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Amber Lynn's Story
by Glenn Frontin I have had the privilege of meeting and knowing Christian brothers and sisters who have suffered many various trials. Their lives have been testimonies of how God will work through those who will trust in Him. If you look around, you will find spiritual strength and power, sometimes in unlikely places through unexpected people. If we are discerning enough, we can be blessed by those around us. One of those unexpected times occurred a few years ago. I had a lunch seminar scheduled at a veterinary clinic at noon and I needed to stop and prepare my PowerPoint slides for the presentation. It was such a warm sunny day I decided I'd park somewhere and get myself organized. Ahead was a parking lot I could pull into, but on my left was a pretty cemetery. You know the type. It had rolling hills with fresh new grass, budding trees and winding carriage lanes that were too pretty to pass up. I drove through the beautiful scene with my windows down and the blaring radio turned off. Toward the back, I found a secluded spot among some trees, parked the car, and got to work. As I occasionally looked up to take in the scenery, I noticed one section of tombstones stood out among the others. The stones were of various sizes and looked just like the others, except for the bright ribbons, balloons, and various toys scattered throughout them. The tranquility of the scene was lost as I realized this was the children's section. I walked over and started to read the inscriptions. Some stones were already 10 or 15 years old while others were very new. The dates revealed some of the children were 2 or 3 years old, a few 8 or 9. The names were familiar first names we hear all the time at church or in playgrounds at school. Some stones announced the birth and death as the very same day. A few truly sad ones just said Baby Boy or Baby Girl. Maybe you have to be a parent to understand, but the lump in my throat was not so much for these little ones, whom I knew were now with Jesus, but for their parents. I thought about all the heartache and sorrow every one of these stones meant. The worst part was the toys and trinkets the parents had left. There were old helium balloons, now sitting on the ground, windmill toys slowly turning in the spring breeze, a toy truck, and so many stuffed animals. I could almost feel the parent's aching, wishing their little ones were hugging and kissing those little bears and sheep so lovingly, like my own little Emma at home. Yet these little Teddies were worn and dirtied by the elements. There would be no cuddles, no kisses. I was headed back to the car when I noticed a lengthy inscription on the back of one particular granite stone. I decided to stroll over to read it before I left. As I crouched down and started to read, I heard a voice call out, "Is that your little girl?" At first I was startled, not realizing someone else was nearby, but hearing someone ask if this beautiful granite grave stone was for my precious Emma tore at my heart. The idea of it, even though it wasn't true, rocked me. She was an elderly woman, with a very peaceful face and sparkling blue eyes that I noticed right away. "No, it's not," I said, shocked that my voice cracked with emotion, still reeling from the thought of this grave being Emma's. I told her I had noticed the poem written on the back of the stone. She said she walked by it often and never had noticed it. "May I read it with you?" she asked. As we both read the stone, we read a poem of a very special little girl who could not walk or talk or play like the other boys and girls, but whom God still saw as precious. This little girl would be a special blessing to those whose life she touched. Then, too soon, she would leave them. The poem was written by her mommy. As I finished reading I realized we both were sobbing. We couldn't say or do anything but cry together. I suppose I should have felt strange. Here we were, two perfect strangers crying over the grave of a little girl neither of us knew. But I didn't. I just cried. The woman pulled out some tissues from nowhere, an ability my grandmother had. We wiped our eyes and noses. "She was only five years old," I was just barely able to get out. Her name was Amber, but I didn't attempt to talk more. The sweet woman looked up at me, her blue eyes still full of tears, and told me she had lost her own child, a son. I tried to say, "I'm sorry," but I don't think it came out audibly. She explained he was grown, in his thirties. Cancer. It had been ten years now, yet her eyes revealed a pain that never went away, and for both of us, more tears came. She told me of an old saying she had never forgotten. It explained how when a wife dies, the husband is called a widower. When a husband dies, the wife is called a widow. When parents die, the child is called an orphan. But when a child dies there is no name for the parent. There is no name because none could describe the sorrow and pain. Nonetheless, she told me she was a Christian and that we need to trust in God's plan. I told her I was relieved that Jesus had said that all children were welcomed into His kingdom. I told her we all need to trust in the scriptures, yet I think I was saying it more for me than for this faithful saint. I shared with her my own wife and my two boys and little girl. They seemed even more precious to me as I spoke. She said, "You love them and remember they truly are a gift from God." I told her I would and I said simply, "God bless you," as she walked away down the tiny, tree-lined lane. I hadn't even gotten her name, but that sweet woman and I had shared a special moment together and I thank God for it. It was evident that she knew what suffering was. She knew what it was like to grieve. Yet I could see the power and grace of God in those deep blue eyes and that joy that Peter spoke of. As I remembered all those grave stones