It had been almost 3 weeks since my daughter left this earth and took flight for eternity.  I was walking through Target while praying for the strength to buy a baby gift for a dear friend. I was trying to figure out how to stay in the baby section long enough to buy a gift without becoming a spectacle. What if I saw the wrong rosy onesie and started weeping and the weeping turned into a panic attack or what if the lady inside me who was constantly screaming ” No!No! No! “. . . what if I lost control of her and she got out somehow? 

What if I just had to leave weeping and I couldn’t do this thing that needed to be done because it’s consistent with who I have always been and I was somehow still alive deep inside the layers of shock and grief.  

I was lapping sporting goods and electronics. I would edge towards that baby section and then meander back when the big bump of needles pricked my soul and swelled my throat. And then I saw it. Out of the corner of my eye. The rosy backpack and I knew I had to have it.  For the contents of my spiritual ICU that consisted of a bible, 3 devotional, cards, my new soothing adult coloring equipment. But something whispered. . . Also for a journey. . . 

What journey? I was having trouble leaving my house. It cost too much and was worth every penny and it’s presence in my cart gave me enough joyful courage to regain the territory of shopping in the baby section. Now sure , I could Only buy very  unemotional items like a stool with some baby meds stuffed in it but sometimes victory looks like a practical baby shower present. 

I got home,  exhausted from climbing  that grueling emotional summit with no awareness that God would be transporting me to one more mountain high for the day.  The mail.  I would get a little depression-fighting vitamin D by walking out to the mailbox.  

I wasn’t expecting any correspondence from the King.  After all, He and I were still in a nasty disagreement over his idea of perfect planning and my experience of unbearable pain.  You see, losing my daughter was both unbearable to me and perfectly planned by God. And He and I were supposed to be on the same page. I was sore at Him and He knew it. I was disappointed in myself and He knew that too.  

So he affectionately flirted with me in a gesture He knew I would not be able to resist.  Ten years earlier I had told Him how it would thrill me to receive a note from Him in the mail. And then I dismissed it as impossible. 

Until this day. Day 20. I was counting the days without her to let  Him know how hurt I was.  On this day, in this mail, it was sticking out and it stopped me in my tracks. 

I knew it was from exactly Him to specifically me and I couldn’t believe He had actually done it.  He wanted me. He believed in me. He still had good surprises for me and most importantly He wasn’t disappointed in me .  The card was addressed to “My Fellow Adventurer.” And that was how He thought of me. . . As a brave and worthy friend that He would like to Road trip with.   It was unreal and yet so very real. I was holding it in my hand and it felt like promise.  

It was indeed the promise of more to come . . .the hope of a guy who finishes what He starts. . . With every path paved with good and every invitation . . . To be accepted with the love and excitement it is Given in. . . 

There would be more. It would be worth it. I should buckle up for the great adventure. Thank goodness I had the perfect backpack for that kind of thing. Maybe He does plan perfectly after all.