Weights and Measures – The Impact of our Unseen Children

This is a speech I wrote for the Parent Care Candlelight Service on December 19. The chapel was full and I barely made it through my reflections as the love and longing for unseen children was so palpable. We are still in the midst of the holiday season with New Years on the way. I hope my words may continue to be an encouragement. Love always.

            The holidays are a time for togetherness, board games, gifts, and food. It is also a time for reflection.

            Since I am cooking my very first Christmas dinner this year, I started to reflect on food.

            I now have a folder full of recipes ready for the meal-of-the-year but my palms begin to sweat as I remember all the truly terrible meals I have made over the years.

            When the microwave asks the weight of the piece of meat I need to thaw, and I’ve already tossed the packaging, I simply guess. Two pounds? Three pounds? Five? Does it really make a difference?

            When the meat comes out tough and nearly cooked – I start to realize how important it is to know the weight of things.

            My mom wrote out her sweet potato recipe for me so I could prepare it for Christmas – but she called me soon after when she realized she forgot the measurement for the salt. Half a teaspoon. Anyone who cooks will knows that even half a teaspoon of salt, a tiny quantity really, can make a huge difference.   

                        Weights and measures.

            My holiday reflections have been about more than just food. Sometimes food itself and all the other frills of the season seem frivolous in the in the absence of a very important person.

            For me, that person is my son Zachary who died just over three years ago. Zachary is important and every single child represented by a loved one here today is important.

            Many people don’t understand our grief.

            “You never got to know your child,” they may say.

            Or even, “At least your baby died quickly, that way you didn’t have time to bond.”  

            That statement reflects a measurement. TIME. The rationale behind that statement is that the longer a person is alive the more love their family will have for them. But if that were true, then why do our hearts ache for our little children as if we’ve already loved them our entire lives?

            I believe the world is confused.

 

Love is not measured by time. The weight of a life is not counted in days or years or breaths. The success of a person is not measured by accomplishments, job-status, the size of their house.

          

            The very evidence that these measurements are not accurate is the fact that our children come into the world with nothing and yet our love for them is so great.

 

The true measure of a life is that it began and ended – and its weight, how well it was lived, can be seen through the hearts that the life touched and continues to impact long after it is gone.

 

            That is why we are here. We have been touched by beautiful, unpredictable life.

            When I think about my family who are with me, my husband Aaron and my children Hannah and Eden, – Zachary is still a part of us, he always will be.

            Family is like a piece of holiday baking. Once the casserole or cookies come out of the oven, you may be able to see some of the ingredients but not others, yet together they make one whole. The children we long for are with us, invisible, a part of our family however big or however small.

            These children are like salt. A necessary ingredient, and even though they were with us for such a short time, just half a teaspoon’s worth, their little lives have had a huge impact.

            What I’ve learned about baking, and life, is that each ingredient matters, each person matters, and that knowing the true measurements, the true value of life, makes all the difference in the world.