Not that I don't have my moments. I do.
Oh...do I!
Three days ago I was cleaning our bedroom and went to put something in the top drawer of my dresser. There, lying right on top, was a journal that I had been keeping throughout my pregnancy with Anna.
My stomach became tight and I felt my heart start to quicken, like I just discovered something that I shouldn't have. And even though every inch of my heart was telling me not to pick up that little book...I reached for it.
Don't read it.
It will be too painful.
But before I knew it, I was sitting on our bed, pulling on the ribbon book-mark, opening it as I had been for five months, reading through the pages, one by one.
It's a cute little book that a dear friend, who is also Anna's Godmother, had given to me shortly after I told her that we were pregnant. She, like so many others, was so excited for me to become a new mommy and thought it would be special for me to record the journey. It was one of my favorite gifts given to me.
The journal pages asked specific questions about how I was feeling: what cravings or morning sickness I'd had, was the baby kicking like a ballerina or a football star, was my hunch a boy or a girl, etc. And each page was for documenting a week at a time, and then divided up into months, and finally trimesters.
The neatest part for me was that I wrote everything addressed to our child, who we later found out to be Anna...as if she would read it one day to know how her Mommy was feeling while she was in the life of my womb. I could picture her reading it as a teenager someday. It would be one of those special mother-daughter moments that I envisioned with her. Maybe when she was getting ready to leave for college, or maybe when she was having a bad day and feeling unloved and wondering what her worth was in this life. We would read it together, and I would reminisce about how excited, scared and nervous I was for her arrival. And she would hear how her life truly began...from the very beginning....and how much she was loved before I even knew her.
My last entry was at the end of the fifth month. The excitement was clearly evident in my writing. I wrote about how it felt to see our little girl on screen, hearing her heartbeat fill the room at every doctor's appointment, and finally discovering that she was a girl. All through the pregnancy, I had this hunch that our baby was a boy. I had had three dreams of having a baby boy. And when we were told that she was a girl, I was floored! I didn't prefer one over the other, but I had just always felt that she was a boy. When I found out I was going to have a daughter, my heart melted. A daughter. Oh, how my heart skipped at the thought.
And then the writing stopped.
The next page, entitled Sixth Month, was unanswered.
Empty.
I couldn't stand to see the empty page, so I reached for a pen on my nightstand. And I began to write...
My Dear Baby Girl,
We lost you...
And on I went to write about what happened during the few short days leading up to July 2, 2013--when she was born to eternal life. I continued to write about how heart-broken her Mommy and Daddy were. And how I missed her so, so much.
No sooner did I finish writing that final entry did I slam the book shut and throw the pen across the room.
I looked up to the ceiling and screamed.
Why God?! Why did You take my daughter?! I wanna know why! Why didn't You stop that infection? You could have! I know You could have! She's supposed to be in MY arms, not Yours!
I sobbed, I wailed, I screamed. My whole body was shaking with anger and despair, but mostly...disappointment.
Disappointment.
In all of my life, I have never...and I mean, never...been disappointed in God. I have questioned Him, yes. I have doubted Him. And I have certainly been disappointed with life or other people at times. But not God. Ever. I've never been disappointed in God.
Until now.
I know that I know that He is in complete control. And that all is as it should be. And everything that happens in my life is never meant for my harm, but can be used for good. I truly believe all of that with my whole heart.
But, for the first time that I can ever remember, I am disappointed in my God. My Lord. My Rock. My EVERYTHING.
I have never wanted anything so bad as much as I want my daughter back. And I've wanted a lot of things in my life. A lot. But never have I felt such longing, clear into the depths of my bones, for something or someone as I do for my daughter.
I want to know what she would look like. What color are her eyes? What does her voice sound like? What gifts would she have had? Would she have a passion for music like I do? Would she have a love for hunting and nature like her daddy? What great things would she have done in this world?
My heart longs to know the answers to all of these questions...but even more so the question: Why, God?
I just had a conversation with a good friend the other day over lunch. We talked about how grief has worked in our lives. Although she has never lost a child, she has certainly had her share of loss in her life and she tearfully spoke of how amazing God's grace is when we go through that initial part of the loss. The encounter of death itself, the first few days and weeks after it all happened. Especially the funeral. When I think back now to the day of Anna's funeral...I am just dumbfounded that I was able to make it through her funeral service and burial. Not to mention the day in the hospital when I held her lifeless body in my arms, kissing her face and fingers and toes. I even remember being surprised at how "easy" it seemed to be to go through it. It was painful, sure, but I seemed to go through it with such ease and was even able to smile and laugh at times.
God's grace. She and I both know full well that it is God's grace that gets us through moments like that in life.
But then, there are times when that grace lifts.
We no longer move through moments on that easy, "auto-pilot" feeling. His grace is sufficient for whatever season we are going through, but I believe that there are times when that grace is lifted.
Like my feeling of disappointment in God. I know that God is still just as present in times like that, but it's different now than it was during those first moments during and after Anna's death. And I truly believe that it needs to be that way. How else would we know how much we need God? When I slammed the journal shut and sobbed in sadness and anger, God was there. But it wasn't "easy" anymore. It was like I needed to feel those raw, human emotions so that I would remember that in my human weakness, I need God. Yes, I am disappointed in how this whole thing played out. I want my daughter. He could have healed us both and she'd still be here with me. But, He didn't. And I am disappointed in Him for that. But it's because I can't see the whole picture. He can. And I know that He is a good God, a loving God, a giving God. And one day, it will all be revealed.
When I'm cleaning at home, I always have worship music playing in the background. And while I sat there on the bed, sobbing, I could still hear the sounds of worship filling the room.
"Blessed be the Name of the Lord. Blessed be Your Name! You give and take away. You give and take away. My heart will choose to say, Lord, blessed be Your Name."
No matter how hard I tried to sing praise to Him with that music in that moment, I couldn't do it. I even said to Him, "I just can't praise You right now. I just can't!"
But I was praising Him.
Even as I sat on my bed, journal in hand, and heartbroken, God was there. He is in our brokenness. He is in our pain. He is in our wants and desires. He is in everything that we feel, do or go through. But, we have a choice. Do we embrace Him as He embraces us in those moments? Or do we turn our backs on Him because we're disappointed in how He has done something?
Has He ever turned His back on me when He was disappointed in me?
Thank God, no.
If He turned His back on us like we do when we're disappointed in others, we'd be in big trouble! But He doesn't. He won't. He promises that to us over and over. He never promised that we would have a pain-free life. He promises us that He will be right there with us in the pain.
And although I couldn't praise Him with my singing voice, I was praising Him with my tears of grief and hurt. I wasn't turning my back on Him. I was seeking Him. For comfort, for answers, for love. My God was holding me tight when I was crying my heart out as I wrote that final entry in the journal. He was holding me when I sat there sobbing, trying desperately to praise Him in song and I couldn't. He was right there. And I knew He was right there.
The next morning when I woke up, I was amazed. I felt that familiar grace upon me. I felt like a new person that very next day. There are no words to describe it or how to make it make sense. I just felt it. And I have felt it ever since. The scripture passage from Psalm 30 has been resounding in my mind over these past days: "Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning."
What made one day so different from the next? My daughter wasn't back. The circumstance hadn't changed at all. She is still gone from me. But what's different is God's grace.
I will probably have many more moments like I did that day in my bedroom with the journal. But then His grace will fall again. He gives us glimpses. And we can see the beauty in the pain, in the grief, in the sorrows of life. Like sunlight piercing through the shadows of trees as we walk down the path of life.
If it weren't for the shadows, the streams of sunlight would not be so beautiful.
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