I put John’s death certificate in our safe deposit box last week. As I type this, I once again think—I still can’t believe this has happened. John’s death certificate.

It took several months for us to receive it in the mail. And once we knew it was on its way, every day as the mail would come, it would be the same thing—heart beating a little faster until I saw that it didn’t come that day.

When the certificate finally arrived, I can remember my heart pounding when I saw the envelope—the kind of pounding that you hear and feel so much that your ears begin to hurt a little. I opened the envelope and there it was—Certificate of Death. Robert and I both looked it over, put it back in the envelope, and placed it with our other important papers at home until we knew what else we might need to do with it.

On the way to the bank I cried and prayed. An errand I wish I did not have to do. I asked the Lord for the strength to be able to talk to the bank employee who would open my safe deposit box without completely breaking down. I dried my eyes and walked in. The Lord was faithful to help me hold it together. The young man unlocked my box and then left me there alone in the vault.

As I raised the lid I saw the old stationery box with a rubber band around it because it’s so full of papers—memories from the weeks and months just after we got John. I was saving that memory box to give to him one day. The phone records from the day I got the call, the letter from his birth mother with the detailed directions of how to take care of him, the lists and lists of things we needed to get done, and so many other memories from that time. What will I do with these things now, I thought? I considered opening the box and looking inside, but decided it was better to just leave it in its place for now.

I thumbed a little deeper into the safe deposit box and saw John’s original birth certificate—the one with his birth mother’s name on it. Then I saw the envelope holding his second birth certificate—the certificate we got in the mail after his adoption was final—the one that was recorded with Robert and me as his mom and dad.

How—how did we get here? So many unanswered questions.

As I placed the newest certificate in the box with the others, I was strongly reminded that there is only one official recording that matters, and that was when John’s name was written in heaven. Jesus said:

I have given you authority to tread on serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy, and nothing shall hurt you. Nevertheless, do not rejoice in this . . . but rejoice that your names are written in heaven.

Luke 10:19-20

So here I am again, choosing to trust God, and to trust that His plan is best—so very thankful to know that we will see John again because all three of our names are written in heaven. And in that I will rejoice.

 

Quoted scripture is from the ESV unless otherwise noted.