Heaven is for real

1.1.14

      The beginning of a new year. To be honest, I was relieved. I felt like a "fresh" start was exactly what I needed. And I remembered that this time last year was around the time that I found out I was pregnant in the first place so I was glad to get that little milestone out of the way.
      Alex and I decided to go see a movie, and it doesn't even matter what movie we saw (just for the record, it was Saving Mr. Banks) because before we could get to the movie the previews came on.
      The scene opened on a little boy with blonde hair standing in front of his mom sitting crosslegged on the floor.
      "Mommy, did you know I have a sister?" He asks her.
       "You didn't know that Cassie is your sister?" she replies as the camera shows a little girl sitting a few feet away from them.
        "No, I have two sisters. You had a baby die in your tummy, didn't you?" He asks. (My head literally yanks up and I start listening at this point in the preview.)
        "Who told you I had a baby die in my tummy?" she asked back.
        "She did, I met her in heaven."


        I about had a come-apart right there in the middle of the theater. The preview was for a book-turned-movie called Heaven Is For Real and it is the story of a little boy about 4 years old who has a near-death experience.
        When Kaitlyn died, I was surrounded by people who love us and brought us books. Several books. Probably ten books from ten different people. Some of them have titles like, "You'll get through this". I knew I had received a couple of copies from a few friends (who knows who) at home, so immediately after we got done at the movie I went home and started reading. I am a big reader anyways, but right after Kaitlyn I just didn't want to hear it. I didn't want to hear about my baby girl being in heaven (even though I knew that's where she went) because I was still so hurt from the fact that she wasn't here.
        But when I saw this preview, I grabbed the copy I could find (which had been given to me by my cousins, Ash and Sam) and found the chapter where he talks about his sister. Not to ruin the book, but the Mom had a miscarriage early on and they didn't even know the sex of the baby. They had kept the miscarriage private, and there wasn't a person who would have interacted with their son that would have told him about the loss.
        I sat and cried as I read that one chapter, and I read it again just to enjoy the imagery and joy that the writer conveys. Then I backed up and started from the beginning. When I stopped for a little while, I decided to text Ash.
        Me: So... Was it you or Sam who picked out Heaven is for real to give us and have you read it?
        Ash: "It was actually a recommendation. Sam reached out to a coworker who experienced a loss at about 20 weeks. She said that book was a huge comfort to her and highly recommended you read it. We immediately started calling book stores and found ONE COPY. We left right then to go get it. I haven't read it, but I'm in line! Was it helpful to you?"
     
         AGAIN, let's all pause here and digest what my cousin just told me. She said that neither of the people who had bought the book for us had read it. She said that they called around and only found one copy in their area (and they live in Houston- big area). She said that another Hope mom had recommended it.

       Isn't. God. Awesome? This is what I'm talking about with the ripple effect. Let's take the baby that was lost by a mom in Houston that I don't even know her name. Because that Mom read a book when she lost her baby (do we even know the gender? who knows?) perhaps because a family member had given it to her to read, she had the knowledge that this was a comforting book for moms that had lost children. Because of that child's life, she was able to tell my cousins what to give us to help. My favorite thing about that story? There is no way in heck that the sole purpose of that child was to help me. The Munoz spinoff story from that baby was just one of thousands, probably millions, that the little life touched.
 
      There is always, always purpose.