Tag: hope

Neverland is real!

Since Paxton died, I have looked at and felt Easter in a different way. I now understand the pain that Mary went through as she watched her son die and I now understand that I am living in the silence of Saturday. I’ve linked my two previous Easter posts below.

https://thegodkiss.com/2023/04/07/lament/

https://thegodkiss.com/2025/04/19/the-silence-of-saturday/

This year I have another new perspective of Easter and it revolves around the word never. Throughout the Good Friday and Easter services, I could barely sing. They are services that Paxton would have attended with us, and it’s another thing that he’ll never do again. As tears of sorrow poured from my eyes, I had an image of Paxton in heaven. The tears of sorrow didn’t stop flowing, but they became mixed with tears of joy because…

Paxton NEVER again has to feel the horror and heaviness of Good Friday…

he NEVER again has to sit in the suffering and silence of Saturday…

and he will NEVER again anticipate and await Easter Sunday because ever day is Easter for Paxton!

I cannot describe how comforting that is to me. When I think back on Paxton’s life, accident, hospital stay and death, there are a few questions that can absolutely bring me to my knees.

Did Paxton know how much I loved him?

Was he scared?

Did he wonder where I was?

Was he in pain?

Did I fail him?

My mind knows the answers to those questions, but my heart aches at the thought of him feeling alone, unloved, or scared, and knowing he was in pain kills me. Then God gently comforts me and reminds me that Paxton now lives in Neverland. His home in heaven is free of all of those things. He will never again be sick, afraid, hurt or lonely. He will never again face a hard day or a dark night. Neverland is real friends…and it’s name is Heaven.

it kills me that

I wasn’t there

were you scared?

I can’t bear the thought

I let you down

I don’t know how

to forgive myself

I wish I could tell you

how sorry I am

then I’m reminded

Neverland is real

Heaven is it’s name

a place where there will never be

sickness

fear

or pain

a place where we will never face

loss or death again

no hospitals with waiting rooms

full of broken hearts

no funeral homes

or cemeteries

no more time apart

I’m thankful you’re in neverland

I’ll join you there one day

Until then, I’ll hold on

to the God of Heaven

who will never fail or fade

our nest is empty…

This past Monday we moved our son, Owen, to college for his junior year. Friday we moved our daughter, Jenna, to college to begin her freshman year. Just like that, our nest is empty. Six years before it was supposed to be. The rooms in our house will never be lived in the same way again. One room in our house will never be lived in again at all.

In September 2003, I joined a moms’ Bible study. I had just suffered my 4th miscarriage in under a year and I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to carry a pregnancy past eight weeks.

The first week of Bible study, our leader brought a bird’s nest. Inside the nest were two empty eggs and one that had never hatched. She talked about how motherhood can look so many different ways. It made an impact on me because my “nest” to that point had four eggs that would never be baby birds.

When Bible study ended that next May, I was 7 months pregnant with Owen. I remember on the last day sharing how much that nest analogy meant to me. When I started that year, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be a mom. What I realized is that I was already a mom, my nest just looked different than I had hoped and dreamed.

A lot of times motherhood has been different than I imagined. Sometimes it has been better and sometimes it has been worse. I’ve made a lot of mistakes and have needed to grow just as much as my children, if not more.

I always knew being a mom would be hard. I knew that when I brought them home I would one day have to let them go. I never thought letting them go would be easy, but I never dreamed (or considered the nightmare) one of them would never fly.

My nest has never been perfect. I never expected it to be. But I never thought it would be this hard. I never dreamed it would be empty at this point. And I NEVER imagined my baby would be gone forever.

I was supposed to protect them. It was my job to cherish them, feed them and teach them. It was my job to launch them. But, the truth is they were never mine to begin with. God blessed me with them, but ultimately they are His. And even thought Paxton never got to fly, he is now in the safest, most peaceful home he will ever have. As long as the days seem without him, I’m one day closer to being with him for eternity.

the nest

built with care

piece by piece

ready to

love

protect

nurture

now sits empty

I’m thankful for

the ones that have flown

while aching for

the one not grown

heart breaking

even thought I know

he was never really my own

the Creator who cares for sparrows

and lilies in the field

embraced my broken, baby bird

and took him home

completely healed

I was supposed to live

the rest of my life with him

instead

he got to live

the rest of his life with me

I’m so grateful for the hope of heaven

and promise of eternity

the silence of saturday

I have been thinking a lot this week about the meaning and importance of Easter…

Good Friday is grieving what our sin cost.

Easter Sunday is being grateful for our Savior’s cross.

Good Friday is feeling the forsakenness of the Son.

Easter Sunday is embracing the significance of what He’s done.

Good Friday is sorrow over the Savior’s suffering.

Easter is rejoicing over the resurrection of our eternal King.

Good Friday we feel the devastation of His final breath.

Easter Sunday we see His ultimate victory claimed over death.

But, I’ve never really thought about the silence of Saturday.

I wonder what Mary was thinking and feeling that Saturday.  I know she fully believed her son was the Messiah.  She watched Him grow, loved Him well and trusted God’s plan.  However, she still had to watch her son die.  She still mourned His death.  She still had to bury His body.  The silence of that Saturday had to be the loudest sound she’d ever heard.

His silence did not mean absence, it was sin’s required severance.  He chose separation from relationship with His Father so our relationship with God could be restored.  Without the silence, Good Friday wouldn’t have mattered and Easter Sunday would not be possible. 

I believe with all of my heart that Jesus died  and was resurrected, and because of that, I’ll see Paxton again.  However, I still had to watch my son die. I still have to mourn his death. I still had to bury his body.  I trust God’s plan, but Easter now hits differently for me. I am grieving the need for Jesus’s death.  I am hopeful for His return.  But for now, I am sitting in the silence of Saturday.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

the cross taken down

one last look at his face

the stone put in place

the sacrifice made

as the Messiah laid

in that cold, dark grave

 tears flowing freely

quiet descended

a perfect life ended

relationship mended

the Son rejected 

payment for my sin

hoping for Sunday

hating the wait

immeasurable pain

unwavering faith

grieving death

grateful for grace

learning to embrace

the silence of Saturday