Prove It, Then.

A couple of days ago, I had a little conversation with God. For the pre-loss me, it was such a commonplace occurrence that I probably wouldn't have touched on it here. But I suppose it's no great secret that I haven't exactly been on speaking terms with the Big Guy for the past few months. Too many feelings of betrayal and anger and frustration and, well, pain. So the last thing I've wanted to do was talk to God, a.k.a. the all-knowing, all-powerful creator of the universe who ignored my fervent prayers and didn't save my little boy from death.

But a few days ago, sitting alone in the dark in my family room after everyone else had gone to bed, He and I had a brief exchange. I'd been wondering a lot about the reality of God and of Heaven, so I just said

Okay, God. Prove it.

I guess that sounds pretty obnoxious and part of me cringed, fully expecting to be struck down for such a flagrant display of insolence, but the tank was low and I was being direct: if You're there, and if Logan still IS, then prove it.

Of course, there was no great clap of thunder. Lightning bolts didn't pierce the night sky with any brilliant flashes of pure white. No grand voice boomed down yes, of course I'm here, don't be ridiculous.. In fact, the room remained silent and still and familiar.

But even without the fanfare, I know He heard me.

How?

Abby's new teacher called me this morning. She was attentive and caring and seems to be a great match for my daughter and our circumstances. She asked for the names of a few girls who Abby particularly enjoys spending time with, and I gave her two: Bridget and Isabelle. I also gave the name of a good friend down the street. She said she didn't know offhand if any of them were in the class because she'd just gotten the list, but when the rosters were posted late this afternoon, we were surprised to find not just one or two but all three of them in Abby's class. It seemed an unlikely scenario given that there are four different third grade classes, but it happened anyway.

And this afternoon, I had the oddest encounter with a contractor. Our backyard is a complete disaster; we ignored it after Logan got sick, and it's a mess. We started the renovation project by contacting a few local tree services to give quotes for removing two trees and an old tree stump. The very first guy to come by was a tall, burly man, probably a few years younger than me. As I showed him the trees, I explained the root of the disrepair. He looked down at his clipboard and went silent for a moment before quietly responding I have a baby in Heaven, too. I said I was sorry to hear it, and he quickly added But that's where they are, with Jesus. And we'll see them again someday. You'll be there, too. And he looked right at me. This big, burly guy had tears in his eyes and looked me squarely in the face as he told me that our children were in Heaven. And that we would be, too. Then he looked back down at his clipboard, muttering something about wanting to give us a great deal because he felt like God was using him. And he rattled off an incredibly low quote. Part of me wanted to hire him right there on the spot; after all, he'd witnessed to me even before he knew that we believed in Jesus or Heaven or... anything. But we have others lined up to give quotes, so we'll let them do so. But what a story, right? I thought so.

Okay, so neither of those things really prove anything at all. But they're a start. I can feel the ice beginning to melt. And ironically, the more the ice melts, the more I can feel the sunshine --MY sunshine-- tickling my skin.