Golden Hour of Heaven

Do you want to know a secret? When the waive of grief drowns out the finest worldly realities and my breathing drops to a shallow whisper—the thought of you always revives my hope.

Everyday, I grasp the oak rocking chair and pull my shaking legs out from under myself. I will stand again for you, sweet girl.

I think of the robbed cradle and the labored, golden hour lost. This world missed something so beautifully unseen when your final breath came and lifted. You were not in pain, but in the arms of The Father.

How I thank God for saving you my sweet daughter from the pains of this life. That His sovereignty and gift of grace will mean we only have this one melancholy goodbye. I stand and face the day knowing our golden hour of Heaven will be restored with immeasurable joy.