from the morning, I thought of the Apostle Paul reminding us of the prophet Isaiah's words, "Where, Oh death, is your victory? Where is your sting?" I wished I had gotten her name before we had parted ways but thanks to our Savior, I thought of a time we would meet again in the future. She'll be with her son, never to be separated again. And perhaps God will introduce both of us to little Amber, with her perfect, glorified body. Then finally, the last tears will be washed away. That experience with that woman had been such a blessing and a source of inspiration. Through the months that followed I would occasionally stop by the cemetery to pray and just to rethink my priorities in the peace and quiet of the place. The silly problems of the day seemed so trivial when I went there. Now and then I would read the poem etched on the back of the stone, its words always bringing me to the brink of tears. I left flowers more than once. I always wondered how this little girl's family had survived the tragic loss of their daughter. I always prayed for them there. One day, in late August, I decided to leave a note at the base of the tombstone about how the poem had so touched the woman and me. I wrote, "To Amber's parents." It seemed like such a strange thing to do and felt like I was intruding on their privacy, so I didn't leave my name. I never knew if they had received it or not. In mid January, I stopped by Amber's grave again. It was a cold, windy day with a gray sky, but there was a pretty Christmas tree about two feet tall with angels all over it beside the stone. As I looked at the stone, I realized the next day would be the anniversary of Amber's passing away. I knew, as a parent, that Amber's parents would be visiting the cemetery tomorrow, so I decided to leave my business card tucked into the tiny limbs of the tree. The next day, a woman named Cathy, Amber's mom, called me. It was strange to finally talk with someone I did not know, but had been praying for. She said she wondered if I was the man who had left the letter that past summer. She immediately started sharing her story with me. Little Amber Lynn had been born extremely handicapped, with very little brain tissue, an extreme cleft palette, and no eyes. The doctors expected her to live only 24 hours. The little girl did survive her first 24 hours, which turned into days, and then weeks. Her mom realized that a life hooked up to machines was no way to live, so one day she bought a beautiful lacey dress for Amber Lynn, and went to the hospital. Against the hospital's wishes, she unplugged her daughter, lifted her from the incubator, dressed her in the pretty dress, and sat down and rocked her in her arms, expecting her to pass away. To the doctor's amazement, Amber lived. When Cathy decided to bring her daughter home, her husband refused, feeling she should be institutionalized. When Cathy insisted, he left her, never to return. Cathy's life became consumed with caring for her daughter. At first, friends and family were there to support her, but over time they all had to get on with their lives. Well-meaning friends and family urged her to consider putting Amber in a facility. The little girl did not make a sound the first year, so there was no way of knowing if she even knew Cathy was there. There were countless surgeries, countless seizures, each time threatening to take Amber, countless hours in the hospital. Cathy stayed by Amber's side always, not even leaving the house to get milk. She could never forgive herself if Amber died while she was away. In her second year, Amber Lynn started crying and responding to her mom. It became obvious that she knew when her mom touched her and talked to her. She seemed to enjoy music. She would even shake a rattle ever so slightly with her one hand. Cathy wrote a poem to her daughter that year, the very poem that had touched me so deeply that day in the cemetery. As Cathy told her story, I marveled at her courage and strength. I asked her how she got through it. She said she was very angry with God in the beginning. Why her? Why her daughter? Though she had no church and knew little of the Bible, she came to realize she had to trust God. It was in His plan that all this was happening and she would accept it. Instead of feeling cursed by God, in time she realized she had been given a precious gift in Amber Lynn. Even through the toughest times, she accepted God's will. But even in her acceptance, she still yearned for her daughter to hug her and say, "I love you, mommy." Cathy tried to do the normal things parents do with their kids. When her daughter turned four, she had a birthday party for Amber at Chucky Cheese, inviting all the cousins of the family. The other children had fun, but the spirit was dampened when the adults asked Cathy why she was doing it. "After all, Amber doesn't even know she's here," they said. Cathy told me her favorite times with Amber Lynn were during Christmas. Unlike other families caught up in the hustle and bustle and the presents, for the two of them, it was simply remembering Christ's birth and cherishing the time they had together. She had a little tree that she would decorate with mauve ornaments and little angels each year, every year adding a special ornament for Amber. She told me she would spend nights lying with her daughter, pleading with her and with God that she would never leave her. Amber Lynn was her whole life. Cathy then told me of a cold, snowy night in January that changed all that. She watched a movie on TV called "A Heart for Olivia." It was a story of a young couple whose little daughter was dying and needed a heart transplant. As the story unfolded, they finally found a heart, but the little girl died in the operation. Cathy said she watched the funeral scene, imagining how awful that would be. But when the movie was over, she went to Amber's bed and slid in beside her. That night she told her little daughter it was