Your Basket is Missing

You're basket is missing.

It's just so obviously, blaringly not there.

I went into the hall closet tonight to get down the Easter baskets. Eisley got a new basket last year, and I saved her first one for you. I didn't know last year that you were a girl, but I thought, "Just in case!" I shoved it up in the closet and remember thinking, "Next year we'll have three Easter baskets."

Your basket is missing.

I felt a pang of sadness as I put yours back in the closet. But I pushed it aside. Because that's what I do.

I filled Jake and Eisley's baskets like I do every year. One of my favorite things to do! Peeps. A chocolate bunny. Little toys. Fake plastic grass that I despise but Eisley loves.

I set the baskets and their new Easter bunnies on the couch on opposite ends. Ready for the morning! And then I saw it.

Your basket is missing.

It just isn't there, and it makes me sad. Last Easter we were so, so incredibly excited about you. Cautiously optimistic, but growing more so by the day. I watched the kids hunt eggs and stuff their baskets to the brim and sat in my lawn chair thinking, "Next year we'll have three. How fun!"

Your basket is missing.

I find myself wondering if they have egg hunts in Heaven. That might be highly heathenistic of me, but I think God is a lot more fun loving than we give Him credit for. An egg hunt in the clouds. You and your siblings laughing and running and filling your baskets overflowing with gold eggs. "Look Jesus! Look how many I have!" is what I imagine you saying through giggles. And He picks you up and marvels over your full basket and kisses your head.

And you are dressed in your prettiest Easter dress. And you have a beautiful big flower in your hair. And you sit at His feet with all the children who's baskets are missing here on earth, and you hear the Easter story firsthand.

And He tells you how He paid the price. How He died for us. How He died for your parents, to cleanse them of their sin. And He explains what sin is, because none of you have ever seen it. And He tells you how it hurt. And he has to explain that too, because you don't understand. And your eyes get wide and you ask "And then what happened?" And He smiles at you. "And then Lily...then I rose again. And I gave your mommy hope."

"Hope?" You ask. "What hope?"

And Jesus says, "Hope that she will see you again little one. And spend forever with us."

Because that's what He did that day my love. When we deserved nothing, when we deserved death, when we deserved an eternity separated from Him and all innocence, He gave us hope. He paid my debt. He suffered my burden. He laid down His life so that I wouldn't have to. And then He rose again. That's the kind of God we serve. A living God.


And when He created you for our family, He gave me an eternity as your mommy. He gave us forever. Forever together. I just have to wait a little longer than I had planned to start forever with you.

This Easter, your basket is missing. We'll be visiting a stone in the ground instead of dressing you up in an adorable Spring dress and silly bunny ears. We'll leave flowers for you and sing you your song and vividly feel your absence. But we know where you really are. And I know I will spend countless Easters with you someday. But not this year.

This year, your basket is missing. And I miss you with all my heart.


Isaiah 53:5
"But He was pierced for our transgressions, He was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on Him, and by His wounds we are healed."

Revelation 21:4
"He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away."