I go to bed with the same routine every night. Every night for the last four weeks, that is.
The crocheted blanket that a kind stranger made for my son—the blanket that once cradled his tiny body—tucks under my chin, letting me breathe in the faint scent he left behind. I close my eyes and sing his song to myself—a song about sweet baby James that will never lullaby him to sleep. My arm naturally wraps around my belly—a habit I pick up each time my belly begins to grow round with new life—and I wince at the abrupt reminder of my flattened midsection.
My husband recently asked if sleeping with James’ blanket and listening to his song on repeat a few times a day served as a sweet way to remember him or only as painful reminders meant to keep me in grief because I am scared he will be forgotten as life continues on.
The truth is they are both.
The comfort is intermingled with the pain. I do not know how to separate them. I do not think I am even ready for one to exist without the other.
In a similar way, our grief is inseparable from our hope. One does not occupy our thoughts for a while, and afterwards we switch to the other. In the same breath, we mourn and we hope.
I’ve known I wanted to share this part of our story for a while because it’s central to it all. It’s how we are walking through loss and how God is meeting us here. As Kayla Aimee put it so well in Anchored: “I tell it because it is meant for more than just us; it is a resting place for anyone who is wondering where God is in their hurt. Because when we are asking that question is when we have the greatest opportunity to find Him.”
Comfort in a Conversation
Even before we knew how James’ story would soon unfold, God was demonstrating His care and kind providence in our family.
Just two days prior to the ultrasound and the words “your son’s heart has stopped beating”, I sent my husband this text message:
“We just had a long conversation that started after seeing a cemetery and led to a conversation about CeCe’s [our children’s grandmother] death and heaven and ended with [my three-year-old] saying ‘God is my favorite. And Jesus is my favorite. And heaven is my favorite’ “.
I was delighted to be having such an important conversation as we made our way across town. It was ten minutes of conversing about how God numbers all our days, how we do not need to fear death because the One who has planned the end is good and trustworthy, and how life—a truer life than we now know—awaits those who love and trust Jesus.
Little did I realize that God was preparing the hearts of my young children, laying the first stones in a foundation that would help them to understand what we would be sitting down to tell them days later.
God knew that we would soon be saying good-bye to our fourth child. We were shocked by the ultrasound’s foreboding silence but God was not.
My Top Buttons Are Buttoned
I recently listened to a podcast from Inspired to Action in which Kat Lee was interviewing Kayla Aimee. They were discussing Kayla’s new book—her faith and hope in the midst of a devastating season in her life.
Kat related the story of a friend who once told her that “she had her top button buttoned”. Kat’s friend had just lost her father to suicide while she was stuck overseas. Even as her friend’s heart was breaking and the situation seemed wholly out of control, she was able to to hold on to one soul-centering, hope-giving truth.
Because her “top button was buttoned”, she knew the rest of the ‘buttons’ in her life would eventually fall into alignment too. The top button was her unwavering confidence in the goodness of God.
In the past few weeks, I have been dependent on this top button. But not only on the goodness of God—His sovereignty and kind providence in all things as well.
Confidence in these two things—the goodness and sovereignty of God—are what anchors us in hope when the rushing waters threaten to knock us off our feet and wash us away in the dark days of loss.
He Gives Grace and More Grace
There are so many times we don’t know what to pray, so often we are weak and overwhelmed in sadness, if you ask what we need I likely will not know how to reply. But all the while God is there, giving mercy and grace in countless and unexpected ways.
The day we arrived home from the hospital, my husband found a package awaiting him—a fishing rod blank shipped from New Zealand, delivered long before it was expected. This seemingly insignificant event was the kindness of God wrapped up in a long cardboard box. In those most difficult initial days, my husband found solace in the work of his hands. And what came of his work was a fly rod dedicated “The James Henry Special”. A bittersweet sort of fulfillment of plans and dreams to share his passion with his son.
