The Impossible

I was thinking this morning about the last time I would ever hold my daughter in this life.  I was alone in a room, where in earthly standards would probably be labeled as "creepy".  But the first time I went into this room that had a little bassinet, a flower behind her, there was such an amazing spirit in that room.  Never mind that we were in the mortuary.

As I held her surrounded by my sisters and took pictures that would bring so much comfort later, I marveled at the blessing it was to see and hold her again.  As the day progressed, my children came, we took family pictures, held each other and cried, and then my husband requested to hold her alone.  The thought had never crossed my mind.  He had his tender moments, and then it was my turn.

As I marveled, cried, ached, and missed the daughter that was still in my arms.  I was facing the impossible again.  I needed to say goodbye.  I had already in the hospital, and now I needed to do it again.

I wanted to drink it all in, I wanted to memorize every inch of her face so that I could always remember the perfectness of her features.  I knew there wasn't enough Time.  

It was time to say goodbye, never to have and to hold her again in this life.  What is it about the impossible that makes you either rise up to the challenge or crumple under pressure?  I carefully, tenderly put my daughter back in the bassinet.  Her limp body that would soon be covered, never to be tenderly held by her parents for years to come.  

And I walked away.  The impossible was conquered again.

Time has passed.  Eighteen months in fact.  Last Sunday when I went to church, I thought about the overjoyed feelings I would have felt as Phoebe would finally be able to go to nursery.  I would be that elated parent that no longer had to roam the halls, and would finally be able to fill her cup with some gospel instruction uninterrupted by a squirming, bored, yet adorable toddler.  

Right now in my life, the winds of trial and the storms of tribulation are again beating on my family.   Time very literally has gone away into some limbo land. It is no longer relative.  We are facing the impossible and it is very hard.  

Will I rise or will I crumple.  It seems more a statement than a question for me.  I have a choice whether I continue to cling to the rod, or whether I let the mists of darkness discouraged me so much that I let go.  It's interesting that time is sometimes referred to as "Father Time".  I have a Father who knows beginning to end.  He knows how this plays out.  Do I trust that I will rise to conquer the impossible again?  That is my hope. 

I am staring "impossible" in the face again, and I will prevail.