Just a Thought

The other day one of my granddaughters posted a comment on Facebook about not changing a thing about her life. I don't know if it was just a status shuffle or her true thoughts, but it is a question I have thought a lot about too.

If by changing things, you mean things like walking out of the bathroom at church with my skirt tucked into my pantyhose...(as I recall, my friend tackled me and shoved me into a Sunday school classroom so I could make the required repairs) then, yeah.

Or if you mean the time Charlie and I came to the end of a beautiful duet in the morning service and I tripped in front of God and everybody, and rolled down the steps landing with my dress up over my head, then probably.

And the time I left the farm auction in the 1949 camper bus we had just bought, turned the wrong way and drove nearly to Yuma before Charlie caught up with me? Most definitely.

Charlie would probably change the time he saw one of our children (who didn't have a driver's license) in his grandmother's car and chased him into someone's country driveway. The person who got out of that car ( and who wasn't our child) was mildly curious at who the fool was who had tailgated him to his own front door.

But if you mean the pivotal moment in our history...the murder of our boy, then I'm not so sure. At first blush, I would jump up and down at the chance. But then I would think about all the ripples that boulder caused when it was thrown into our lifestream.

Would Sarah still end up with Greg? Or Shawna, Doug? Would we have still adopted our boys and Michelle? Would there still be Hunter and Tyler and Annabelle and Aaron? Would we have gone into fostercare and touched the lives of so many children?

So many other people and events have been affected by Chad's murder. Would I have the right to change those parts of their lives, too?

And then there's my little boy, himself. I think about the families disrupted by the Vietnam War...those who were able to get their children out of the country before it was overrun by the enemy did so. I know they were torn apart by the hole their child's absence left. But their kids had gone to better lives, and to safety. They would not have wished them back from their security and peace to a place where their very lives were at risk.

I miss my son more than words could ever tell. The wound in my heart will never heal. I still cry over him. But would I tear him out of the arms of God to have him in this world with me again?

No. I wouldn't.

I wouldn't change the past. I would bear the dark parts of it, and be thankful for the parts which were ( and are) rich and sweet.