When God Called Piper Home

Chapter Four

Will You Stay?

Then a despised Samaritan came along, and when he saw the man, he felt compassion for him. Going over to him, the Samaritan soothed his wounds with olive oil and wine and bandaged them. Then he put the man on his own donkey and took him to an inn, where he took care of him, Luke 10:33-34 (NLT).

I never thought driving by a cemetery would make me tear up as quickly as it does now. A quick glance at the headstones and flowers brings a flood of memories.

Making funeral arrangements for a baby is…sad.

The casket we chose for Piper was a precious little white one. When we saw it at the funeral home, my heart sunk. It was so tiny. Pink Gerber daisies were laid preciously along the top.

I remember the drive to the cemetery the morning we buried her. It was a long drive, and as we pulled up, there were cars on every side in every direction. We were honored and humbled as we attempted to squeeze through the mass amount of cars to find a parking spot. What a blessing!

People drove from all over to hear the truth of Piper Kay—to know that she had gone to be with our Savior, and he was holding her. They celebrated her and showed up wearing pink and white.

It was comforting to know that people were willing to drive, to be there, to experience pain alongside us. We needed every one of them who were willing to stand with us…as we realized once again—the shock. This is for real.

We released butterflies that day in memory of our Piper Kay.

Natalie Grant’s recorded song “Held,” played as Adia helped hold the box of butterflies. The joy on her face was priceless as she released them. The hill country was filled with the words of the song as it played loudly. The butterflies took flight and rose to the heavens. Piper’s tiny, white casket was front and center. Just a peek at it from afar, and hearts were broken.

Butch Smith, our friend and pastor from college, spoke, both blessing and challenging the crowd. He spoke truths from the book of Job. He spoke of truth from the word of God. He encouraged others to have faith, and he begged all to choose Christ that day. This man, who is like family to us, shared this poem he had written:

Piper Kay Brawner

Life too short! Too short! Too very short!

Hearts broken! Tears shed!

We call her Piper! We love! We lost! We grieve! We believe!

From the womb you knew! You formed!

You let end! She is gone! She is with you, her spirit in heaven!

—By Butch Smith

Pastor Ray Still, from Oakwood Baptist Church in New Braunfels, shared about how Jesus loves the little children and how he was certain that Jesus is holding Piper right now. He shared about how Christ would call the children to him, and he would take time to sit with them.

You could sense the encouragement that those words gave. Those surrounding us began to envision Piper in his arms, the warmest, most hopeful place she could be. Dave’s sister, Mollie, shared the most beautiful part of her heart to the crowd. There was not a dry eye in those Hill County Gardens that day. There was not a heart untouched by God’s hand.

Piper’s little body was buried in “God’s Little Garden”, a part of Hill Country Memorial Gardens Cemetery that is designated for precious infants. She was laid to rest by the white picket fence that surrounds many little ones that have gone to heaven before her. It was all too real. As we spent time that week making sure her gravesite was beautiful, the ground became showered in our tears.

What just happened?

Only days ago we had been setting up her room, ready for her to come home. Now, we were kneeling before a headstone that says, “Piper Kay Brawner—July 27, 2011.”

My heart now breaks for others who experience any kind of pain—like it has never broken before. Because of the depth of hurt and loss that we have experienced, even the slightest injury inflicted upon another is so painful to me.

When I see a friend hurting or panicked, my heart hurts with theirs. When I notice someone crying in church, my chest tightens, and I begin to pray for him or her. When others around me seemed stressed, I yearn to calm them.

Why am I so tenderhearted? What is this inside of me? I’ve been touched by the hand of God in a way that I’ve never known before. It feels like my heart has been consumed by his love and it no longer beats on its own. Every day my Jesus wakes me up, moves my feet—one behind the other—and pumps my heart.

He says, “Go, sweet girl. Walk.” And I do. I am conscious of every breath. I feel the impact of every step taken.

You know that life has drastically changed when the Disney movie, “Tangled,” makes you cry. There is a part in the movie when the parents release lanterns in hopes of finding their long lost daughter, and she finally finds home. Tears rolled down my face. My husband and I had to grab Kleenexes when we watched it with our two year old. We fast-forwarded through the semi-creepy parts (from a two-year-old’s vantage point) and ended with tears filling our eyes as the family embraced, reunited as one again. We realized what a beautiful portrayal of the embrace we will experience one day with our Piper.

But until then, every July 27, Piper will see butterflies released—as a reminder of the hope we have of seeing her again.

A cemetery. A headstone. A heartbreak.

When I look through my tear-filled eyes, I realize that Piper’s is not the only body that has been buried. There is so much sadness and death in this world. I know I’m not alone. If I could carry this burden for everyone, if I could take this yoke upon me so that no other would have to endure the loss of his or her child—I would.

Although every story is different, every loss is the same. We hurt. And we survive—but not without tremendous loss.

If you have ever experienced loss, you know there are days when life seems to remain a haze. You understand the zombie-like moments where all you can do is exist. Feelings of pure sorrow overwhelm, and there seem to be no more tears to pour out.

Most of us, in such a time of loss, crave the extended hand of someone nearby, someone to care. A squeeze on the shoulder or a hug…even tears would be appreciated. But what tends to happen is that in the midst of tragedy, people begin to flee. They just don’t know what to do. And although some family members stay close, many who have faced this hardship with you will run. Why? Because we who have lost are plagued by a mark of death, so people tend to avoid us. We are wounded, and it’s just hard for them to know how to help.

We simply require effort to make it through our days, and we need tremendous amounts of practical and emotional help along the way. We are no longer an “easy” load to carry. We are full of drama, and people can’t handle it.

I often feel like I’m the wounded one in the story of the Good Samaritan, and people are walking by me. They step over or around me; they make sure that they don’t come too close; and they may even find a path that re-routes them completely.

As one who is hurt, wounded, and has lost something precious, I am lying on the path—broken, battered, and bruised. I do not possess the strength to even open my eyes sometimes. My body is water-deprived; my lungs are filled with dust; and my eyes are crusted shut from the heat of the sun beating down on me. Yet as I lay there so alone, crying out but with no tears left, I hear a voice:

“I’m here. And I’m going to stay.”