Family Magazine

This Time Here Isn’t Enough. I Want You Forever.

By Rachel Rachelhagg @thehaggerty5

There are just some things that are easier for me to write about, rather that speak of. Sometimes I wonder how I would’ve expressed my emotions years ago, before I wrote anything at all. Writing allows peace to enter as my fingers dance on the keys. When I am writing, He is granting me time in my life where I am alright. When I write, He sends Angelic help to get the words out. 

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These three picked flowers for me this morning, and brought them to my bedside. They are incredible, smart, loving, God fearing children. They are loud. They are hilarious. They need their own talk show, and I’m so blessed to be their Momma.


The tears started last night. I couldn’t stop them from flowing, knowing the next day was my very first Mother’s day without ALL of my children here with me. To long for a baby I’ve never held seems silly, but for me on days like Mothers day it’s heart wrenching. 

I’ve seen our son. I know his face, and how he looks in heaven. The curve of his cheekbones , and the freckles on his face. The way his eye brows dance when he smiles. He looks so different from Asher, yet so similar. The eyes are the same blue tint. That same sparkle in the center.

The ache for him has subsided, and I am content with him being in the place where there is no more pain, no sickness, all joy. He is where I long to be, especially on days like these. When I pretend to have allergies, and sleep to numb the pain.

Laying in my bed, I pleaded with the Lord to show me Jude. I haven’t asked in a long time, for fear of a relapse of sadness, but today of all days I wanted to see my son. The one I know, but have never met .

Lord please let me see what he is doing, just for a few minutes. Seconds even. I’ll take a glance, anything. Just please let me see him.

The Lord replied:

” Ok, I am sending comfort.”

Just then Asher, our oldest son who is almost 7 walks into our bedroom. He kisses me on the cheek so gently and lays behind me and begins to rub my back. His love for me is never a simple gesture. This boy goes above and beyond to show me how much he loves. As I laid there, with my son embracing me I was able to see his younger brother for a few short seconds.

The Lord told me to watch as I saw Jude in heaven.


The few seconds seemed like minutes as I watched our son playing with his friends in heaven.

Jude stood in the center of a gang of five boys his age ( which seems to be around 8 right now ) . Every boy was wearing the same Camo outfit, as if they were playing hide and go seek. Perhaps pretending they were at war with other friends. Jude was in the center giving instructions I could not hear, as the other boys nodded their heads in agreement to his commands. As he gave to orders , he laughed and smiled. This is heaven, so there is no fighting. The way everyone was in agreement wasn’t anything like life here at home with my three earthly children.

The boys huddled together as if they were saying a prayer, or telling secrets. I couldn’t be sure, because I can never hear his voice, I can only see him.

The vision ended, and I caught myself literally reaching out in front of me for my son.

Please don’t go yet. It wasn’t enough time. It’s never long enough.

Did he know today was Mothers day? Did he think of me? Is he aware of how much I love him?

I think the answer to all those questions is yes.

Is my longing for him much like God’s longing for the unsaved? Does he not ache a million times more when he knows the child he created doesn’t yet know of his love for them?

How must he feel when he is rejected by people he created? I can’t imagine the rejection he felt dying on the cross that day. The ultimate sacrifice was made for the ones he loves the most, only to have so many reject his passionate love for them.

It’s as if he is like me reaching out to the ones he holds dear to his heart, saying:

This time here isn’t enough. I want you forever. I want you for eternity, with me. In my embrace. Forever loving you. Please choose me. 


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