ahead of them will be a tangible concept.

Life does move on, and things change. I would never have imagined, five years ago, that I would have three lively sons to keep me on my toes. I certainly would not have imagined I would have only sons, and no daughters. I would have perhaps liked a little time today, to visit her grave, to reflect a bit on her life – but at the same time, God has given me responsibilities and challenges today. I can’t bring my daughter back, but I can make a difference to how I raise the boys today. I can’t change what I feel I have lost, but I can endeavour not to throw away that which I have been given. 

So as I reflect, at the end of a somewhat frustrating, exhausting day with the boys, I can remember what really matters in life. I can stand firm in the face of temptation and discouragement, remembering that one day I too will stand before the Lord and give an account for my life.

What God teaches through our children. Part 4: Sacrifice

If you read this blog regularly, you will see that I’ve spent a fair amount of time recently contemplating what God teaches us through our children, and particularly what He teaches us in respect to His relationship with us. I have considered His unconditional love mirrored in the love a parent has for a newborn baby; I’ve reflected on some of the lessons learnt through the patience and times of frustration involved in maintaining consistent discipline. I’ve also celebrated some of His tenderness towards us as we make feeble efforts to step out in faith. Now, I want to think of something even more amazing than any of those things. He sent His own Son Jesus Christ to die for us.

We need to take great care never to become blasé to some of the truths contained in the Bible. Especially if we have been raised in Christian homes, or it has been many years since we came to believe these truths for ourselves, we can become almost over-familiar with some of the more amazing and powerful messages contained therein. I think one of these is the fact that ‘God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.’ (John 3 verse 16) Most Christians know that verse inside out and backwards. But do they really know what it means? Do they really stop to think about that? Can we possibly understand it fully?

Several years ago, I was confronted with this truth in a new and powerful way. We had been blessed with a baby daughter, and it was a wonderful time. We often reflected on Psalm 139, how God makes each of us ‘fearfully and wonderfully’ and how ‘all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.’ I was amazed by the overwhelming love I felt for her; I had never considered myself particularly maternal, and had not had a good experience with my own parents, so I had been fearful that I might not ‘bond’ well, or that I might otherwise struggle. Instead, I felt as though I had just come alive. Life was new and fresh and exciting. I felt a renewed hope and zeal, and I praised God wholeheartedly for His incredible gift to us. Nine weeks later, her heart stopped for reasons which never became clear. Although we were able to re-start it (another story for another time), she had severe brain damage and died without leaving hospital six weeks later. I remember the deep, heart-wrenching sorrow; it literally felt as though a part of me had been ripped out and discarded. Even now, it as though a part of me died that day, and that fresh, unclouded hope has never fully returned. I do not doubt God’s goodness, His purposes, His provision and His blessings to us; in fact heaven seems so much more real now, and I feel acutely aware that this world is fading away yet heaven is where we will spend eternity. But the pain was real, and if you were to ask me what I would have given to have prevented her death (had that been at all possible), I would have given everything I had. I would never have chosen for her to die. I certainly would not have chosen for her to die in order to rescue people who hated us! But think about it. That’s what God did.

‘This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him.’ (1 John 4 verse 9) ‘And he died for all, that those who live should no longer live for themselves but for him who died for them and was raised again.’ (2 Corinthians 5 verse 15) God knew that there was no other way, and so offered the very best thing that He had – His only son – to die in sacrifice for our sins. Can we actually understand that? I don’t think we can, not here and now, not in this life. ‘For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.’ (1 Corinthians 13 verse 12) John 15 verse 13 says it simply, ‘Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.’ Paul, in his letter to the Romans, reflects on how ‘for a good person someone might possibly dare to die. But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.’ (Romans 5 verse 7-8).

I was not a perfect parent, nor was my daughter a sinless child. Yet if the sorrow I felt when she died is even a glimpse of what God willingly endured in sending Jesus to die for us, then I can only marvel and praise Him all the more! I know people who consider that the death of a child must be one of the most difficult trials to endure; I would tend to disagree, although much will depend on the circumstances, and I am aware that we were borne up by a supernatural grace, strength and peace that can only have come from God. But people do think of the death of a child in these terms. Conversely, do we forget that our human emotions are part of us having been made ‘in the image of God’ (Genesis 1 verse 27)? Do we forget just what it cost God to send Jesus for us? And do we forget that He considered us worth that price?

