In my distress I called to the Lord; I cried to my God for help. From his temple he heard my voice; my cry came before him, into his ears. | Psalms 18:6
I have leaned the truth of these words. He wants us to cry out to him with whatever it is that we have to bring.
My son meets none of these when he comes to me crying out, no judgement, no conditions, he just meets open arms full of love and acceptance. The same is true of Jesus, when we run to him.
He wants us raw, and hurting, and bleeding, makeup melting off in salty tears. The ugly cry. That is truly what he desires. He is the one person we don’t have to clean up for. No sugar coating needed. No eloquent words. He created us, he sees us anyway. We can’t hide. We are seen by him, so come to him and let him see you, in whatever shape you are in. He will meet you there with a great love.
Jesus offered thanksgiving for the trial, the suffering that would break and crush him, yet give him an overflowing of joy.
Out of the most severe trial their overflowing joy and their extreme poverty welled up in rich generosity. | 2 Corinthians 8:3
When we give thanks for the suffering, for the trial, when we see his blueprints behind the disaster, and we can be grateful for it, then there is joy overflowing. And that joy, it leaves us wanting to give it away, share it, despite the fact that we are desperately poor in hardship. We find our self rich and generous, and so very full with joy.
In April, we found out that we lost our second baby at 12 weeks and I was in shock. You never think that something like that will happen to you, no matter how very common it is. Then, once it really sunk in, I was devastated.
Right after it happened, a good friend suggested that I name the baby, for closure. At the time I knew I could never do that. It would only make things real, and much harder. And, to be honest, I thought it was silly, maybe even a little melodramatic. It didn’t seem like something Dan and I would want to do, though I appreciated the advice, why would we want to rub in the pain by giving our loss a name?
When we first read the positive pregnancy test and found out we were due in October I was pretty disappointed. It sounds really silly, but I’ve never liked the month of October. (I think it’s because my mother raised me with a true dislike for the Halloween holiday, or as she referred to it “the Devi’s holiday.”) I was also quite terrified to have a girl, our son is 16 months now and I’ve just loved having a boy so much. A girl seemed like she would bring so many unknowns. Part of me will always have a hunch this baby was a little girl – though I don’t pretend to know that at all. At any rate, Boy or girl, October-arrival or not, we were over the moon for the coming baby. The pregnancy felt like it was really creeping by slowly, especially with all the complications that arose at 7 weeks, never-ending hormone shots and ultrasounds not knowing if we’d find a heartbeat, it was draining.
I don’t really think I was over the shock of losing the pregnancy until the d+c procedure was over and I woke up in recovery at the hospital. Once it was over and that baby was no longer inside me, everything felt different. Rather than knowing that we had experienced a complicated pregnancy, losing the baby turned into something very different that I didn’t expect. It turned into death. A death in the family. A family of 4 turning into a family of 3 again. A child who would have grown up, celebrated birthdays and first days of school, graduations and marriage and so many other milestones, was now never going to experience any of it. We had planned to walk this child through all of those celebrations and all the hard days too. All of a sudden we had to let all of that go. When you’re prepared to give all of that love of a parent, and then there is no one to give it to, what do you do?
I’m not sure if it was the anesthesia or God speaking to me, probably a little of both, but I woke up with a verse on my mind. (A true testament for scripture memorization that the the verses that you memorize really stick with you when you need encouragement.) Jeremiah 29:11 “For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, not to harm you but to prosper you, to give you a hope and a future.” With that verse on my mind it was clear. This baby was October Hope. The name represented everything I now knew about the child. The pure joy they were going to bring to a month I’d never cared for, and the promise that Jesus had a plan of HOPE for that child, not to harm him or her, though it might seem that way to our earthy emotions. That child belonged to God from the very beginning and I knew, without a shadow of doubt or questioning, that God’s plan for October was for GOOD. I couldn’t pretend to know what the good was yet. Maybe so that I can be an encouragement to another women going through this in the future, that my words might mean more to her because I’ve been through it. I just knew, I trusted immediately that regardless of my emotions I had to have faith in what I believed, that God is good to us and that he loves us. And not just that he loves me and has a plan for me, but loves that child more than I can even imagine and so I need to trust his ways no matter how sad I was, no matter how cheated or robbed I felt. And so I grieved, and I cried (oh, how I cried), and I struggled to sleep or get out of bed, but through it all I trusted. It’s amazing how God can help us trust when he knows that our heart longs to do what he would have us do.
This morning, nearly a month after our loss, I read a devotion that asked me what questions I might have for God if I was able to sit with him and ask him questions (Luke 2:46-47). I decided I would ask him why I had to experience the suffering. I knew he was good, but I didn’t know why exactly that loss had been his plan for me. A page later in the devotion, Jesus decided to bless me immensely with an answer, a word from him. I can’t really describe the joy in knowing Jesus is giving you an answer that’s just for you, just because you asked, sharing his secrets and his plans with you. I pray that everyone could know him and hear from him the way I did this morning. He brought me my answer in Hebrews 5:7-8, “During the days of Jesus’ life on earth, he offered up prayers and petitions with fervent cries and tears to the one who could save him from death, and he was heard because of his reverent submission. Son though he was, he learned obedience from what he suffered.”
And there it was – Jesus Christ learned obedience from what he suffered. If Christ (who is perfect) learned obedience from his father through his suffering while on earth, how much more can I learn from my suffering? God calls us to obedience if we love him, and through learning to obey and trust in him, and bringing him questions and being able to listen for answers, I can know him in a greater and truer way. When he made this clear to me, my blind trust faded away and was replaced with a confident, knowing trust, one that understands he is good and he is teaching me, drawing me nearer to him still. 1 Thessalonians 1:6 says, “You became imitators of us and of the Lord when you accepted the message that came from the Holy Spirit with joy in spite of great suffering.” This morning, in spite of great suffering I accepted Christs message and his plan with joy.
While I really want to keep this story personal and private (and away from judging opinions which will no doubt follow) I’m choosing to take this path of obedience to share this story with you. I hope that in doing so I can encourage at least one of you. If you have been through a similar loss and want to pow-wow about your suffering or Christ’s goodness I would be so thrilled to walk in it with you – please reach out, firstname.lastname@example.org. Maybe I could offer you just a little bit of the joy and trust he’s blessed me with.