Note to new Heavenreaders: Molly is the bright-eyed daughter of Diane and Rod. The youngest of six, and the only daughter, Molly died around Thanksgiving time. She was three years old. She was and is dear to all of us who knew her through Diane in Heavenletters. — Gloria
Diane to God:
Dear God, Your response to my question about human and Divine was wonderful.
I went to bed last night repeating over and over in my head, "What if what seems intolerable was tolerable?"
Today I realized that there is a part of me that cannot tolerate Molly's passing. So if it is intolerable, I must be blaming You, right? I desperately want to know Your love, but first I have to forgive You…forgive You for taking my precious angel back to Heaven.
Help me to open my heart to forgiving You.
It had never occurred to me that I harbored unforgiveness until I read the word intolerable.
Molly's coming and Molly's going seem intolerable and a blessing at the same time. I was so afraid and so worried about her when she was born.
Then I grew to love her so much.
Then I learned how to release her care to You.
Then You took her home.
Dear Father, help me find this tolerable.
God to Diane:
I will help you.
You do not have to forgive Me, dear Diane, and in your deepest heart you know that. For what would you forgive Me? For being God? For loving your daughter? For having a vision vaster than yours? Forgive Me for loving you?
My dear, forgive yourself for that natural understandable protesting energy that creates a wedge in your heart. It is not Me to forgive. Do you see that? Call it what you will, but forgive that wedge. Forgive yourself for your humanness and the tiniest block to Our love. The unrelenting heart does not punish Me; it punishes itself. Never do I want your heart troubled.
And so you have so graciously given Me that hurting thread in your heart to remove, and I warm it. Your heart was eased with the asking of your beautiful honest forthright surrendering question, although you may have had some minor trepidation waiting for My answer. Dearest Diane, simple, clear, beautiful Diane, you are to Me what Molly is to you. Ask Me, ask Me anything anytime anywhere. That is My slogan, and it is true.
Diane, dear, Molly never left home. She was always with Me. Molly was not her body. She was not her voice. She was not her words. She was your love, Diane. Listen to My words. Molly was your love. In her human form, she was a reflection of your love. Molly was a mirror and a thermometer of your love. Your love, Diane. How beautiful is your love. It is like Mine, for you are a reflection of My love. Has your love changed because Molly's body is no more?
If Molly indeed had life no longer, it would be intolerable. It would be intolerable for Me as well. But she shifted the plane on which she flourishes. A different address. Pure Molly. Whole Molly.
Remember that she is My daughter as well.
We do not have a tug of war over her.
We shared her. We share her still.
If she could be returned to you in her same form, would you choose that for her? I know you would for fifteen minutes, to hold her once again, to say what you want to say. But after fifteen minutes, you would hand her back to Me and say, "God, I wanted her back for my gratification alone. Thank You, but I cannot keep her. Yes, God, she belongs with You now."
Molly is an idea, Diane. She was always an idea in your mind. Her body was an idea. You have associated her body's death as a dreadful intolerable thing. That is another idea.
Diane, what if you had grown up in a world where, when someone left their body, the whole world rejoiced. What if so-called death were a sanctioned time for celebrating? Fireworks would go off. There would be splendid celebrations, and banners would read: "Dear one, until we meet again."
I will tell you. Part of grief is a kind of jealousy. You would like to be free of all that Molly is free of. You would like to be with Molly in Heaven. More than for her to be returned to you on earth, you want to fly with her to Heaven. But it is not time for you now.
Perhaps it is time for you to write another letter to Molly, and tell her everything. And let her write back to you through yourself. Share your sweet letter and Molly's reply.
Dear Diane, if you have to blame, and sometimes My children do, then I am a good one to blame. I can take it. Write Me a private letter in which you say it all. Consider Me a pillow you pound. Finish pounding, and I will still smile at you. And you will still be Molly's mother and My child.
Have I answered sufficiently for you? Let Me know. Ask Me anything you want. Again and again. It matters not. We connect, you and I. That is what matters.