okay. If she was tired of fighting, tired of the seizures, weary of the surgeries, mommy understood and was releasing her. She would not plead with her or God any longer. The very next morning when Cathy awoke, little Amber Lynn was gone, now with her Lord. At the funeral, the church was standing room only. Cathy said she saw so many doctors and nurses, friends and family and many people she didn't even know. Even her ex-husband, Amber's dad, was there. She hadn't planned it, but she read the poem she had written for Amber, adding a few lines at the end. She is still amazed she had the strength to get through it. The one thing Cathy knew she had to do was to put her poem to her daughter on the stone. Though it cost an incredible amount of money that she didn't have, the whole poem was engraved. Cathy said it was hard to let go. She would bring things to the cemetery, even Easter outfits and toys. Amber had been everything to her. She considered suicide but knew that was not the answer. She fought extreme depression. But time went on, and she got through it. Each year, she would bring the little Christmas tree and place it beside Amber's stone, adding a new ornament; the same tree I saw the last time I was there. As Cathy shared her story, I shared verses from scripture that reflected what she was saying. I was sharing the Word of God and she was sharing those words lived out in her life. I so wanted to share the gospel with her, and didn't know how to ask until she asked me, "What's your religion?" She said her ex-husband's family was members of a particular church but she didn't like it at all. But she had remembered going to a Baptist Church for a short time as a nine year old girl. I explained the difference between receiving God's gift of salvation and trying to earn it through good works of religion. I used Amber's total dependency as an example of how helpless and dependent we are without God's grace. I told her how God wants to be not only our Father but even our daddy, as Paul tells us in Romans. I shared His unconditional love, like the love she has for her daughter. I told Cathy I knew I would see Amber one day in heaven and how God promises that. It was then that she mentioned she had remembered praying a prayer at nine years old in that Baptist church, accepting Jesus as her Savior. I told her I believed that is why God was with her through all that suffering she had been through. She agreed, saying her life was not better because of accepting Him, but He was with her through it all. I told her God loved her so much and now she could see how He was working in her life even back then. We talked about the deeper meaning of Romans 8:28 in all our lives. Even God's grace on the evening before Amber passed away was so evident. Cathy had felt guilty telling her daughter she could go, believing somehow she had killed her. I pointed out to her that perhaps God, in His patience and mercy, was waiting for her to reach the point of being ready, that point of acceptance, and then He took Amber home to be with Him; all in His timing, not ours. She had been faithful with what He had given her; faithful indeed. I asked her what God was doing in her life now. She told me she remarried and had a healthy baby boy who was now five years old, and just four months ago, she had a healthy baby girl. She was dealing with the guilty feelings, having a healthy baby girl. Even family and friends suggested she stop going to the cemetery, now that she had a healthy daughter. I told her I disagreed. She has two daughters now. She had done such a wonderful job taking care of the first, now God was entrusting her with another. He was honoring her faithfulness and she should enjoy the blessing! I confessed to Cathy that I would walk the lane of the cemetery in prayer, thinking about all the blessings God has given me, but I could still go home and when the kids misbehaved or something went wrong, lose control and get upset. How could that be? She shared with me the fact that she gets upset sometimes when her son is out of control and misbehaving. If anyone should know better, it's her! She would have given anything to see Amber Lynn running and playing with such reckless abandon. We agreed to stay focused; remembering what are truly the precious things God has given us. When Cathy's phone started beeping, she told me it was a cordless phone and it meant the battery was running out. We hadn't even realized we'd been on the phone over two hours! We had to say our good byes quickly. I told her that she was a true hero and an inspiration to me. She thanked me that at least she knew two people who had been touched by the poem she had written for Amber Lynn. When I hung up, I realized I felt drained of energy, yet so encouraged and excited over it all. I was so grateful to God I had made the effort to find out about this little girl and the story behind that wonderful poem. I had been so blessed by the old woman in the cemetery that day the year before, now blessed by this faithful young mother. And blessed to see how God had worked through it all. I thought of the heroes of faith we read of in Hebrews 11. This young mother had a faith as great as theirs, a wonderful gift given to her as a young nine year old girl, to take her safely through the valley of the shadow of death and despair that would come. I thought of the faithful saint from that little church who had shared the gospel with that nine year old girl, never knowing how God was working. It comforted me to know one day the Lord in glory will show him or her the results of their faithful service. Glenn Frontin is the author of A River Calling, a book for Christian dads raising sons. It takes the reader down the entire length of the Missouri River, filled with wilderness adventure, Lewis and Clark history, military training, spiritual warfare; all the stuff guys love...all the stuff we love. Article Source: http://www.faithwriters.com |