Tonight as I was lying in bed my mind took longer than usual to clear itself and fall into peaceful slumber. One thought triggered another until I realized the importance of today's date. A very special birthday for a very special person. This one's for her.
I wrote this last year for a book the ladies at my church put together.
"But there is a resurrection, therefore the grave hath no victory, and the sting of death is swallowed up in Christ."
Mosiah 16:8
It was December 12, 2009, and my father and I were busy finishing up some Christmas shopping. During this time of year, shopping becomes stressful. Parking lots are chaotic, customers are frantic and store clerks are hanging by their last thread of patience. Questions bombard my head like "will he like this?" or "what size does he wear?" and "can I exchange this later?" Despite starting my Christmas shopping in September, I still found myself in the middle of purchase pandemonium in the electronic section of Costco. My last big Christmas purchase lingered before my eyes and, as I pranced through the checkout line, elation filled my body as we exited the warehouse.
Running errands with my father has an advantage: free lunch. As we left the parking lot my father started driving in the opposite direction of our next destination. Maybe there was a new Thai restaurant he wanted to show me? Perplexed, but trusting he knew what he was doing, I went along without questioning him. Not ten minutes had passed before we pulled up to the gates of a cemetery. Baby Jasmine's cemetery. The realization sank in like an anchor to the ocean floor. Tomorrow was her birthday.
Last year my brother and his wife gave birth to their first child, Jasmine Pearl Higgins. The birth of a new baby usually brings joy and excitement, but for my family it was quite different. Ali, my brother's wife, was only half-way through her pregnancy when she went in to labor, and Jasmine only lived for an hour.
Recalling this event filled my heart with sorrow. Weaving our car through the cemetery we passed other families leaving mementos and paying respect to their lost loved ones. I couldn't help noticing all the groups of people with their chairs, picnics, and music desperately trying to feel close to those they missed dearly. Death's sting was still fresh in their hearts, and this was how they treated their pain; spending hours at a cemetery staring at a headstone. It was then my sorrow melted into peace. The sting of baby Jasmine's death is swallowed up in Christ. We will see her again because we are an eternal family.
My father hammered an adornment, a metal Christmas present topped with a green bow, into the ground next to her headstone. The questions that had previously bombarded me were long forgotten, and the only gift I was now thinking about was the gift of eternal life made possible through Jesus Christ. Is there anything more important than this gift? If you ask my brother, his wife, or baby Jasmine, the answer would be, no.
Merry Christmas, Baby J.