What God teaches through our children. Part 1: Babies

Recently, I hinted that I should write a blog post on some of the amazing things that God teaches us through young children. 

Four and a half years ago, my firstborn child was about eight weeks old when I wrote the following words to a friend in an email. The friend was struggling with difficulties such as anorexia and depression, and struggling to see the value in her life. Amidst other things, I reflected on what having a baby had taught me:

‘Here I have this tiny, completely helpless bundle of life. For the first six weeks, I do not think she could see my face. There was nothing she did that in any way acknowledged that I was there (except her physical need for my breasts!). I could barely walk for a few weeks, was tired from having lost lots of blood, now was getting about four hours of interrupted sleep a night and trying so hard to make sense of what I should be doing, and she would reward me by screaming at me, peeing on me, vomiting on me etc. And yet, there is this most OVERWHLEMING love for her. I adore her. From the moment I saw her enter the world, my husband says I have never smiled as much. I can easily sit for hours and hours just holding her, singing to her, praying for her. She has done nothing whatsoever to earn my love. And yet, I cannot imagine it possible to love a person more. This goes against so many things we have been taught. We are taught that our value is in what we have achieved. What we look like. Even as a Christian, perhaps in terms of our faith or maturity or service of others. We judge ourselves in this way also. But what does the Bible say? It tells us that all our righteous acts are like filthy rags (Isaiah 64 verse 6). It reminds us that whilst we are yet sinners then Christ died for us (Romans 5 verse 8). We are told that we should become as little children to enter the kingdom of heaven. NOTHING we do can make God love us more, make us more acceptable, make us more part of His kingdom. I think maybe sometimes we know the verses, especially when we have been Christians a while, but don't really appreciate the depth of what that means. Similarly, when we think about the people we value most in our lives - it is not because of what they have done or what they look like, but who they ARE. Why do we judge ourselves so harshly, why do we strive for more, for better, when in fact we are as God made us with all our weaknesses, frailties, idiosyncracies? 'For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand that we should walk in them'. Eph 2:10. How can God have prepared these things for us before we were even born? Before we had achieved anything? Because of who He has made us to be....

Another thing I have learnt with my daughter is the importance of taking each day as it comes. Yes, we are all familiar with Matthew 6: 'Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about its own things. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble', but how often do we truly live that way. How often when we pray 'Give us today our daily bread' do we really trust that God will supply ALL our needs for that day. And then if tomorrow brings a cold wind of change, then God will CONTINUE to provide. She changes a lot every day. Now at two months, she can smile, follow my face, interact, make little cooing noises, begin to try to sit up. She is no longer that totally fragile bundle of fluff she once was. Many friends have told me to enjoy every moment because these days pass so quickly, and I praise God that through our circumstances and blessings I am able to take this time just to be with her and enjoy these days. If tragedy were to strike and she were to die tomorrow, I would still be able to say that these have been two of the most precious months I have ever known, and that my life is so much richer having known her. I would not look back and wish I had enjoyed her more, or that I wish I hadn't been rushing around trying to fit so much in around her. Like people often say, nobody gets to the end of life and wishes they had spent more time in the office, but many people regret never having told their loved ones how precious they were, or having spent time with the people who meant most. There are days when I get loads of housework and cooking do, do a couple of hours of work on my project, send half a dozen emails, choose the hymns for Sunday's service, meet a friend for coffee, have guests for dinner and then go out to Bible study, and these are great. There are other days when my husband gets home and the breakfast things are still on the table and I have barely moved from the sofa where I have been with my daughter all day. Which day is of more value? On which day have I been a 'better' person? You see what I mean?

These words are especially poignant as I commented ‘even if tragedy were to strike and she were to die tomorrow’... Was that a strange thing to have said? Because within the week, she had suffered an unexplained cardiac arrest, never fully regained consciousness and died six weeks later. And how I thank God for her life! The words I spoke then are true, and I am grateful to God that I was able to have that perspective, even despite a difficult pregnancy and delivery. I am grateful that I was able to take a step back from the hectic pace of life and the relentless expectations that seem to be placed on us, and truly marvel at the gift of life that my daughter was.

I could go on to talk more about what God teaches us through older children, as they make attempts to succeed and fail, as they start to walk and run, but fall, as they begin to test out boundaries and limits, showing their true sinful natures, and yet their childlike faith and trust. But I think that belongs in a separate post, and for now I’ll leave you with the lessons that God taught through a baby girl who lived for fifteen weeks.