On two other occasions I was the recipient of the unexpected—mercy from God seen through the kindness of friends. Reviewing photos from the last few years one Wednesday afternoon presented me with difficult reminders of what had been and what would not be. The following afternoon, a phone call during lunch informed me of surprising and saddening test results. Immediately after both instances, as I was a weeping mess, packages arrived with notes and gifts from friends reminding me that they loved us and were praying for us.
The mail once again served as a reminder that God is able to deliver comfort when we need it most.
I could tell you of many more instances of how God is bearing us up, providing encouragement, and, most importantly, rest in Himself.
Maybe this is what it is to chase the rainbow through the rain. To see that there is yet sweetness to come from the bitter bud. {Hymns help to tell my story}.
My Vision is Limited But God’s Is Eternal
What happened to James was not the result of happenstance. Even as loss may seem pointless and is the furthest outcome that we would ever choose for ourselves, the loss of life, indeed all suffering, is not left to the whims and wishes of fate or a meaningless roll of the dice.
The hand of my heavenly Father is in even this. He was not powerless to stop what happened. The sovereign power of God in our lives, in the life of James, does not make Him capricious or mean. It gives James’ life a greater meaning and purpose than I can grasp.
He loved us before, He is loving us through it, and He will continue to love us unto eternity.
I desperately want to hold James, but that is not our story. I struggle with the pain and all the while I am praying that God will continue to teach me to see the good in the midst of the hard. I am confident in His goodness and this fuels and reassures my confidence in His sovereignty.
He is good. He is in control. I put my trust in Him.
Dear friend, if you are suffering or going through a difficult season that seems so hard and you just can’t understand why, let me encourage you that God is with you in it. He was not surprised by the circumstances which now for a little while give you so much grief. He sees your sorrow and knows all your tears. He wants to meet you there and give you the grace you need to endure. Find refuge in His promises and know His love.
Quotes from:
- The Hardest Peace: Expecting Grace in the Midst of Life’s Hard, Kara Tippetts
- Anchored: Finding Hope in the Unexpected, Kayla Aimee
- Streams in the Desert, L.B. Cowman
- Little Women, Louisa May Alcott
{{ this post is linked-up with the Grace & Truth Christian Link-Up }}
Hayes Thomas @ Raindrop Quotes says
I am so very sorry about the loss of your baby. I wish I had something better to say. I am very sorry. I will pray for you and your family that the Lord, who loves to comfort us again and again, will continue to bring you peace.
Jennifer @ A Divine Encounter says
This post makes my heart ache and sing at the same time. But it’s not the loud and exultant kind of singing that accompanies rejoicing; it’s a song of quiet praise to the One whose grace enables us to walk through the hardest days of our lives, and whose presence ensures that we never do so alone.
Your willingness to share from the depths of your grief is such a gift to others who are mourning. I truly thank you for your bravery, and for being willing to be used by the Lord to comfort others with the same comfort you’ve received. It’s my honor to feature this post at A Divine Encounter tomorrow. I’m thankful for the opportunity to share it with my readers there. May God bless you and keep you and continue always to be your Glory and the Lifter of your head.
Anna {This Perfect Mess} says
So. I have been holding this post close to my heart for the past few days, wanting to comment, but not knowing what to say. But from what I know about grief, saying something, *anything* kind is much preferred over saying nothing. So I will say thank you for sharing from your heart. I know myself and others are grieving with you (although not as profoundly) and we are so inspired and encouraged by your faith. And I will also say that JAMES HENRY has inspired me to be more present with my family, love my children more intentionally and remember to take each day as a gift. Love you, friend.
Christin says
Hi Lisa,
I am a friend of Heather Hollander and I met you a few times when you have come down to Travelers Rest. I am so very sorry about the loss of your baby. I wish I had something better to say. I am very sorry. I will pray for you and your family that the Lord, who loves to comfort us again and again, will continue to bring you peace.