I felt close to the suffering Savior who had experienced even more excruciating pain for me, not because he lost a child, but because he gave his all to bring lost children home.
He gives purpose to our suffering (Romans 8:28). My miscarriage didn’t happen in a vacuum. Both my child and I were created in God’s image, designed for his glory. My intentions for my child’s life were not the Lord’s intentions, and my timetable was not his timetable.
A friend of mine had a stillborn daughter a few years ago. His process of recovering from that devastating ordeal was one of the most best examples I have ever seen of how a disciple of Jesus can grieve well. Most of us do not know how to grieve well. Many people have been through this ordeal, or something like it, and yet they remain silent or feel alone in their pain. This story can help you feel less alone and see the value of speaking about your grief.
This is part 1 of a multi-part account of his journey through incredible grief. The button below will take you to part 1, and then you can browse to other chapters of the story from there. Here’s a link to part 2.
Why did this happen? Medically speaking, we don’t know and probably never will know this side of the resurrection. It is hard not knowing what caused this. But the medical questions really aren’t the most difficult ones. There are much bigger questions.
The thing that sustained us wasn’t answers. The thing that held us up were truths regarding our God. He is a good God. He works good through horrible things. He is loving Father. He cares for His children in a way that a human father is unable. He gives and He takes away. And He does everything for His glory and our good.
Jesus’ encouragements are for self-examination first. Jesus invited his people to look at the shared struggles that we all face and even to have the courage to examine our own souls and name the sin that is there.
In light of that, I wonder if we need to start by talking about death. And in response to the words of Jesus, I want to take a few minutes to put my finger-pointing away and instead repent that I support, create, and defend a culture of death. I am, in fact, pro-death.
It’s been less than two weeks since my baby girl Luca Gold came into the world, laying warm against my chest for the greatest and most horrific 40 minutes I’ve ever experienced. As the midwife took her stethoscope away from Goldie’s tiny chest for the last time, lowering her eyes to the ground and shaking her head, our nine month anticipation of the sounds of life quickly vanished into the haunting silence of death.
