Beauty in death

Leaves flutter to the ground, their flecks of amber and gold whirring around on the wind, carelessly landing on the tops of sidewalks, cars and piles of other leaves. Our children dance and play beneath them, taking special joy when a hard breeze comes through our yard and they cascade down as if being painted across the landscape with the swooping of The Artist's hand.

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Golds, yellows, greens, reds, browns. When poised among the same branches, the beauty nearly takes my breath away. As we drive down the road I find my eyes looking to the landscape, the beauty of what is around me takes my mind off of the radio, the children behind me, my current life.

Fall has been my favorite time of year for as long as I can remember.

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The crunch of the leaves below the soles of my shoes, the need for bulky sweaters and the changing of warmer temperatures to cooler ones, no doubt this time of year brings me joy that no other season can.

Yet the irony of the beauty of the season this year is almost crushing. Because, the truth is heartbreakingly simple.

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There can be beauty in death.

Fall proves this yearly. As leaves wither and die, taking on new colors, shapes and textures they paint a beautiful portrait that can only be seen on the landscape of death.

As much as it pains me to admit that. As much as my current life season doesn't want to admit that truth. There can be beauty in death.

When death is hidden within the promises of Christ a breathtaking picture is revealed. Make no mistake, death apart from Christ is anything but beautiful.

Some dear friends reminded me of this truth last night as we talked with them on the phone across hundreds of miles. And, in the early days following Paige's death, I thought about it often and it would make me smile.

She's there. Seeing Him face to face. Worshipping wholly. Really living. Not this trite, vapor of a life that we have here. Real life. Lived right before the King.

There's beauty in that aspect of her death.

It's selfish to wish she was still here so that I could text her at night or skype with her during the week or ask her to sit and edit photos with me.

It's selfish to wish she could be here for birthdays, drives through the parkway in the mountains and to watch our kids while we go on a date.

It's selfish because I know that she doesn't desire to be here anymore.

I think about Mary and how she must have felt to watch her son hang on a cross. To watch his lifeless body be taken down and put inside a tomb. The grief must have been unbearable. Did she know she'd see Him alive again in a few short days? When she saw Him, did she embrace him as if it had been months since their last encounter?

Did she see the beauty in His death? Or was that only revealed to her once His death was abolished?

How her heart must have grieved while He laid in the tomb.

I know Paige is full of life, joyful and beautiful in the presence of her Savior. But I'd give anything to embrace her just one more time. To see her car ease into our driveway and watch her bounce up the walk. To sit with her over hot coffee or see her dance with our kids. For Ashlee to have the special time that was promised but never delivered.

The leaves spin down, dancing on the wind as our littlest girls squeal and dance along side them. Their delight is unmatched. The beauty of the season slowing falling all around them.

Beauty. Death.

Those two seem like an odd marriage. But in the shadow of the cross they make perfect sense. The beauty in Christ's death is redemption. Only by death is the richness of salvation possible.

I miss her so much. And yet I cling to the promise that one day, I will see the beauty in her death as well.

My treasured friend

Almost exactly four years ago a super skinny college girl walked through our front door and into our life. I was uncertain about leaving my babies with a stranger and, though she's never said it, I think she was a little uncertain about me too.

I asked a lot of questions, gave a lot of instructions and had high expectations.

At first, I cautiously left our young children with her in small spurts; to run quickly to the grocery store for a gallon of milk or to pick up a prescription.

But over the course of a few months, I could see that I had every reason to trust her with my most treasured possessions. My babies. She met, no exceeded, my expectations.

Back then, we were just barely more than acquaintances. While I cared about her, we both kept our distance emotionally. There were hard questions I wanted to ask her about her walk with the Lord but I was afraid of offending her, or worse, scaring her off and being left with out help. She was good and I couldn't afford to lose her.

We functioned in harmony almost immediately. She loved on our kids and I could tell she genuinely cared about them from the start. Weeks rolled into months and months into years. And somewhere along the way that super skinny college girl became one of my dearest friends.

Two years ago, she and Nick got engaged.

Sixteen months ago, they got married. She was a stunning bride.

Over the last three years, Luke and I have had the privilege of calling Nick and Amanda our friends. Our dear friends. Somehow, in a delicate balance, Amanda has continued to work for us and, if anything, our relationship has been strengthened by her being here nearly every day.

And this is where the story gets sad. Well, at least in some respects.

In about a month, my dear, beautiful (and still ridiculously skinny) friend will deliver her first child. A daughter. Yesterday, I had the extraordinary joy of taking her maternity photos.


As I stood behind the camera, knowing what my camera had captured of Nick and Amanda over the last two years and what was yet to come, I continually choked back tears.

While I'm thrilled for them to experience the joys, trials and overwhelming love of parenthood, I'm going to miss this girl so much.


Instead of taking care of other people's kids, she gets the joy of caring for her own child and being a stay-at-home Mommy herself.


And while I'd never want her to forsake her calling to be a wife and mother exclusively, I'm just not sure how I'm going to function throughout the week with out her smile, friendship, love and warmth walking through my door consistently every week.


I know I'll still see her all the time. I know that our kids will get to love on baby Harper regularly. Because, the truth is, Nick, Amanda and baby Harper, they're not just our friends anymore.

Over the last two years, they've become our family. Treasured family.


Amanda and I have moved from once-awkward roles to nearly like sisters. She calls me out on the things I need to be called out on and gives me access to her heart and front row seats to her life. I'm just so blessed by her.


So while my heart is sad at the changes that are to come, I know that the joy ahead is worth this momentary sorrow.


My beautiful, loving, thoughtful friend is becoming a mother. The mother she's been preparing to be her whole life. The mother that God foreknew she would be before the world was set in motion.


And I have no doubt that she will be wonderful at motherhood. Not only because of the years of practice she's had with other people's children but because of who she is.

I praise the Lord for the blessing of her and that super skinny college girl that walked into my home four years ago.

I treasure her more than she could know.