Sudden Ends.

What is your only comfort in life and in death?  That I am not my own, but belong, body and soul, in life and in death, to my faithful savior Jesus Christ.  . . . Because I belong to Him, Christ, by His Holy Spirit, assures me of eternal life and makes me wholeheartedly willing and ready from now on to live for Him.

And we know that in all thing, God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.  For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brothers and sisters.  Romans 8:28, 29

 It took me two weeks to put my last blog post together and another three days to get it posted.  While I was crafting the pregnancy announcement,  unbeknownst to us, the baby is my womb was dying. I spent a long night Friday up with cramping, a panicked Saturday morning in the ER, and a confused afternoon facing the fact that my newest little joy was dying inside of me.  In fact, he/she had probably been dead for a couple of weeks. 

 Now, as I read through what I wrote three weeks ago, I feel like my expressions go beyond ironic to cruel.  If God delays answers to remind us  that we do not compel Him to answer, then why does he answer prayers and then take the answers away?  If answering prayer unexpectedly reminds us that God has a sense of humor, what does unexpected loss say?  And if the joy of being pregnant was right for yesterday, why isn't it right for today too?  As I flopped down on the bed after coming home from the hospital, I pounded my fist on the comforter and said damn for the first time in my life.  "Damn.  Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn." 

But Faith chooses these moments to assert its strength.   Even in that moment, a voice in the back of my head said, "Damn what exactly?", and I had to answer "Nothing, Lord.  Nothing at all."     If my eyes were focused on my own disappointment, I might be tempted to despondency, but faith is a really buoyant thing. In moments of real pain, it insists on looking up at the big picture. I find that when my cynical side digs up a stock question for a time like this, my spirit lifts up my mind and reminds me of what I've always known was true. 

At eight weeks of life, was my child even a person?  Absolutely.  Life is not dependent on the presence of a heartbeat anymore than light required the sun.  There are creatures in the universe that don't even have bodies.  Why should my child be less alive for the lack of being whole?  We named our baby Blessed even as she passed (I say she because Boogaloo expressed a desire for a baby sister.  Of course, at eight weeks, we don't know one way or the other.)  I was conscious of Blessed's soul when she was in me, and I am certain she is in Heaven waiting for me.  One more thread to call me home.   

Why would God wait this long to answer my prayers and then take the answer away?  That's not a question that I can answer without seeing the whole picture, but it's also the question that draws up the greatest response from my faith.  It says in the Bible that sometimes the good are taken so that they may be spared trouble, and Blessed are those who die in the Lord.  I was already unnerved by the changing times when Boogaloo was born.  Blessed is one child I won't have to worry about.   In this world in spite of God's miraculous power, we are still subject to the broken and brutal forces.  Life faces assault on every side, including the mindless biological, and in battle, there are casualties.  I wish my child hadn't been one of them, but so does every parent who loses a child. 

Is my baby really in heaven?   Yes.  I know that for sure.

What does unexpected loss say about God's sense of humor?  That God has a sense of priority.  Much as it aches to consider it, the well of joy can only go as deep as sorrow digs it.  We grow when we hurt.  Loss is cognitive dissonance on a spiritual level.  It can breed empathy, establish bonds, and open us to new possibilities.  And as much as He cares for us and treasures our tears, He also uses us to move His kingdom foreward.  We need to trust that all will be recompensed in the life to come. Faith in the world to come should be our great comfort, along with the hope that everything will be made right. 

Why does God answer prayers and then take the answers away?  To remind us that our lives are not paramount.  He is.  And ultimately, He is our only sure happiness and safety. 

If the joy of pregnancy was right for yesterday, why isn't it right for today also?   We won't know that until we get home.    When I cross the threshold of Heaven, and I'm greeted by all the people I hold dear who have gone on before me,  one of those people will be my little Blessed. 

Does it hurt?  It ripped my insides out.  Physically, it was 16 hours of waiting followed by 48 hours of being wrung by an invisible hand.  Emotionally, everytime someone expresses sympathy I well over with tears. I cringe every time Boogaloo says "I'm a big sister" and asks to hear one of her baby books because of course, she doesn't understand yet. We told her that baby went to Heaven to be with Jesus and Nana, but she's still a big sister because baby is alive up there.  To stand at the gate of life and feel its opportunity opening for someone is the essence of hope,  and I rejoiced in it, but that hope got snuffed for this life.  Snuffed hope sucks the joy out of a situation.  But because of the shocking buoyancy of faith, I still have peace.  After all, my baby has simply been raised to another level of existence.