“I want life abundantly.
I run from adversity.
I change external things to comfort internal issues.
I shop to feel better.
I eat to feel better.
I hate being constantly irritable.
Can God bring new seasons in the midst of sadness and loss?
I want a new name.
I don’t want to be angry with God.
I don’t want to be faithful to God only because of His blessings.
It is Satan’s strategy to get me to doubt God at exactly this moment.
I’m angry. Really angry. And I’ve realized that while I’ve been angry about a lot of things in my life, and been angry at a lot of people, this is the first time I’m angry at God. It’s our first fight.
It’s a bit frightening, actually. I’ve always been afraid to be mad at Him. I keep thinking I had to be like Job, not his wife, and that by being angry maybe I’m cursing God. But maybe I’m more like David…just pouring my heart out to Him. Or maybe, I’m really Jacob. And right now I’m wrestling with Him, telling Him I won’t let go until He blesses me.
I’ve been through enough, haven’t I? Isn’t there a quota for how much one person can take? Doesn’t He have a limit?
My fear is that if I really bring all this to Him and ask Him why…and ask Him how…and ask Him when…He will simply say, “Just trust Me.” And that just doesn’t feel like enough right now.
I want more. I feel like I deserve more. I’m tired from trusting blindly and holding onto shards of hope time and time again. I’m worn out. I’m spent. Wary.
There’s a floodgate of emotions that have been simmering slowly and quietly for years. I’m afraid that once I let go and allow myself to feel the full breadth of them, it will erupt and into an uncontrollable volcanic flow. I’m afraid it will shape something in me that will be out of my control. That I’ll snap. Lose it. Or worse…become like those I judge.
I’m afraid to hope again.
I’m afraid to be disappointed again.
I’m tired and don’t want to believe anymore.”
Greg and I were so excited. Our plan worked. We went to Italy and got pregnant while we were there. If it was a girl, we had her name picked out, from a city we loved there. Jaana was three-and-a-half, so the timing between them would be just perfect.
We told our daughter. We told our family. We told our friends. We celebrated. God blessed our plan.
The three of us went to the ultrasound appointment together. We waited expectantly to see the little gummy bear on the screen. After poking and prodding, the technician gently placed her hand on my arm and whispered, “I’m so sorry, there’s no heartbeat,” so as to not frighten my daughter.
The tears didn’t stop. The shock punched me in the stomach and left me gasping. The sadness consumed me and the disappointment crushed my heart like an anchor.
I grieved that loss immensely. Disappointment doesn’t adequately describe what I felt.
I felt like my reactions were quite noble, if I’m being honest. I grieved. I was sad. I was disappointed. But I didn’t harbor any anger toward God. At church one Sunday, the words of Job rang in my ears:
– Job 1:21
After struggling with depression for a few months and some wonderful counseling, we decided we were ready to try again. We didn’t tell anyone except for family. We didn’t tell our daughter. We went to the ultrasound appointment alone. Again, the technician whispered the words we feared.
The tears came, but didn’t flow as heavily. I still grieved. I was still disappointed. But I was a little more prepared. At least for me, it was true — loss is a little easier when it’s expected.
I wrote the words above on a lonely Sunday morning following the second miscarriage. I couldn’t face going to church, seeing people, smiling and talking. Greg took Jaana to church with him and I grabbed paper and pen and went to a coffee shop to sit, write and fume. Against all my emotions, I brought my Bible.
I didn’t plan on praying. I didn’t plan on turning to God for comfort. I was angry and just wanted a way to vent it. As I sat with my hat pulled low over my eyes, my tears washing the page, the words flowed. I had poured my heart out to God, and didn’t realize I was really doing it.
I turned in my Bible to Job, and read the last few chapters. I devoured them, skimming because I couldn’t read them fast enough. They poured like oil over my wounded heart.
You asked, ‘Who is this that obscures my plans without knowledge?’
Surely I spoke of things I did not understand, things too wonderful for me to know.”
– Job 42:2-3
I had spoken of things I did not understand, things too wonderful for me to know. Things I still don’t understand. Things I still don’t know.
But what I do know is this: I do know God didn’t cause the loss I’ve experienced. I do know we live in a fallen and imperfect world and loss is a part of it.
I do know that I will heal.
That God will heal.
I do know that one day we will not weep any longer.
I do know that joy comes in the morning.
I do know He will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten.
I do know He is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.
I do know that he who goes out weeping, carrying seed to sow, will return with songs of joy, carrying sheaves with him.
I do know God’s ways are higher than our ways, His thoughts higher than our thoughts.
And I do know what you’re going through. You may have experienced it once. You may be one who yet again, for a third or fourth or fifth time wants to curse God and stay wrapped up in anger like a blanket.
Open up to Him. Share your heart with Him. It’s so frightening to trust Him, I know. I know you can’t bear to hear the words, “Just trust Me.” I know they aren’t enough.
But He is enough.
He may not say a word to you in reply, He may simply wrap His arms around you and be close to you because you’re broken hearted.
He is enough.
I know the grief that washes over your face when you see a pregnant woman or a mother with her child. But joy comes in the morning.
He is enough.
I know the fear that courses through your body when you see the positive pregnancy test. But you who go out weeping will return with songs of joy.
He is enough.
I know. I know how you feel. I know what you’re going through. And I’m sorry…I’m just so, so, sorry.
But He is enough.
You heal. God heals.
– Psalm 30:5