Maybe not always.
Discussions around here have been different than usually lately, as you may imagine.
Questions used to be: What do you think about this name if it’s a girl/boy? How much gas in left in the car? Did you call so-n-so about getting together on Saturday? Can we not have salad…again? Can you get me some toilet paper?
The last weeks they have been of a different nature: What do you think heaven is really like? Does Jonan need to grow up still there? If infants die before memory, do they appreciate heaven like we will after having lived in such a broken world for so long? Do we make this heaven stuff up to make ourselves feel better? Will Jonan know me as his mother in heaven? And the one that is on my mind a lot today…at what age do we actually receive a soul? As in, become a person that is acknowledged by God.
If a woman miscarries two weeks after conception, possibly without even knowing it, is this a soul that goes to heaven? Is this someone God knows and loves? I posted a couple weeks ago about Psalm 139 and how it gave me comfort knowing the Lord was forming Jonan, and knitting him together in ways no one else could see. This is precious Scripture to me. But today I have been questioning.
If I say it is a soul known and loved by God who will spend eternity with Him, it leads me to all sorts of questions about resurrection, being reunited in heaven, having any sort of personality or family in heaven. It is just so mysterious, and I want to know more. If I say it isn’t a soul it leads me to other questions such as…when, then, does the soul “enter”? What do I make of psalm 139 and the intricacies with which the unborn human life is formed? And probably most difficult, if a soul is not a soul from the beginning, then what makes me believe my Jonan is a soul with whom I will be reunited? Why, then, did I even decide to carry him? So many questions we are asking around here these days.
I fully intend on understanding more from a theological perspective, and to be quite clear, I do believe there is a soul from very early on, and I think psalm 139 helps me get there. But just how early still confuses me. Jeff and I were discussing this over dinner tonight. He reminded me of a video we watched earlier this week from National Geographic entitled “The Womb” (we ordered this from Netflix a little while back, it came next in our queue and was waiting for us when we got home from the hospital after giving birth to Jonan…ugh, timing). We did decide to watch it this week and it was a beautiful video explaining the various stages of development from preconception to birth.
The egg (the largest cell in the body) and the sperm (the smallest cell in the body) come together and form just one cell (the two become one, pretty cool). This is the point of conception. At this very point, this one cell contains the entire DNA to form an entire person. The narrator poignantly noted it is at this very moment, before this one cell even splits, its DNA is entirely unique…there has never been DNA like it before, and there will never be DNA like it again…at this very point of conception. The details of hair color, eye color, gender, temperament, among other things are already set in motion. Family, friends, socioeconomic status, religion, etc. will all influence this child’s life greatly, but certain things are already set.
All of you reading this likely know the whole sperm and egg thing J and many of you may know the whole DNA thing as well. But I must say, in the throws of discussions like we have been having, and questioning so many things about mysteries we can’t begin to unravel, it is a beautiful thing when science affirms faith. I feel so much comfort tonight thinking about my Jonan, and the many others who are, too early, with their Heavenly Father. There has never been another like my Jonan, nor will there ever be. And though this truth causes my heart to bleed with pain at losing his precious life, this truth also brings me comfort tonight as I think of him in Heavenly Arms.
I love you tonight, Jonan.
I love you tonight, Jonan.
May all of us who grieve our losses be comforted by our Father, who has known us before any other.
I love You, Lord.
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