On Sunday evening, our family sat together eating dinner at a restaurant. It hadn't rained for 15 days, so when the sky began to turn gray we were hoping for some relief for our stressed lawn.
Drew was in his high chair exclaiming "chip!" for his tortilla chips he grasped above his head, and his three-year-old sister sat to my left next to the large picture window, overlooking the restaurant's landscaping and the dark skies above.
Our daughter took notice of these clouds, and was asking things such as "where does rain come from?" (the clouds), "can a plane fly in the clouds?" (yes, and actually can fly above them), and "can a plane fly to God"? (no).
She paused for a moment as she ate her quesadilla, contemplating these answers, and a line suddenly appeared on her brow. She had an important question.
"I want to see God", she stated. "Can I see God, daddy?", she asked, her root beer colored eyes looking up at me.
I thought for a second, caught off-guard, and replied, "No, honey, daddy and mommy have to see God first."
Her eyes rumpled with confused strain, and she took another long pause to consider this proposal. She took a breath and pleaded in almost a whisper "No! But who will watch us? I want to go with you."
A dense storm engulfed us. Not just the rain that now rushed off the edge of the walks and overflowed the gutters outside, but in our hearts. Out tears fell like the raindrops opposite the window.
The look on her face, and the tone of her voice were crushing to us. The thought of not having her (and Drew) with us is unbearable, but so is the thought of her feeling left behind.
Such is life, I suppose. We must enjoy these stormy moments (and all moments), uncomfortable as they may be, and live life in a way which will leave us with wonderful memories to carry us through any loss we face, and prepare our kids and other loved ones to move along under their own power without us.
What's the point of living if we don't have anything to lose?