Conversations with Jack

The weather was just beautiful today. I really enjoyed being able to get outside with Jack for some alone time this afternoon while the rest of our house was napping.

He brought my camera so he could take pictures of things in our "jungle" (which is actually just the small spread of trees behind our house.) You should see the random photos on my camera: rabbit poop, a crow, a fallen tree, a few squirrels, some robins, and some dead leaves from last autumn. But as a picture-lover myself, I just loved to see a desire in him to capture life as he sees it.

While it's not unusual for me to be outside with my kids, it is odd that I am one of the active players. Normally, Jack and Ben take the lead, finding the most unusual things to peek their interest. I just follow them with a camera or to supervise their little sister tagging along and trying to do what they are. But today, Jack was grateful for me as his companion. Ever since Ben has slowed down, Jack seems to have forgotten how to play by himself. It's not as if he and Ben always did the same thing at the same time. But they have always had each other. I feel like Jack will need to relearn - or actually, learn for the first time - how to find fun on his own.

As we walked around, Jack would point out some things to me. "This is where Ben and I used to play... Here's the dead tree Ben found... There's the tree that Ben and I used to be scared of." He could have had no idea how much his comments were breaking his mother's heart.

We both got tired after walking around a while and so we sat together on the deck. I thought I'd use the quiet opportunity to see what he was thinking. How he was processing things with Ben. How he was handling this huge transition. But he never seemed to need to go down that road. I'd ask a leading question, he would answer it, and then move on.

"Mom, I can see really far away. Even to those trees," he said as we rocked in the plastic green rocking chair. "What if I had a super power where I could see inside things? Wouldn't that be cool?"

"That'd be awesome! You could see the bugs inside that tree. Or you could use it to help people. Like when Ben was having the headaches, you could see inside his head and say, 'Oh, there's a bump in there! We need to take it out!'"

"Yeah," he laughed. "I wish." But instead of going on about Ben, he talked about having super sight, super hearing and super smelling. I just tried to roll with it. As he pointed to a bird flying high, he said, "I wish I could fly. Like in heaven! Do you think that bird can reach heaven?" We chatted a bit about a bunch of random things, and then he just moved on. I do love talking to that boy. What a mind he's got.

 

 

We came inside and as he picked up a Where's Waldo book for us to read together, he randomly asked, "Mom, will we be able to watch movies in heaven?" Not knowing exactly how to answer, he quickly said, "Let's pray and ask God!" So we folded our hands, closed our eyes, and he prayed. "God, please tell us what we will do when we're in heaven. Thank you. Amen."

I wasn't sure how long Jack was going to wait to hear a response from God. Was he expecting an audible response? Then I remembered a book that a good friend had gifted to us a few weeks ago, but we hadn't read it yet. "You know, Jack, we have a book that talks about that. It's about a four-year-old boy who Jesus let visit heaven, but didn't let him stay. He came back to earth and then wrote a book about what he saw." Jack hopped up on my lap and I read "Heaven is For Real... for kids," by Colton Burpo.

I kept it together for most of it until I came to the part that talked about there being no sickness in heaven:

"One of the most wonderful things about heaven is that no one ever gets sick or hurt there. No one ever has bumps or bruises or skinned knees. No one needs glasses or wheelchairs. In heaven, no one is old; everyone is young and healthy. And no one died in heaven. In heaven, you live forever with God!"

 

I had a hard time not crying through those promises. Jack could obviously tell that I was crying and he locked his green eyes onto mine. Part of the reason finishing that paragraph was so difficult for me. "Happy tears or sad tears?" he asked, tilting his head. Oh, this kid.

 

"Sad tears. It makes me sad to think of the people that we can't see anymore because they're in heaven. Like Grandma and Grandpa Sauer, and Uncle Tommy. We're happy they're with Jesus, but we also miss them here on earth."

 

"But Mom," he said with his bright eyes and dimples, shifting his weight so he could look at me face-to-face. "I'm going to be in heaven, too! So you don't have to be sad! You won't be alone!" And just as easy as that, he was trying to make me feel better. My four-year-old was encouraging ME.

 

Talking with my kids makes me realize just how much God adores children. The innocence, faith, and optimism is so encouraging. Even to a person who's followed Christ for as long as I can remember. No wonder He tells us to be like them.

 

I had been surprised that Jack didn't need to talk. At least in the ways I had expected him to. But perhaps God allowed this opportunity for me, rather than Jack. To know that he really is okay with things right now. About the future. He has peace. So perhaps God wanted to encourage me to have peace as well.

 

God not only has this situation in the palm of His hand. But He's also got Ben, Jack, Megan, and their unborn sister safely in His care.

 

And someday, He will be the very first one to welcome us into our forever home, wrap His big arms around us and say, "Well done, my good and faithful servant."

 

Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief.