Better Than a Hallelujah

October 26, 2019.

Rowan’s first birthday.

Like many moms I spent hours the night before pouring over old photos from the day he was born. Momentarily reliving the miracle of bringing new life into this world and simultaneously missing the softness of those first moments. Grabbing pictures to share with the world to celebrate his first year of life. In one of those photos you see all three of my babies in my lap, Rowan just a few hours old. The image of me learning to navigate having more babies than hands. I attached Amy Grant’s “Better Than a Hallelujah” to that photo.

“God loves a lullaby, in a mother’s tears in the dead of night - better than a hallelujah sometimes”

Of all the lyrics and songs I could have linked that morning, I have no idea why that’s the one I chose. In the moment it felt right because it’s been a year of learning balance. A year of learning that my position as a mother is to bring up these children for HIS glory and not my own. Learning that in the muddy waters of motherhood, I needed Him and His grace.

What I didn’t know when I clicked “share to story” was that a spiritual battle was about to take place and that these lyrics were soon going to have much deeper meaning for me.

I threw up the standard #babiesdontkeep, finished my coffee and went about our morning. I sent my husband and older kids off to a birthday party and put the baby down for a nap so I could finish setting up decorations. In the midst of full blown party prep, I get a message from my sister-in-law letting us know that her childhood friend’s baby went to be with Jesus that morning. I pressed on through the motions of our day but thought about that news in everything we did.

We celebrated our Rowan and loved on him hard. As we blew out his birthday candle I said an extra prayer of thanksgiving for him, placed the cake in front of him and removed the candle so he could dive in. As I watched him touch the icing, his wondering eyes unsure of what to do next, my mind began to wonder too. I looked at the candle in my hand- how quickly it went from hosting a warm glowing flame to it’s light dimming to nothing and turning cold. It’s shining moment cut so short. Right there is when a light started to dim in me, too.

The next few days a constant flow of silent tears fell from my eyes. I imagine this holds true for so many of those who have followed their story. No matter what I did or how hard I tried to fill my mind with worldly distractions, I thought of this momma and her family. You see, she has already done the unthinkable once before. Her beautiful baby girl was greeted in Heaven by her beautiful baby boy, both of them called home in their first year of life. I never met either of these precious babies and I have honestly only exchanged a handful of pleasantries with this mom in passing. So you may be thinking “she doesn’t even know these people, she should mind her own business, tragedy strikes families every day. She has no clue. Just stay in your own corner.” Trust me, I have spoken those words to myself countless times. I don’t know why of all the families in this world that suffer loss this one is the one that has marked my heart the most. Maybe it’s simply because death is unfamiliar to me and this is about as close to home as it’s ever gotten without a direct impact. Until last week, in my 30 years I’ve been to only two funerals, both for my grandparents that were able to live the fullness of this life well into their eighties. Likely it’s also because of this season of motherhood that I’m in - the same lullabies that brought a smile to this baby’s face do the same for my own. Whatever the reason, not a single hour has passed that I haven't thought of them.

I did what so many of us do and looked to my children for joy. I became even more intentional with my time. Showed more grace. Squeezed them tighter. Let go of the trivial things that often consume me.

It wasn’t enough. For every smile - I felt guilt. For every good thing - I lacked understanding. No matter how hard I pushed against them the thoughts kept creeping back. I found myself asking the questions I’m not supposed to ask. I would hurriedly pray for forgiveness in fear that I would be “punished” for thinking this way. Challenging everything I know to be true. Yet, these thoughts still kept resurfacing.

“How God? Why God? Aren’t you in the miracle business God?”

For every question I was met with a carousel of cliches- and with every one I grew more bitter.

-“Just pray for them.”

I DID! Oh, how I DO! I spoke that precious baby’s name next to my own children’s for months. So so many of us have.

-“Hold them tight.”

ALWAYS! Every single day. I cherish my family fully.

-“Count your blessings.”

This one one was the hardest to swallow. I’m pretty good at gratitude. It’s easy when things are good. But it just felt so.....for lack of a better term - unfair.

Blessed, Lucky, Fortunate...

whatever word you choose I live a charmed life and I am not blissfully unaware of how beautifully my cards have fallen despite the fact that I am no more deserving than the next person.

What I began to realize was that I was actually mourning my crumbling faith. I was spending every waking minute focusing on pain. Thinking "If I doubt this much as an outsider, how would I respond if I was walking through my most difficult trial. I must be a terrible Christian. Am I really just a back row believer? Who am I?” Though death is certain, I have never faced the reality of it. I have never gone beyond scratching the surface of even thinking about it, much less talking about it. Ignorance is bliss, right? I turned my eyes from His promises and the enemy started poking holes in the very foundation I have always stood upon, and let me tell you— he had a heyday.

