On Saturday, I felt truly, absolutely miserable. I couldn't stop coughing. I'm congested, badly, and my ear drum burst on Friday. I came to my room early to relax and when I found the recent remake of Steel Magnolias, I looked forward to watching it.
I know the daughter dies in the movie. Even when she needed a kidney transplant, I watched with interest.
No, I didn't fall apart until she fell in a coma, and her mother rubbed her feet. I stared at the screen, at the fictional mother, and screamed. "At least you got to say goodbye! Oh, Jolene, Jolene."
Oh my son, Absalom, my dear, dear son Absalom! Why not me rather than you, my death and not yours, O Absalom, my dear, dear son!
Oh, Jolene, my Jolene! Why not me rather than you? Oh Jolene, my Jolene!
Jolene drove me crazy. Her borderline personality disorder made her very difficult to live with, and whenever I want to feel guilty (which is fairly often), I remind myself of how difficult it was, and how I didn't know what to do.
But . . . Jolene, my Jolene! My daughter!
A love for a child surpasses all others. A child who has a difficult life and dies prematurely--tragic.
God sent his Son. Knowing he would die. And in those awful few hours on the cross, turned His back on His Son, cutting off the fellowship they had known since the foundation of the world.
I cry with David.
I stand amazed by God's love.
**For anyone who doesn't know, my daughter Jolene committed suicide in 2008.**