Four years ago, March the 19th was on a Tuesday. On that Tuesday, at 10:30 in the morning, I knew my son was in trouble. No one told me. I just knew. We all have a voice in our spirit that speaks to us and mine was uneasy. I left work and drove to the police station hoping, of all things, that he was either in jail or that they would direct me to the hospital he was in. I sat in that station waiting for direction, hoping but knowing. I knew, not wanting to, that he was gone.
That Tuesday began normal but became the most catastrophic day of my life. I stepped into a void as I left the building carrying my son’s personal belongings. A phone, a wallet, a watch and devastation packaged in a Manila envelope.
That Tuesday my soul began to wail, as I was introduced to a mourning so deep that it took my ability to breathe.
That Tuesday I wanted to drop to my knees, rip my clothes, and cover myself in ashes.
That Tuesday I lost my son, my identity, and all direction. I didn’t know my own life anymore.
That Tuesday the sun was shining and the skies were blue. It was beautiful until it wasn’t, and I lost the ability to see the beauty in a day at all.
On that Tuesday, there were 8 billion people on the planet, and not one of them could help me, because the only one that could make it stop was gone.
So on that Tuesday I began a journey with no map, no compass and no clear destination in sight. I didn’t have the map, but I knew the Mapmaker.
I haven’t seen the map, but for each of the 1,461 days since Hagen beat me Home, the Mapmaker has been faithful to provide a pillar of fire at night and a pillar of cloud by day guiding me, feeding me, holding me, comforting me and loving me along the way. I didn’t know where I was going or how I would get there, but He did.
When I started this journey, I truly didn’t think I would survive, and some days I honestly didn’t want to, but that same voice that told me my baby was gone was telling me that I had to fight to reach that unknown destination. I wanted to get to where the Mapmaker was leading me because the place I was in was foreign and unbearable so I fought.
The fight to reach that destination is ongoing and never ending and has been a fight for my life and the life of others that rip their clothes and cover themselves in ashes. A fight to be the reflection of His heart towards the ones that aren’t seen and the voices that are no longer heard. A fight to halt the death, devastation, and destruction that began long before I lost my baby.
I don’t have full knowledge of the purpose of this journey I’m on, but I’m inclined to believe that the enemy is ticked that his plans have been thwarted. If he had his way, it would be spent in torment, wandering aimlessly, wailing as I did on that Tuesday four years ago.
Oh, but for the Mapmaker.
Only the One that made the Map knows when I’ll reach that destination, but as I follow Him, I see how vital my precious son’s life and physical death are to fulfilling the purpose He had for both of us. He and Hagen are in everything I do, and together we’ve been on this journey for four years. Four excruciatingly painful, joyful, beautiful years of working together to give hope to the hopeless, love to the unloved, encouragement to the discouraged, awareness to the unaware, and remembrance to those that paid far too high a price to change the course of a war. I don’t have full knowledge of our purposes, but I believe Hagen does. He always said he wanted to leave a legacy that his kids would be proud of.
You have and you are, baby.
