It has been so long since I have posted. I’m almost ashamed to try my hand at putting words on a page again, but here I go. Writing has always been a source of joy and comfort for me. Writing myself clear has long been a tool I have used to quiet the ramblings of my mind. As I carefully hit the backspace on my keyboard, I also feel myself hitting the “backspace” in my mind, writing and editing not only my rambling words on this page, but my thoughts as well. Editing my thoughts and surrendering them to Christ has been a long-time battle of mine. It is a battle that I haven’t always won, but Christ has given me the strength to never give up the fight. Daily I wake and seek His face asking Him to use His word to right my thinking, to mold me and shape me until I look more like Him.
Never has the battle been fiercer than now. Never have I felt more wearied from the near-constant necessity to make my thoughts align with the Lord’s truth. Never have I needed to daily wipe the filth and dirt of this world from my eyes so diligently, because I need to see Him more clearly than ever. Never have I needed to choose gratitude, to fight for joy, to praise the Lord for the small things, like I do now. Never have I felt so downtrodden, broken, bruised, and belittled by my own thoughts. Never have I felt more unsure of myself, my abilities.
And yet, I have never felt closer to Christ. Never have I felt His embrace more tenderly. Never have I felt His grace and mercy wash over me like I was standing just below a rushing waterfall. His love seeps into every broken, imperfect crack, and causes hope and faith to grow from the brokenness.
In the last several months we have had a series of losses and hurts. Our best friends moved onto the mission field, my sweet father-in-law passed away, my dear mother-in-law’s cancer progressed and we have moved her into our home on Hospice, and finally, we lost our daughter Ruth at 37 weeks. I gave birth to her just five months ago. I held her sweet body in my arms. Maybe someday I will feel strong enough to write out all the details of that day, but today isn’t that day.
Yesterday was five months since Ruthie’s birth. Every month is a new reminder of her loss, and I mentally go through the checklist of new “firsts” Ruthie would be experiencing. Sitting up, trying to crawl, belly laughs, first foods. I try to picture her in my mind and imagine how all of our children would love her. I try and picture her sweet, gummy grin. I imagine what her body would feel like against my chest. I allow myself to go to the place where I imagine life with her in it.
As I sat imagining all of these “firsts” I caught the eyes of Aubrey Ann, our oldest daughter, from across the room. She came and sat by me. She didn’t have to ask why I was crying. She knew. She put her arm around me and laid her head on my shoulder. “I miss her too mom. It’s ok to cry. You are doing a good job.” The tears came like a flood now. How did she know that I secretly had been harboring guilt? Satan’s lies are relentless… “you aren’t enough”…“look what your children have to endure”…. “you will never be good enough for…” One simple truth from the lips of my daughter, a Sister-in-Christ, helped to quiet the lies.
I reluctantly asked Aubrey Ann what she would remember from this time. From my perspective she would remember a mother who is a mess, and five months of intense sadness and grief. “I will remember that you were faithful through all of it.” She stroked my hair. The grace that she gave in that moment washed over me. The truth began to sink into the dark recesses of my heart, the parts that want to condemn. Really, it was the Lord alone that had been faithful, but my sweet daughter was witnessing my response to His great faithfulness.
“But he knows the way I take; when he has tested me I will come forth as gold. My feet have closely followed his steps; I have kept to his way without turning aside. I have not departed from the commands of his lips; I have treasured the words of his mouth more than my daily bread.” Job 23:10-12
Only intense suffering allows us to know what it means to treasure His word more than our daily bread. It took me two weeks to eat after Ruth passed. It took me two heartbeats after not hearing hers to cry out to Him. His Word has become my bread. His love has become my life.
As I sat in the arms of my eldest daughter, I thanked the Lord that He had shielded her from fear, and the emptiness that can come from great loss. I praised Him that He had allowed her to see beauty come from the ashes of Ruth’s death. She wiped my tears with her half child-half woman hands. I recognized that the Lord had given her a gift. She knew what to say and do in this moment because the Lord had allowed her the gift of walking through sorrows. He had given her the gift of watching me grieve, and cling to feet of Jesus all at the same time. She learned how to sit next to someone as they grieve. She learned that few words were needed, few were helpful. She learned to just be with someone as they ached.
Ruth’s loss left a hole, but it is a hole that has been filled to overflowing with the grace of God. So many mercies have been showered out upon on us. I have learned how to trust the Lord even when I am experiencing intense, searing pain. I have learned that I can truly sing in the darkest moments, because God is God, and He is always worthy of all of our praise. As Ruth’s body came into this world I sang, “Give me Jesus”. I felt desperate to feel Him near. As her body rested on my chest the Lord brought the Doxology, “Praise God from whom all blessings flow” to my heart. I had sang this same song as our sweet Lydia was born and breathed her first breaths in this world. This time, the meaning felt quite different. This time I was praising Him for the nine months He had given me with Ruth, I praised Him for every beat of her heart, I praised Him that I knew she was with Him, and I praise Him for standing beside us in the darkest point of our lives. Through the grief and tears He gave us the ability to sing praises to Him. This can only be from Him, our God, our Rock, our Redeemer, our reason to sing.
“Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow; Praise Him, all creatures here below; Praise Him above, ye Heavenly Host; Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen.”
I wish I could say I am stronger. I wish I could say that the grief didn’t threaten to overtake me. I wish I could say that the pain was lighter, and that the Lord had removed the sting I feel from Ruth’s death, but that just isn’t so.
What I can say is that the Lord is stronger, and that when the grief threatens to overtake me, He promises that it won’t. When the grief is heavy, and the sting feels like a scorching fire, He stands right beside me, and beckons me to lean hard onto Him, because He cares for me.
“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.”- Isaiah 43:1-2
Five months. She would be giggling. She would be trying to sit. She would be pulling her knees under her and scooting herself forward in a desperate, clumsy attempt to crawl, but she isn’t.
Instead, she rests in the arms of my Savior. That is a place I would never ask her to leave, even if I possessed that power. Someday, I will go to her. I hold onto that hope, I cling to it desperately. I trust Him in whatever He brings today, tomorrow, and forever because I have learned what it means when He says that He will never leave me nor forsake me. In the darkness of our deepest sorrows He will cause His light to pierce through. We need only look up.
