Every One of Them

Though you were ruined and made desolate and your land laid waste,

now you will be too small for your people,

and those who devoured you will be far away.

The children born during your bereavement will yet say in your hearing,

"This place is too small for us;

give us more space to live in."

Then you will say in your heart, "Who bore me these?'

I was bereaved and barren;

I was exiled and rejected.

Who brought these up?

I was left all alone,

but these -- 

where have they come from?"

Isaiah 49:19-21

What a mothering God we have.

He gets it.

And while I personally can't go so far as to change the pronoun, it's clear that the Bible has our Creator speaking with a mother's heart in so many instances.  Like here, in this part of Isaiah's prophecy describing God's intentions to restore all things to 'better than before'.  And the imagery used is that of an overflow of family, of children, lots of them, filling up the aching empty spaces, spilling out and over onto the grass outside, asking for more room to grow.

I ask this same question often, when I am at the cottage, or at Hot Springs.  This question on the lips of the metaphoric mom, "Where did all these kids come from?"  I pick up the wet towels after a swim, or I follow them around on the playground at the Dinosaur Park, and I wonder too.  Like Israel, once confused and exiled but looking toward the fullness of a promise, I have aching empty spaces that God has filled in delightful, surprising ways.

I have thirty-six grandchildren, give or take.  That's a lot, and it's abundant and lavish and way, way more than I could have ever imagined for myself.  This is a better story than I would have written for myself, no question.  And I am overwhelmed with wonder and gratitude and overflow of family that spills around to the other side of the world, literally.

 And here's the next level of application that happens for me.  The abundance isn't just in the number of grandchildren I so shamelessly brag about.  It's in the spectular-ness of each one of them, every single one of them.  The intrinsic value, immeasurably precious value of every one of them to my heart. And to make my point, even insufficiently, let me name them all.

Saiy, Somchai, Nuch, Thim, Miki, Entorn, Fruk, Bell, Apple, Porn, Wara, Kratae, Da, Amy, Any, Im, Min, Me-na, Mee-o, Eak, May, Gam, A-tom, Jabez, Praweet, Beeyung, Rompo, Boy, Chun, On-Ooey, and Bee.

And Abby, Zachary, Harvest, Jayden and Evelyn.

And Evelyn.  Did I mention her already?

Her particular value came to be quite weighty for me this past trip to Thailand when we visited the markets.  In anticipating my time there this summer I had already planned out the kinds of things I wanted to get for her.  Sweet Thai baby shoes and a dress in traditional style.  But I didn't, because she's not in need of them where she is now.  In fact I quite expect her yellow dress is made of sunshine itself, by far a better swish of cloth than ever I could purchase at even the most exotic of market stalls.  And selfishly, standing there in the humid air of Chiang Mai, I wanted her not to be where she is, but here with her Mama who aches for her so anguished, and with me, a Gramma who is empty and aching even in the abundance.

I wonder if that's not exactly the picture Isaiah is painting with his prophetic brush.  The here and now contrasted against the one day of God's 'better than before' ultimate promise, but both somehow melted and molded together if time could be removed, as if there could be nothing in between the knowing and the holding of.

This shouts loudly to me of the sanctity of each life.  How else could I be so lavished with grandchildren, yet ache for the one I can't hold?

And Bee.  I would be remiss not to render a moment to say how three years makes no difference whatsoever to the weight of his absence, even as the pain becomes more functional.  Here and now, in contrast to one day.

And that will be the day when we look up and realize that today's abundance of children spilling over onto the grass, is just the tiniest of glimpses of the beauty and bliss of the wild joy being fully present with each and every one of them.

"Come dance with me Gramma!"