I sat in stunned silence. My life was not supposed to go all the way down hill. And it was spiraling out of control quickly.
I lost my little girl shortly after giving birth to her. I didn’t want to live but I couldn’t get away from the grief.
It all seemed meaningless. Anencephaly, the doctors called it. Our little Megan lived in our realm only forty minutes before she heaved her last breath.
As I cried in anger and grief, my first thought was to lift up my head and scream out at God, “how could you let this happen to me? I don’t deserve this. Why would you let my precious baby die? Are you even there?”
I wanted badly to stand with the accuser and place God on trial. I didn’t know if he would answer to my accusations but I wanted him to know I was really mad about everything that had happened to me.
As I thought about it, deep in my grief, I heard the Lord say; “Don’t put me on the other side of the fence. I feel every pain you feel and I want to stand here with you in this. Don’t ask me to back away from you in this moment.”
I felt my defenses begin to break but I was angry about the loss. I couldn’t see past my pain, so I told the Lord how angry and miserable I was about losing my child.
Remarkably, in my heart I could see the Lord’s eyes glazed with pain.
He said to me, “I understand. I understand your pain and anger because I feel it to. You must remember I am with you always. I told you that in this life you will experience trouble but you can be confident because I have overcome the world. Your victory is in what I have done, not in whatever you face. You are going to get through this and be stronger. With the comfort you have received, you will in turn comfort others.”
I still walk around the house missing my little girl but I see her smiling face in my Father’s arms where she’s resting happily and comfortably.
I acknowledge my pain and it’s necessary to do so but I rest on God’s promises and not on how I feel at any given time.
I’ve since learned that while my feelings are ever changing, His promises stand and are unchanging. As a result, in my grief, I rejoice.