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Morning Thoughts

by Susan Schreer Davis

I’m not a morning person. I routinely connect with the snooze button,

shortening our allotted wake-up time. My boys and I often race to the

car with disheveled hair and bowls full of food.

One morning, the day began as usual. Buckled into the backseat of

our Explorer, the boys ate their breakfast. A glance at the clock on my

dash confirmed we would arrive on time with minutes to spare.

Nathan, my older son, broke the silence.

“Will I get bored in heaven, Mom? Like, will we just sing all the

time?”
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While his dirty blond, tousled hair and innocent blue eyes betray

his 12 years, his inquisitive words often leave me feeling like I’ve

spoken with someone more mature.

“No, Nathan. You won’t get bored in heaven. I don’t think God

plans for us to just stand around in white choir robes singing.”

I moved the visor to shade my eyes from the peeking sun, then

adjusted the rearview mirror hoping to catch a glimpse of my

thoughtful son.

“Do you remember how we’ve talked about Dad staying busy in

heaven?” I continued. “I think he works and praises with ease,

simply because he’s in God’s presence. Worship isn’t a duty there.

It’s effortless, like breathing.”

I briefly looked over my shoulder and saw him gazing out the

window. His breakfast bowl sat empty on his shorts. A book bag

stuffed with papers spilled onto his lap. He’d grown so much.
SCHREER/Morning 3

Without so much as a pause, he continued, “Do you think he

misses being here? Do you think he’s sad that he can’t celebrate our

birthdays or watch us grow?”

In my seven years of widowhood, I’d answered that line of

questioning for many grieving souls—but never for my son. They’re

normal questions, especially for a tween. But that tween was my

child.

I prayed for wisdom and started talking.

“Well, since there’s no sadness in heaven, I don’t believe Dad

misses us in a way that would make him sad. I think he focuses on

how amazing it is that you’re alive.”

Traffic whizzed by, but I cared little about the outside morning

pace.

“Dad knows the brain stem tumor that grew in his head should

have taken his life in two or three years. Instead, God gave him 12.

Those extra years allowed him to meet and marry me and to watch

you and Sammy come into this world.”

SCHREER/Morning 4

I pushed back tender memories and continued, “He certainly

wanted more time. Your daddy didn’t want to die young. But

according to doctors, he never should have lived long enough to even

be your dad. One doctor told him he would only live for six months.

Remember, he was 18 years old then. He lived till he was 30. Now

that he’s in heaven, I think he’s happy that you and Sammy are alive

and becoming young men who love God and want to serve Him.”

I glanced over my shoulder, hoping for a sign that my words

made sense. Nathan just looked out the window, deep in thought. An

analogy sprang to mind.

“Think about this. I’m leaving town next week. I’ll be gone five

days. That’s a long time for me to be away. But you know I’m coming

back. And you know Grandma and Grandpa will take care of you

while I’m gone.”

We turned from a main road onto a side street, close to school.

Separate streams of thoughts began to flow into one current of truth.

SCHREER/Morning 5

“Since 10 years of life may be like a day in heaven, I think your

daddy experiences time very differently than we do. From his

perspective, our time apart is probably not much longer than the time

you and I will be separated next week. Knowing God will take good

care of us until we’re together again soon, Daddy isn’t sad. I think he

rejoices in who you are—the son he lived long enough to bring into

the world.”

We turned into the carpool drop-off line. The PE coach stood

under the archway a few cars ahead, opening each door.

“So I really am a miracle child?”

A tingle ran down my spine. Shortly after their father died, I

began calling my boys “miracle one” and “miracle two.” Seven years

had passed. Now the truth permeated Nathan’s soul.

“Yes, you are a miracle child.”

The words barely escaped my mouth before our door opened.

I heard, “Thanks, Mom. Have a great day!” as the boys exited the

car.
SCHREER/Morning 6

Scattered breakfast dishes and dried scrambled eggs lay strewn

across the backseat. Not minding, I headed to the walking track to

further absorb our conversation.

Even though years had passed since my husband died, I missed

him terribly and often felt inadequate as a single parent. Recent trials

had stirred the loneliness, while unfulfilled longings strained my

peace. But on that beautiful morning, my oldest miracle child pulled

thoughts out of me that anchored my soul to a perspective far greater

than my own—I mothered miracle children.

As that reality came into focus, the heaviness lifted to the skies. No

longer dejected, I relished the intrinsic beauty in everything

miraculous, including the lives of my children.

Nathan’s growing understanding mirrored my own. Together

we’d continue to heal, knowing our days led to an everlasting place

of peace, joy and togetherness. Simple morning thoughts had altered

the landscape of our hearts.

SCHREER/Morning 7

Susan Schreer Davis lives with her second husband and boys in Marietta,

Ga.