Journals
Journals - January 7, 2023
One year ago today, we found out that we were expecting. Looking back, here are some thoughts:
2022 threw at us more than we could imagine. We were pushed to the edge and then some. We uncovered a deeper and stronger resilience than we ever thought possible. We were brought to our knees. We both grieved and celebrated deeply. We lived life minute by minute instead of day to day or week to week. We woke up every day and chose to keep going.
If I knew on January 7, 2022, what I know now, 1 year later – the pain and the fear we would endure – I’d still choose to live it. I would never wish to walk the path we walked last year, but we learned to walk it, and we are not the same.
One thing that people experiencing trauma do not want to hear is, “What a testimony you will have!” There is an unintended pressure you put upon my child when you speak of a vision or dream about him. His life and the miracles that brought us to this day are things to be celebrated, and God should be praised, but they are not for others to hang their faith upon. If your dream about my child doesn’t come to fruition, what that does to your faith isn’t his fault. I have said many times over the last few months that my child’s circumstances and health are not anyone else’s, and we do not need anyone else telling us how glorified God is or will be because of our “trial.”
"His life and the miracles that brought us to this day are things to be celebrated, and God should be praised, but they are not for others to hang their faith upon."
Let me be clear: I believe in a good and powerful God. He was, is, and will be good and powerful and glorified, with or without me. He does not throw trials at me to show his power. He does not cause me to suffer to bring him glory. The climax and epicenter of the Christian faith is that Christ suffered, died, and rose to bring restoration and life. Jesus has already borne the wrath of God. He has suffered death and descended into hell, rising again on the third day. Christ does not need me to suffer and be slain again and again.
Our Christian culture seems to put trials and struggles on a pedestal. We say, “Look what God did! He is amazing!” “The Lord was testing you and refining you in the fire.” “He gives and takes away, blessed be his name.” We say that the great men and women of faith were formed through the valley. That the effect and consequence of our depravity and sin is struggle and hardship on earth.
Maybe you think I’m a bad Christian, but I did not wake up each day in the middle of my pain and grief and think about how I could glorify God in my pain today. I did not hold my critically ill child and “praise God in the storm.” I shouted, and I screamed at God. I told him that this was not my story – that W’s death would not be the story I tell.
W didn’t need to suffer for God to be glorified, and he did not need a miraculous story to bring honor to the Father. It does not do to dwell on the miracles that you think are coming, the miracles you think we deserve.
"It does not do to dwell on the miracles that you think
are coming, the miracles you think we deserve."
So, when I think about the year we have had, I think about the miracle that our child is. I remember the depths of sorrow and grief in which we have waded. I remember the tears and the sleepless nights. But I also remember the people we met along the way. The new and the old. The people who held us in our anger and confusion – the people who held space for our trauma instead of dampening it with vacuous Christian rhetoric.
Our story took a happy turn. Our miracle was brought to fruition. The child we prayed and wept for has come home. Today, we hold the joy of our child in one hand, and the weight of the last year and the days ahead in the other. They can’t be separated.
Our grief and experience are unique to our family, but grief itself is not unique. It lies at the heart of our broken world. The question is, how are we, as a community of believers, going to choose to engage with the uncomfortable, messy, unpredictable, and scary thing that is pain and suffering? With empty words and trite platitudes about God’s will and plan? Or with solitude and silence shared in the depths of the mess.
We figured out fairly quickly that people say to you what they think they would want to hear if roles were reversed. I’ll tell you a secret, though. Sometimes, the best thing to say is, “I’m sorry this is happening to you. It really sucks. I’ll hold you in prayer.” Then, get on your knees and actually pray.
I’ve learned more about Christ, suffering, and the valley of death than my 21 years of Christian education ever glimpsed. If anything, this experience has turned what I thought I knew about God on its head. It created a new framework for how I know and experience God ,and how I, in turn, know and experience my neighbor. So, as I enter the new year, I carry with me pain, grief, fear, confusion, exhaustion, and a heavy heart. But I also carry with me my child. The fruition of prayers, the fruit of my tears, the one we longed for. The miracle in our midst.
Though we sow tears, we reap shouts of joy.
"...we hold the joy of our child in one hand, and the weight of the last year and the days ahead in the other. They can’t be separated."
