Dear Mrs. Warmbier,
You have not left my thoughts. You have not left my prayers.
My soul groans, deep guttural groans, that only a mother can understand.
I can only imagine the hours, days, months, that you have been on your knees praying for your son to come home.
Little I know of your faith. In fact, I know nothing at all.
However, I know that tragedy draws us close to the Creator like nothing else. The darkness draws our souls to Light. The Light that birthed us into creation.
For God, who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,” has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ. 2 Corinthians 4:6
God carries us in these moments. Whether we understand or realize, we are held by Him.
I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you. Isaiah 46:4
I fully saw the likes of this verse lived out with my own two eyes several years ago.
Visiting a friend, a mother-friend, in a children's hospital.
I walked into the room where her blonde haired, blue eyed daughter lie still.
Chords, machines, tangled around her small body.
Looking so much like the little girl I had back at home, healthy and bouncing with life.
My knees almost gave way. I saw the chipped polish on her tween toes and almost fell right down on the cold floor.
Only the strength of her mother next to me kept me from falling flat out.
We walked out of the room and I fell into my friend's arms.
She held me.
She was the mother of this child in need of a miracle in a cold hospital bed.
It was her daughter in that room mangled up by wires and machines.
Yet, she had Strength I had never witnessed before that day.
God was carrying her.
You can ask her today, and she will tell you the same.
God will carry you.
In fact, He is carrying you.
As I ironed my daughter's clothes this afternoon, I gazed at the pink shirt. Going over the wrinkles, over and over and over. Like, I would bring your son back to life if I could just get this wrinkle to unravel. The heat of the iron almost burning right through that shirt. I pressed down hard. Tears streaming down my cheeks.
I get to iron her shirt.
She will get to wear this shirt.
You will never get to do this for Otto again.
My son is 6 years younger than your son.
Just a few years apart.
My heart cannot even begin to fathom...
The grief you feel, the pain you feel...
The loss of what could have been..
Never getting to see the marriage...
the child he would father...
the dreams that you dreamed for him...
the first moment you laid eyes on him coming out of your womb covered with your blood and insides...
Can a mother's heart bear this?
I would say no.
But, I know otherwise.
I have seen the faces of women close to me who have lost...
They have been carried. They are being carried.
We have all witnessed it.
Something not quite understood by mere words...
Some kind of peace and hope that can only come from the Peace and Hope Who Is.
And he will be our peace...Micah 5:5
I think about Mary, the Mother of Jesus.
Watching her Son on that cross.
Oh, the injustice.
The murdering tongues spewing hate speech at the Son of God.
At her son.
Mary knows your grief.
But do not forget this one thing, dear friends: With the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day. The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness 2 Peter 3:8
She saw her Son again.
She beheld Him with her weary, tear-filled eyes.
Mother, meet son. Son, meet mother.
The time came.
The fullness of time came...
Her tears were wiped dry.
Her heart was mended.
Her grief turned to joy.
Her ashes to beauty.
the time will come for you.
Mother, meet son. Son, meet mother.
For the space between..
The hard days.
The long days.
The heart wrenching, brutal days.
I pray for peace.
I pray for comfort.
I pray He carries you until you meet your son...
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