"I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving you. Not yet."
These were the words my sister shared with me a month before she passed.
As we sat in Red Robin, laughing over the need for straws and beverage stabilization, her hands shook tempting the lemon drop to fall into her lap. Her body weakening; her spirit fiercely fighting. We decided to order multiple appetizers since we couldn't land on one dinner option leaving us with a table full of food and conversation for hours. I'm sure it looked ridiculous honestly. The disease had clearly taken a tole on her appearance and, for what I think was the first time outwardly, looked really sick. Regardless of how she felt, we were going to enjoy our time as sisters.
It was in these conversations where I remember asking if anything had changed and if she was ready.
As we sat in Red Robin, laughing over the need for straws and beverage stabilization, her hands shook tempting the lemon drop to fall into her lap. Her body weakening; her spirit fiercely fighting. We decided to order multiple appetizers since we couldn't land on one dinner option leaving us with a table full of food and conversation for hours. I'm sure it looked ridiculous honestly. The disease had clearly taken a tole on her appearance and, for what I think was the first time outwardly, looked really sick. Regardless of how she felt, we were going to enjoy our time as sisters.
It was in these conversations where I remember asking if anything had changed and if she was ready.
What I loved most about my sister was her ability to calm the weary supporter. The ability to relay a message of peace and firmly causing me to believe that only God can have control of her earthly timeline. I let her say her peace, but inside I knew things were changing.
And here I sit, two years after my sweet sister gained her heavenly citizenship; grieved but not without joy, broken but whole, empty but have all that I need.
There's not a day that goes by without a thought of my sister passing through a memory. A day that goes by without a longing to call and share the embarrassing moment or frustrating situation in parenting. I will always want more time, more hugs, more shaky dates with lemon drops and straws, but I realized in the process of my healing, that she needed a rescue more than I needed an earthly sister to stand by my side.
God works all things for His glory, at the right time and with His purpose which points to His Kingdom and power. I believe it; I know it; I read the truth and rest in those promises. It's still hard. Heaven is more real now than has ever been before. Three grandparents and a sister in two years is far too much for one family to experience yet alone process with young ones. Death changes you. Grief rearranges your priorities and places a filter on life that is hard to understand when it's not personal and within reach of your sphere. Giving my grief words can be a challenge some days and when needed my tears speak for the lost communication.
God heard my sisters request of her spirit growing faint to this earthly world and sent an army to rescue her from the physical suffering and torment the ravishing disease was doing to her body. What settles my deep longing to pull my sister from Heaven is knowing the impact still taking place through her story and how God, in His infinite wisdom, orchestrated her beautiful rescue.
He heard her.
He saw her.
He sheltered her.
He defended her.
He found her.
I'm confident that my sisters words would not change if she could shout down from Heaven...
"I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving you. Not yet."
Her message unwavering:
God is still good.
God is still good.
Not every rescue looks the way we requested, planned or even want to experience. There is no goodbye willingly given to those you love.
But, this I know... I needed a rescue as much as my sister received hers.
God rescued me from intense grief, from a state of brokenness and loss that has turned to joy.
God hears me, sees me, continues to shelter me and defend me.
Today, I reflect on the moment my sisters hand slipped from mine and entered into the presence of God.
Today, as a family, we remember the life that was lived with a contagious smile, laughter
and zest for adventure.
and zest for adventure.
I will raise my hands in worship, allow the tears to slip down my cheeks and embrace the army that has surrounded me here on earth separate from my sister.
Happy Heavenly Birthday my sweet sister... You still haven't left me.
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