Faith’s tear-filled eyes were glued to the precious bundle in her arms. She absently twisted one of the little one’s fine red curls around her index finger. Short hours ago, this little form had kicked and wiggled inside her belly. After nine months of anticipation, of wide-eyed wonder, of watching her belly move with the new life inside, this was her little girl—smooth, perfect skin, sweet little rosebud lips, tiny thumb poised to suck. Faith held the back of her fingers near the baby’s chubby cheek and stopped. Her hand trembled, and a tear landed on the baby’s blanket.
“Oh dear God,” she whispered, “you raised the dead when you were here on earth. Why won’t you do it now? Please send us a miracle. Breathe life back into my little girl.”
She laid her hand on the little chest and willed to feel it rise and fall in soft sleeping breaths. All was still.
The thin flannel blanket with dancing bears served as a delicate barrier between two worlds, between life and death.
The tears flowed more freely. Faith’s lips trembled. “God, if you loved me, you wouldn’t do this to me.”
A soft still voice whispered in her heart, “As the heavens are higher than the earth so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.” 1
“God, what possible reason could there be for you to take my little girl?”
Before the words came out of her mouth, Faith knew there were lots of possible reasons. Perhaps her little girl was being spared sufferings that no mother would want a child to know.
“But God, why would you give her to me and then take her away?”
"As the heavens are higher than the earth so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts." 1
“God, I want to trust you on this one, but it is so hard. Give me strength to believe that you love me and my baby and that this really is best. Tell her I love her, and I’ll come to see her someday.”
Faith bent low and touched her lips to the cold, lifeless skin. She laid her cheek on top of the still head.
“I love you, little Hope. You will always be my sweet baby. I’ll never be cross at you, or make mistakes in raising you. You will have the perfect life. I’ll come to you someday. Oh what a tea party we will have up there.”
Sobs racked Faith’s body as she rocked back and forth clinging to the still small Hope.
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter . . .Forever wilt thou love, and she be fair.2
1 Isaiah 55:9 King James Version
2 Ode on a Grecian Urn by John Keats
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