Coddington Tribe

Carmen

I remember clearly the days of your adoption process.  I recall how excited and nervous and anxious, all at the same time, your parents and sister and extended family were.  I remember seeing you for the first time and thinking how beautiful you are and what a privilege it was for you to finally be a part of our family, a thought that many had.  We all enjoyed your huge smile that was only topped by your strong laugh and grin.  Your sister, cousins and other family members loved making you giggle.  Your joy in your new home was obvious and contagious.  I also recall those days of research and waiting as your dad and mom took you from doctor to doctor trying to discover why you were developing slowly.  And then, that seemingly fateful day when the phone call came informing the family that your disease was named and your days were short.

When parents have children with disease or infirmity, they often ask questions like, “Why can’t my child be normal?” or “Why can’t my kid be like everybody else’s kid?”  I am sure that these, and questions like them, went through the minds of all your family and friends.  Having watched you live, we are so glad that you were not a “typical” kid.  We are grateful that you were not like “every other kid.”

Carmen, you never got the chance to run like all the other kids, but if you had, you would simply have run down the street or across the yard, just like the other kids.  Instead, you have run through the minds and hearts of thousands of people worldwide, capturing our hearts.  This is not ordinary.

You never got that chance to play princess, or dress-up or with play with dolls (though we know Lauren was faithful to dress you up on a regular basis and keep you looking beautiful), but you have regularly played on the hearts of your family and friends, reminding them of the value of laughter and finding joy in life’s adventure.

You never spoke a word, like normal kids.  You never said, “Mama” or “Dada” or worked to memorize your ABC’s.  But your struggle to live and breathe each day spoke volumes to us about the precious gift each breath is and our need to cherish each one.

This fall you would have been in pre-school.  You would have proudly trotted into your class and taken your seat among the regular kids.  But you never got to go to school.  Instead you schooled us all in some very basic principles of life, like how to love, how to revel in God’s mercy and how to put aside pride and ask for help.

We never heard you sing.  You did not join the other children in the children’s choir or act in a school play.  Your mom never saw the look on your face as you finally discovered her watching you out there in the crowd.  But Carmen, with your silent voice you have helped us discover and understand the divine melodies and harmonies our kind creator has orchestrated in His grand drama of life.

You missed the chance to get all sweaty in a game of tag, then refresh yourself in a cold pool.  You didn’t sit at the top of a slick slide and fearfully but confidently plunge into your dad’s waiting arms, laughing and crying the whole way.  You never dangled your feet on the edge of a lake then dove in and swam underwater till your lungs felt like they would burst.  But, Carmen, you sure swam upstream.  I can’t recall how many times we thought you were close to leaving us due to pneumonia or other complications, but you kept fighting, going against the odds, surprising us with your resilience and courage.

You never got the chance to be a big sister to Hope.  You never helped change her diapers and you won’t be here to help celebrate her first steps.  But you have prepared your dad and mom to be better parents for your sisters, Lauren and Hope.  Your “not like the other kids” life has made them so much more like Jesus and this will pay eternal dividends for your sisters and many others.

Lastly Carmen, you never got to live.  Your disease-riddled body struggled to stay with us just four short years.  Most of the days you were here, you spent the time fighting to make it to the next day.  But Carmen, your seemingly early departure has broken the tether which kept you trapped in a body of suffering and released you from the confines of this cursed earth.  You are now resting in the arms of the Prince of Peace.  You are walking hand in hand with the One who laid the foundations of the Earth.  You are talking and laughing with the Author of Life and the Sustainer of the Universe.  When you feel sorrow, your tears are wiped away by the very hands that were willingly nailed to a cross for the sins of humanity.  Your voice is surely heard among the angelic choirs, as they sing forever the praises of the King.  You are learning secrets of the universe that none of us will know for a long time.  And you are swimming in a sea of God’s love and mercy and beauty.

Surely, Carmen, you are truly living beyond any life we now know.  Your life on earth was not ordinary and for that we are grateful.  No ordinary child could have made known the riches of our God through Jesus Christ as you have done.  Thank you, Carmen.  Well done, His good and faithful servant.

For more on Carmen’s life: http://www.beautifulcanvas.org/