In 1979 we gently laid our little son in his coffin-bed.  The lid closed and my young mind captured the memory of our firstborn cuddled in my arms.  Our love encircling him as he drifted off for that final sleep.

The years passed and more children arrived.  My arms comforted my babies as they comforted my heart.
 

The captured memory became less of a picture and more of a hope.  A hope that mothering my son was not lost, only delayed.

Finally a morning came when I saw my Marshall.  In November 1985, I viewed a dream of joy.
A sweet taste of promise.

I stood before Marshall's beautiful coffin as it sat above the ground.

It was open and I gazed upon my tiny son.  He was moving his little arms and legs, plump and beautiful.

I picked him up and cuddled him close.  I was filled with a very physical sensation.

I rocked him and cooed softly.  I held him close to my heart until he fell asleep.

Then someone beside me whispered, "It is not time yet for his body to be resurrected,
But now you know what it will be like."

I laid my baby back inside his coffin-bed.  My feelings were tenderly grateful, without a trace of sadness.

For years I had lived with hope.  Now I am filled with a deeper testimony.  I look forward with certain promise to our day of reuniting.