Tuesday, September 13, 2011

This World is Not My Home

Today Reagan is nine months old.

I sing a lot when I am alone (& I am rarely truly 'alone' now, so Reagan listens to my singing often, God bless her).  Typically it's something from the 80s or a broadway medley.  Today, I've been singing "This World is Not My Home."  This world has officially been Reagan's home for as long as I was.

As my pregnancy progressed, it became apparent I was not meant to be her permanent dwelling.  Toward the end, I couldn't sleep much at all and even my maternity clothes were getting snug.  On Thanksgiving Day, I walked into my Aunt Donna & Uncle Bryan's house wearing a red turtleneck.  Like an alarm, my bulging red belly announced my presence before I was in the room.  My cousin, Marykate, was 1 at the time; she took one look at me and, without a word, lifted her shirt to show us her belly, which, unlike mine, was proportionate to the rest of her body.  She knew my body was stretched to its limit, doing something that it was not meant to permanently endure.

A few weeks later, at my last doctor's visit before Reagan was born, Dr. Sheppard told me it was possible that my water would break from the sheer pressure of her because she was so low.  That's exactly what happened, and she passed from me into this world with relative ease.

 She's changed a lot in nine months.  She is the picture of youth and health and goodness right now.

Happy to be playing after finishing her morning bottle:

A few of her 9 month pics:

As hard as it is to believe now, Reagan was not meant for this world.  None of us were.  It's readily apparent if you spend time with an elderly person, or someone who suffers poor health, just as it was obvious to Marykate that something was amiss with my stomach.  It was time for separation.

Even when we're young and healthy, mortality whispers to us; we cut ourselves and bleed or break a bone or notice those first gray hairs.  For those for whom the following lyrics ring true, there are other reminders as well.  The filth that permeates our society is a siren signaling that our souls weren't meant to stay here forever, and praise God for that.  Separation is sometimes welcomed and sometimes difficult, but it's inevitable, and a Christian meandering through this twisted world can't help but be reminded of that daily, and welcome the sound of the angels that beckon.  I can't be here with Reagan forever anymore than I could provide her a permanent home in my belly, but I pray we will one day share an immutable home in Heaven.

This World is Not My Home, I'm just passing through
My treasures are laid up somewhere beyond the blue
The angels beckon me from Heaven's open door
and I can't feel at home in this world anymore

They're all expecting me and that's one thing I know
My Savior pardoned me and now I onward go
I know He'll take me through, though I am weak and poor
and I can't feel at home in this world anymore

Just up in Glory Land we'll live eternally
The Saints on every hand are shouting victory
Their song of sweetest praise drifts back from Heaven's shore
and I can't feel at home in this world anymore.

O Lord you know I have no friend like you
If Heaven's not my home, then Lord what will I do?
The angels beckon me from Heaven's open door
and I can't feel at home in this world anymore


1 comment:

  1. I sing and think about that song a lot too! Reagan is beautiful and so is your writing. I know I'm a little behind but just saw the name of this post and had to read it. Thanks for sharing! I'm not nearly as good of a writer but I'd love for you to drop by my blog sometime: http://titus2workinprogress.blogspot.com/