In Memory of Little Anthony Cooley--When God Carries a Little Birdie Safely Home

The mom and dad of little 2-year-old Anthony Cooley didn't know that it would be the last day they would spend with him until they met him in heaven again.

And none of us really know what a day may bring forth, or whether we or our loved ones will arrive safely back home again--or be carried safely Home by the angels.

I listened in shocked grief as my children told me the news of the accident they had read about in emails from my family back east. 

I had attended Penn View Bible Institute at the same time that little Anthony's father, Tim Cooley, Jr., was in high school. 

And of course, I know Anthony's grandfather, Tim Cooley, very well. 

In fact, Jonathan and I had eaten dinner with him in Penn View's dining hall around Thanksgiving time, and Crystal and I had been in communication with him just weeks ago about classes, etc. 

So it was close to our heart to hear of this family's grief. 

It is another family in the whole realm of human experience where

another crib will be left empty.

The tricycle will sit idle till the baby of the family is old enough to take his place,

and little wagons are left parked in the garage.

And mothers like me, who find themselves grumping in the midst of some difficult moments with a small child on the day of the funeral, are quickly reminded that we should consider what it would be like if that small child that is driving us a bit crazy

would suddenly be hit by a car driving by.

The thought reminds us to

swallow our frustration and to be a little more patient, 

to "live well, love much, and laugh often."

To hug our little ones (and big ones) a little more often.

To look into their brown, blue, or hazel eyes, and smile.

To thank God for them.

And to remember that kindness always matters.

To put additional effort into training those children left behind in the way they should go,

teaching and exampling, disciplining and encouraging,

molding them into lovable children who will likewise love others,  

so that when their turn comes to go

their memory will be blessed as Anthony's was.

 And so we mothers, some like me thousands of miles away and unable to attend the funeral or offer anything of comfort except a card of sympathy,

we go about our daily duties of cooking and cleaning and schooling and laundry

and clipping little kids' dirty fingernails (whenever we finally notice and remember)

and teaching them to wash behind ears and between toes

and to obey quickly, to treat others kindly, and to not give up if they make a mistake---

may we put new heart into these sacred duties...

because we never know when we won't need to wash that child's towel and washcloth

anymore,

or kiss them goodnight anymore,

or hold their hand anymore.

One of my favorite bloggers, Ann Voskamp, bared her heart in her best-selling book, One Thousand Gifts, when she told about the heartbreak her family went through when a delivery truck backed up in their driveway and ran over her little four-year-old sister. 

Her parents were never the same. 

Because they weren't Christians, they could not bear the grief. 

 They never blamed the poor driver, but they themselves were driven almost insane with grief. 

Ann's mother spent some time in a mental institution, 

and her father refused to believe that a good God could allow such a thing.

There home was prison bars of bitter silence and anguish.

It was many years before God began to bring healing to Ann's heart--

as she learned to trust the goodness of God

even in the middle of the bad things that had happened in her life and in the lives of those around her.

It was years before she learned that it was possible to give thanks in all circumstances,

and that in emptying one's hands in surrendering to give thanks and to accept God's will,

He fills us with so many good things

and brings so much delight into our hearts. 

She learned that it is possible to hold out one's empty hands

and instead of cursing God for taking a bird from our nest,

 to bless Him for taking another baby bird safely home

where "Every Birdie is Welcome."

And so as we share in this fellow family's heartache, yet at the same time

with renewed determination, 

we can go about our home duties with our children

holding out empty hands but yielded hearts.

Determined that one day we, too, shall respond to 

"those golden bells for you and me."

And so we fill our empty hands with sifter and grater and spice cans and rolling pin and 

cookie cutters and dish cloths and towel

and with a surrendered thankfulness 

to Him Who loves us and knows what is best for us. 

 We fill our empty hands with laundry baskets and needles and thread and safety pins,

with plates and bowls and spoons and iron skillets (or teflon ones)

with ironing board and iron,

and with children's books that we've read over and over and over,

and still read them again for the little ones.

Day by day the sparrow finds its nest, 

and the dads come home at the end of the day,

and the cows or goats come home to the barn to be milked.

 And the cloud of witnesses hover silently and invisibly around saying,

"Mothers, keep doing your humble and sacred home duties.

You're making stars for His crown."

 So that, "like the stars of the morning, 

His bright crown adorning,

They shall shine in their beauty,

Bright gems for His crown."