The Shadow of Your Wings

Anyway, we got past that incredibly awkward moment. Sort of. But the man’s words scratched at my heart with sharp claws of question marks. I knew that she believed. I also knew that at 13 she was wondering and yes, beginning to wander a bit. I prayed, begged God to somehow put the matter to rest, to answer his doubt and my own growing concern. For months I cried and prayed and worried.

Then one Sunday morning as I was getting ready for church I heard Andrea’s voice, “Amma, it’s even more beautiful than you said.” Clear as a bell. I turned off my blow-dryer, looked around the bathroom and said, “What?” Again, “It’s all that you said it was and more.” I knew, beyond all shadow or doubt, that she was speaking of Heaven.

Now, I won’t try to kid you into thinking that I wasn’t looking for the men in the white suits after that (we're not talkin' angels here!), but only for a split second. I knew what I “heard,” and as unbelievable as it seemed, I believed.

We arrived at church just as the worship time was beginning. Tradition in that particular congregation is to sing a few fast “praise” songs and then slow it down for “worship.” The first notes of the song chosen to open our time for worship brought me to tears. I know it well. It was Andrea’s favorite song. It was sung at her funeral. I Can Only Imagine… I hadn’t heard the song since the funeral. After two or three lines I had to leave the sanctuary. A friend, her youth pastor’s wife, came out to the portico to comfort me. I told her of hearing Andrea’s voice earlier. She smiled sweetly but I don’t think she believed.

Eventually I made my way to the ladies room where I seriously let go. Bawling, squalling, crying out to God, “What are You doing to me?!!!” When I finally settled down I took a paper towel (trust me, tissue would have just dissolved under the mess I’d made) and began to wipe my face and eyes, blow my nose. Now, I don’t want to get too graphic here, but because I have trouble with nosebleeds it is a habit to check the tissue (I know, gross. sorry.) So, I opened the toweling, all clear. As I was closing it I had the most intense “feeling” that I should “look again.” So, I did. And behold! There, in the center of that towel, created by the tears and (other stuff) was an absolutely perfectly formed butterfly. Immediately I was flooded with a complete and blessed peace and reminded that the butterfly was symbolic of new life, of resurrection. I knew, without doubt, that our sweet girl was with Jesus. That knowledge has not failed nor faded in these three years since, neither has the peace that God granted me that day.

I know how utterly fantastic this sounds. But I believe. Father has always spoken a prophetic word to me three times, whether in dreams, or Scripture, or answer to prayer. He knows how dense I can be - I think it takes three to get through to me. That Sunday morning He spoke to my heart 3 times in the space of an hour. How gracious is our God!

If you ever have a chance to visit our darling’s “garden” you will find, tucked at the base of a rosemary plant, a beautiful little cloisonné butterfly. In a certain light the heavenly blue wings glimmer as if ready to fly … Someday we shall.

Surrounded by Your glory, what will my heart feel
Will I dance for You Jesus or in awe of You be still?
Will I stand in Your presence, to my knees will I fall?
Will I sing hallelujah, will I be able to speak at all?
I can only imagine …

mercyme