Four Small Roses

Sunday, January 10, 2010.  Baptism Day.

It was a special day on its own.  The day that we would present our newest daughter to God, acknowledging that we are sinners, vowing that it is only Jesus' blood that makes us clean, and committing ourselves to raise our little one in that Truth.  A day when we are reminded that God chooses us, not for anything that we can offer, but simply because we are His.  It would have been a beautiful day any way you looked at it.

It became much more than that.

Since I learned that I would deliver two children, one living and one truly alive, I have wondered what baptism would bring.  And I wanted it to be about three children--the one who is living, the one who is truly alive, and the One who is the Life.  I wanted to celebrate Addie Maye and her place in His world, in His heart.  I wanted to celebrate Zion and that baby's place in our eternal Home.  And I wanted to celebrate Jesus, His birth, His death, and His life, as the hope that we can give Addie that she will one day know her beautiful twin again.  I talked a bit about it, but I never mentioned "memorial service."  That's what I wanted, though.

And, because God knows my desires and can do all things, that's exactly what I got.

We placed a single pink rose, in a vase bought just for the occasion, on the organ.  It stood in front of the screen displaying the words to "Precious Lord, Take My Hand" (on my "play at my funeral" list) and "In Christ Alone."  We saw it as we beseeched God to help us stand in His power from life's first cry to final breath when He takes our hands and leads us Home.  That was Zion's rose, and it is Addie's vase.  It will hold a rose on every birthday and all of Addie's special days, and it will remind us of what we have lost and also what lies ahead for us.

I also asked our pastor to say a simple prayer for Zion when he prayed for Addie after my dad finished baptizing her.  His words brought tears to our eyes.  As he said, "We also think of Zion, this silent twin who is anything but silent in Your presence," Meggie saw my tears and climbed into my arms to dry them.  Seeing that she couldn't, she nestled in to my neck to hold me.  Precious one.

That was what we planned, though both meant more than we could have dreamed.  What we didn't plan was even more beautiful in a way.  And it came in two parts.

The bulletin had a note about the rose, which I requested.  But it went on from there:

We give thanks to God for his grace as we celebrate this opportunity to baptize Addison Maye.  The rose on the organ is in memory of Addison's twin, Zion, who passed away in utero.  The sprinkled water of baptism is God's prescribed visible expression of his assurance that we are cleansed through the scandalous wounds, shed blood, and death of Jesus on the cross.  God knows and chooses us long before we are coneceived.  He told Jeremiah, 'Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart.'  Scripture makes it clear that God delights in children, especially pre-born children.  Could there be special grace for those who are taken home to their heavenly Father before they are born?  John Newton, an eighteenth-century Anglican and the author of hymns such as 'Amazing Grace,' wrote, 'I cannot be sorry for the death of infants.  How many storms do they escape!  Nor can I doubt, in my private judgment, that they can be included in the election of grace.  Perhaps those who die in infancy are the exceeding great multitude of all people, nations, and languages mentioned [in Revelation 7:9] in distinction from the visible body of professing believers who were marked on their foreheads and openly known to be the Lord's.'  The gospel, made visible through the sacraments and heard through preaching, is God's gracious provision for the storms that Beau, Beka, and every one of us will not escape.

Then there was Tuesday.  We came home from a long day of work to flowers on our front porch.  There were from someone in our church, someone we know but don't really know well.  And they were a beautiful gift from the Body of Christ, which grieves when we grieve and rejoices when we rejoice.  The card said it so simply and so profoundly at the same time:

Four small roses in your hearts: three will bloom here, and one will bloom in Heaven. 

Indeed.  And amen.