No Casket Should Ever Be This Small

This morning I found myself on a beautiful green lawn with huge established trees.  The birds were singing and the sky was blue and dotted with fluffy clouds.  The only thing that did not fit was the tiny casket under the green awning surrounded by headstones.

I was in a cemetery at the graveside service of a baby that had never had a chance to take her first breath.  Baby Mackenzie was only 22 weeks developed when she died.  Her big brother had been a student of mine last year and I knew I had to attend this service for him and his family. 

As I stood looking at the smallest casket I had ever seen I grabbed my husband's hand and reached out to touch my son's head and moved it to my daughter's shoulder.  I listened to the pastor offer words of comfort to the grieving family, all the while fighting back his own tears.  He is a father- and this service was very personal to him- and to everyone there who was a parent.  He motioned to the tiny box and said "No casket should ever be this small." 

The death of a child is never easy to understand.  I don't think it fits into our box of easy answers and that makes it tough to explain.  The pastor used a very unconventional scripture that I thought fit the occasion.  He talked about the man who had been blind from birth.  People asked Jesus whose fault the blindness was- the man's sin, or the man's family.  "neither" Jesus said. 

For me, it's not about blame or answering the "why".  I think you can get stuck there trying to find answers. It's about the "Who".  I know Who it is that will walk this family through their grief.  I know Who it is that is with me when I don't understand- when I question- when I yell at the sky because I am in pain.  I know Who it is that calms the storm.  I know Who...and that has made all the difference.  

Psalm 91 says-  "You are my refuge and strength - you are my hiding place.  You hear my voice when I call  before I say anything at all.  In desperate need I cry only to realize the hand that heals the sick has my name written on it."

I love the visual of my name being etched on His hand.  It cannot come off...it is permanent.  And somehow- His hands are large enough to hold all of those tattooed names on His skin.

I know that there was a new name added to my Savior's hand last Friday.....

Mackenzie.

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Here is Psalm 91- by Sonicflood