In Your Grace/
You know where I walk/
You know when I fall/
You know all my ways/
In Your Love/
I know you allow/
What I cannot grasp/
To bring You praise...
- Joel Sczebel and Todd Twining, SGM
We haven't written much lately. I hesitate to begin telling a story without an appropriately happy ending. Struggles sound so much better after some sort of resolution. Christians are supposed to have hope in the midst of hurt. And, joy...and a host of other things that make us different than we used to be. But, I don't sometimes. Then, it's easier to stay silent. So, I do. Usually.
Our baby died early this May. We hadn't yet told people of his existence. The depressing lack of symptoms seemed so similar to our first miscarriage that we only half hoped for the best as we more than half braced for the worst. Together, and alone.
God does use hard things to glorify Himself. He has before; He will again. I could compile a list of the positive truths of which He has reminded us and subsequently reinforced in us. At this point it would probably sound like I was trying to convince myself that the pros outweighed the cons. Then you might be misled into thinking that the hard part ends the first time the scales tip in the right direction. It doesn't.
Most (if not all) of you have been confronted with life-changing loss in varying forms. You already know that grief rarely presents us with tidy conclusions or satisfying epilogues. Rather, it ebbs and flows on a not-entirely-predictable timetable. It causes tunnel vision for a time which fades gradually even as it colors the way you see everything else. It has a nasty habit of returning with unanticipated intensity during socially awkward moments. It really hurts.
Knowing God now is the difference between flailing and sinking.
**
In order to be able to type the kind of where-we've-been-what-we've-done sort of newsy-news I've felt compelled to wait until I could compose something a bit more substantive.
Now you know.
Thanks for listening.
7 comments:
I love you, my sweet friend. I ache with you. I weep with you. I hate the distance between us; the way visits are intended like New Years resolutions and lost just the same. If I could be anywhere else but here, right now, it would be there.
You would be most welcome, friend. We miss you, too! Thanks for wading into the hurt with us. It means much to me.
Sorry for your loss. It's hard to lose someone you love. We will pray for you in the weeks to come.
Thinking of you so often. Thank you for not waiting for the happy ending to write. Life doesn't always come with a cute little God moral at the end of the story. Praying that God will heal your heart in little ways every day. It's all so flipping hard sometimes.
Oh wow! That's heart breaking!
Yes, we are supposed to be joyful always, but God gave us feelings too...for a reason! It's okay to hurt.
I'm just now reading this, months later, on the almost-one-year anniversary of losing our third baby. It was different than your loss - we found out about the pregnancy at the same time it was over - but while the loss was different, it has left unexpected holes. In August, I was sad thinking about the whatifs and couldhavebeens. And now I'd have a 4 month old, who would have had a great time with the cousin so close in age who came to visit this Christmas. Praying for you today, Sarah.
Thanks, Jenny. It's odd to reflect on the anniversaries of things that never happened. I'll pray for you, too.
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