Letters to Taylor: On Emptiness
I had a hard time sleeping last night. I don’t know if it’s because I’m thinking too much or if it’s because God is having me pray for others. Either way, I’m using the wake time to pray.
In the wee hours this morning, I couldn’t stop thinking about your caregivers. I started praying for them because I felt so burdened. Especially for the current ones who not only lost a sweet friend on the day you died, but also lost their job.
I thought of all the many caregivers you had and pondered the faithful few who worked with you for many years. Tiffany, Auntie Mary and Uncle David provided consistent care for you for almost nine years. That’s a long time to care for someone for a few hours a week.
Then God specifically sent Jaime and Donna for the last five months of your life. Their intuitive, caring natures were gifts at a pivotal, critical time. I can look back and see God’s hand all over the timing of their assignment. I know they are mourning you and while I’ve tried to put myself in their shoes, I simply can’t. I can’t feel the emotions of someone whose life I’ve never lived, whose perspective I’ve never adopted, or whose feelings are different than mine. All I know to do is to pray that God will heal their hearts and provide for their every need, both emotional and financial. So that’s what I did for about an hour.
Today is one month since we laid your body to rest in the cemetery. From the moment that I witnessed your spirit leave your body for heaven, I’ve had total peace that you are well again. I’ve been thinking about how wonderful it must be for you to be able to communicate without your brain glitching. How wonderful it must feel for you to have no more pain or impairments. Your body works and you can run and play and jump and do everything you used to do and everything you were never able to do. Every skill you lost is re-gained, new and improved. Perfect. I try to imagine what your giggle sounds like in heaven. It has to be absolutely glorious. And your beautiful voice is not just repaired, but totally renewed. How I can’t wait to hear you sing again someday!
Someone said to me recently that they don’t understand how we will know one another in heaven. She asked, “If we have perfect and whole bodies in heaven, how will we even recognize one another?” I personally believe that it begins with our eyes. We won’t see the same way we see now. Our eyes will be open to all things spiritual and I believe that we will recognize one another in spirit before we even look at our new bodies. We’re used to looking at the body of others with our physical eyes first. In heaven, it will be the opposite; we’ll recognize one another in spirit before any other way. We will truly see others the way Jesus sees them. I’m kind of jealous that you have this ability before me.
Your room now stands almost empty. It’s been a gradual process over the last couple weeks as we’ve given away your supplies and equipment to those in need. Seeing those needs provided has been such a joy but walking by your room hasn’t been easy.
Until today. Today God gave me the most beautiful thought about your room. I heard the Holy Spirit whisper to my heart:
“Her empty room is just a reminder of the empty tomb.”
“Yes, death did not hold Jesus. He conquered the grave in victory and because of his victory, you have the promise that Taylor is in heaven! It’s a temporary separation, my girl. Temporary. Your TayTay already stands in victory, perfect and whole before the throne of God. Her work on this earth was finished in person. And what an incredible work she has done and will continue to do through my Spirit.”
That’s all. God is good, even in death. Death has no power over the real you or the real me.
See you later.
I love you.