I know someone who was 22 weeks pregnant with twin girls this week. And her health had been deteriorating, and just yesterday the doctors determined they had to deliver the babies in order to save her. And the girls were born and then went to sit in Jesus’ lap and wait for their parents to greet them in eternity.
My friend posted the following on Facebook yesterday:
“[The girls] passed through this world on their way to heaven today. They are now in the everlasting tender loving care of our Father God and his mighty son Jesus Christ. We cannot wait until the day that we will meet [them] again. We have no regrets: we enjoyed getting to know them these past weeks and during our very precious goodbye time; we will never forget them. Please, we beg you, if you would like to have a glimpse of the peace and love that we have felt during this time, and still feel do this very minute, lay your burdens at the foot of the cross and accept Jesus Christ as your lord and savior.”
And after reading that, any needs or wants or requests that I have suddenly seem so insignificant. I imagine God is beside Himself with pride in her and her husband. Knowing that despite the greatest loss a parent can experience, their faith is unshaken and unwavering, and that still their greatest hope would be that others know The One who gives that kind of peace.
I’ve experienced this — not a loss as great as they are now walking — but those moments when your faith is shaken and the foundation that once seemed so sure is broken in two. Those moments when the pain and grief sucker punch you and leave you breathless and your knees give away and all you can do is crumble to the floor in a heap of devastation.
But the thing I learned in those moments, laying on the floor in a crumbled heap, is that while I question and cry and shake my fist at a Most Holy God…I still believe. I still trust. I still have faith. And sometimes, when disaster strikes, it’s not to show God how strong our faith is, but to show ourselves. For we never know how sure our own foundation is until it’s broken in two. And then when we stand, each foot on a separate piece of uneven ground, we know that we know that we know that despite it all, yet will I praise Him.
I wonder if my friend is experiencing this today — this I-can’t-explain-it-I-just-still-love-Him feeling? I pray that today, the day after a loss only God Himself can identify with, that in the midst of grief and pain, she will be able to stand with assurance that though she be slain, yet will her mouth ring praises to the King.
I’m thankful for her post yesterday. I’m thankful for her faith. I’m thankful for her reminder that everything that hope grows strongest in the broken places and to never take our eyes off of Jesus.
What are you thankful for today?