I mentioned to a dear friend that I was really struggling with the phrase “count your blessings”.... after all, I don’t believe in a God that favors some of us more than others. I don’t believe that some of us are more deserving than others. We all so desperately need His love and grace regardless of where we stand in this world. It's not a point system. So why ... why do people say that in the midst of tragedy?

And that’s where He met me. She stopped me at that thought and said “I actually just listened to someone talk about this topic the other day.” Going on to say how this world is so quick to throw around the term blessed. How we so easily attach it to worldly things, materialistic possessions, extravagant vacations, even our families. Because of how loosely we use this word, we convince ourselves that some of us are “more blessed” than others. She said, “And while yes our children are blessings from God, absolutely they are....The reason that we’re blessed is because Jesus died on the cross for us and He paved the way to Heaven. THAT is what we are blessed by, not the earthly things we have here.”

Well, duh..right? Every Christian knows that. I mean, how many times have we sat through that very sermon. John 3:16- the truth we all stand on. Isn’t it obvious, Crystal?

But also... isn’t it the reason we fill the pews every Sunday? To hear what we may already know so that we will be fully armed with His confidence to face whatever earthly giant is waiting for us around the corner?

A gentle reminder.

So subtle.

So needed.

Rowan's party theme was in pure lighthearted fun- Bruno Mars song lyrics floating all over our house that day. So many different lyrics I could have posted there, right over his little head.. yet there it is, in all of its earthly glory #blessed..

I don’t know why this chat was my “Look up, Child” moment. I’m not sure why in those few faith shaking days I chose to ignore what I knew was right under my nose. I don’t know why her words hit harder than the same words spoken by others that week. But I’m thankful they did. I was choosing to ignore His goodness in an attempt for earthly understanding. Trying to search for answers and explain the unexplainable. But He still met me there. I listened to her words over and over that day. I went back to scripture and poured over His promises. Studied the book of Job. Then I counted my blessings but I counted them differently. I thanked Him for my children and for loaning them to me here on Earth, but I also thanked Him for the promise that as long as we believe in Him I can be with them at his hands and feet for all of eternity—even if we become separated sooner than we hope in the flesh. I also went back to that song I linked a few days earlier and listened intently with renewed perspective.

“We pour out our miseries

God just hears a melody

Beautiful the mess we are

The honest cries of breaking hearts

Are better than a Hallelujah.”

If you’ve made it this far you are probably starting to realize that this doesn’t end with miraculous healing or some new profound revelation. It’s not a story of a lost soul finding Jesus for the first time or even the telling of a silver lining. No, it’s just the intricate ramblings and vulnerability of a mother’s heart that shattered for another. There’s still a family left with unimaginable heartbreak and so many unanswered questions for this stranger on the outside. However, it’s the reality that for a brief moment I allowed fears of this world to overcome my heart and cast a very dark shadow. He heard those cries of a hurting heart and He met me there - in all of my hopelessness and fear- with a gentle reminder of what I already know to be true.

Now the words she sings hit a little differently. It's better than a hallelujah - calling to Him when we feel hopeless - desperately searching for light and finally turning our eyes back to Jesus...because the hallelujahs come easy.

I found myself at a loss for words for a while so it feels strange to be writing SO MANY words. To be frank - it’s utterly terrifying. Giving life to these words means my sinful nature is real. It means offering up my guarded heart on a silver platter to potential pain and judgement. But that’s better than all of my hallelujahs.

My intent for this space is to leave raw and real words for my babies. For them to see that their momma is a broken sinner, fully saved by grace in spite of an abundance of flaws. When the weight of this world creeps in and begins to fill their minds with doubt, I hope they come here to know that is not what defines them. I hope they see that what actually defines them is that they are sons and daughters of the one true King!

To my sweet babies:

Know that we don’t have to fight a battle for a war that’s already won. Know that I don’t believe that everything here happens for a reason. I believe He hurts with and for us, just as deeply as we do. Know that I absolutely believe He works miracles. Why do we see some of those miracles here in the flesh and the others happen in Heaven? Well, we will just have to ask Him when we get there! Know that He is still good-

ALL. THE. TIME.

Please sing his praises and shout HALLELUJAH when the journey is easy but when it’s darkest I pray you remember to turn your eyes to Heaven - look for the light even if it feels hidden in the clouds. He will certainly find you and meet you wherever you are.

Every October 26th, God willing, we will light candles to celebrate another year of life here with our Rowan. Every year I'll light one of those candles in honor of the same day that sweet baby girl got the most perfect heart and a gorgeous set of wings. We will blow out those candles but her little light will continue to shine forever and we will continue to cover her family in prayer in hopes they will always feel the comforting embrace only He can provide.

I know I’m just a stranger, but I'd sure love to have a front row seat for this family reunion. The day those babies hop off the lap of Jesus and run into their momma’s arms - for FOREVER. It will be far better than any hallelujah!

Matthew 19:14 Jesus said, "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of Heaven belongs to such as these."

Revelation 21:4 "He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away."

Photography: Candace Smith Photography