We revisited St. Vincent's Hospital yesterday. A special service was held for all parents and families who have lost children at St. V's. I confess, I did not look forward to this service. I knew it would not be an easy one. However, it was a necessary one.

Gathering in a crowded chapel with parents who have walked our road, was not a festive occassion. The pain of loss was evident in the reverence throughout the room. Tear stained faces were worn by many as memories of each child were displayed in the recesses of each mind.

Each family was given the opportunity to share about their child. Each was asked to share the one symbol which would forever etch in their memories, what their child was about. No parent seemed to struggle to come up with a symbol, but to openly talk about it was another story.

As each childs name was called, the family would stand, and one member would stop by a candle box, and select a white candle, proceed to the front, light their candle, and place a star with the childs name written on it, before the candle. That was the easy part. Turning to face this fraternity for which you never pledged was most difficult.

The candle box was nearing empty, and our turn had not come. Finally, chaplain and friend Julie, who was conducting the service (most beautifully), looked to us and said most familiarly, "and BJ." Every other childs first and last name were given, but as Julie was clearly remembering the six week journey, and how well we got to know one another, all pretense was shed.

I selected his candle (at Deanna's request) and headed to the front. As I arrived, Julie whispered to me, "and the last shall be first." Any hope of composure I had was now lost. I struggled to gain a breath. She stepped over, and put her arm around me.

Staring at the floor, and searching for my voice, I waited. The deafening sound of sniffles were heard throughout the room. Every parent knew what I was feeling. For the first time since it happened, I knew I was surrounded by others who knew the loss of a child, and the memories of each were relevant.

I began, "BJ passed away 2 months ago. He returned from Peru, where he spent the last two summers serving as a missionary, with an infectious disease, which claimed his life. The symbol with which we will always remember BJ, is his sword, which was his Bible. He used it to share the love of Christ with anyone who would listen."

The service was precious but painful. Julie did a remarkable job of reflecting the love and compassion of Christ throughout the service. I know there were lost people present, and I pray that the Lord will touch them, and draw them near, this season.

Thank you Julie, and thank you Jennifer (our social worker who is still "at the plate batting for us"). We were very blessed to be able to share with you both afterwards.

Before we left, we made a trip to the "Angel Tree." A very tall Christmas tree in the lobby of the Childrens hospital. The tree was adorned with angels. Each bore the name of a child who had left his parents and family behind. After searching for what seemed like forever, I grew impatient, climbed the white picket fence which surrounded the tree...intended to keep people out... and began touching and turning every angel until at last, there at eye level, right beside a lifesize toy soldier, which stood in front, guarding the tree, hung his angel. "BJ Higgins," a true soldier for Christ. He stood guard for his Lord and Savior, went on the offensive with his sword drawn, defeated the enemy at many turns, and saw countless, untold numbers come to Jesus, because he was faithful... "I will stop playing all defense in this war. I will unsheathe my sword. It's time to raise a revolution!" (BJ Higgins)


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