Raw

Our baby died Friday, May 14, 2010.  He has not yet been delivered.  So at this moment, my womb is also a tomb.  Such an odd feeling.
When Charity died, our pain was somewhat dulled by the joy of having Hannah in our arms.  Such a comfort God provided in her!  Of course, the pain of losing Charity was searing, but still...there was peace and comfort.  God's presence was so very *there*.  I felt Him.  I smelled Him!  Can you believe that?  A few times, the smell of roses just permeated the room I was in--with no flowers anywhere.  He was there, and I knew it. 
  Losing Will has been pure agony.  Where is God??  Where is His peace??  I know He's good.  I know He's in control, and I know that He is no sadist.  But yet...where is that comfort?  I do smell flowers--our beloved church family had beautiful flowers on our doorstep within hours of the news.  But where is the supernatural flower garden??
   I don't know what God is up to.  I think He may be overestimating my abilities to withstand such grief.  Do you know (some of you do) what it is like to have to drive home from the hospital, and tell your children their long-desired sibling is dead.  Dead.  Don't we have such euphemisms for that word??  "Passed."  "With Jesus."  "Gone."  With Charity it was, "not compatible with life."  C'mon.  DEAD.  That's the word.  Oh, how I hate it.  Pastor Jeff preached about Jesus raising Lazarus a few weeks ago.  He was saying that part of what was going on when "Jesus wept" was that He was deeply disturbed by Death.  It was not right.  It was not the way things should be.  So...He fixed it.  "LAZARUS, COME FORTH!!!"  And he did.
   In those desperate moments while the nurse was holding the ultrasound wand to my belly, I knew the baby was dead.  I was praying for the nurse's smile and sigh of relief:  "There he is!  Heart beating strong."  What did I get?  Silence.  Neverending silence.  I didn't dare look at the screen.  I couldn't bear to see my precious son lying there motionless.  I knew.  I didn't need a t.v. to show me. 
   In times like those, we grasp at straws...attempt a bargain with God.  "God, wouldn't it glorify You more if You brought him back to life?!?  Please, God!!  Please!!  I beg You!  I'll do anything!!"
    But, little by little, the realization that it is not a bad dream sets in.  Layer by layer, you realize, "He's not coming back.  God really *is* requiring this of me."
   And then, the horror of telling your children.  What an awful task.  To watch your children suffer and know that you can do nothing for them.  Yes, hold them, love them, talk and cry with them...but we can't fix it.
  One of the kids asked, through tears, "How will I go on?"  All I could answer was, "I don't know.  But we will.  Together.  By God's grace." 
   I have thought a lot about how to answer the question, "How are you doing?"  I can describe it right now as swinging between extreme sadness and utter despair.  I know, though, that little by little, the days will get better.  The stabs in my heart will come less frequently.  I know this.  I've been here before.
  The foundational Truth in all this?  The one I do not understand, yet know it is true?

GOD IS GOOD