Tuesday, March 13, 2012

When He Doesn't Heal.

I wrote the following soon after some good friends and co-workers experienced a detrimental loss... 

She lived for 36 hours and I never actually met her.  She was one of the first babies that I ever felt brave enough to touch while in her mother’s womb… but the very thought that a little being was alive inside of my friend’s stomach was enough to freak me out—in a fascinating and surreal sort of way. 

Gwendolyn Hope’s story touched thousands, and for possibly the first time in my life I understood the full extent of what it meant to mourn with someone who mourns.  My friend’s loss was my loss, and as I pictured Erin coming home from the hospital without a pregnant belly and without a child in her arms, I wept in knowing that the phantom limb that was Gwen would always be the missing appendage in Erin’s life… the part of her that was supposed to be there, alive and flourishing, laughing and giggling and growing…

But instead, little Gwen was buried in the tiniest box in a cemetery in Kerrville, Texas.  It was wrong.  It was unnatural.  It was sabotage. 

I remember sitting in that memorial service, tears streaming down my cheeks as Blair got up to acknowledge his daughter as the blessed hope that she was and is, about how she was with Jesus, getting to avoid the pains and heartaches and complications that this wordly life has to offer.  They had prayed that Gwen would be given life, and in that moment Blair praised the Lord that He had been faithful, that He had given Gwen a life that was righteous and whole. 

Thoughts of Lazarus rising from the dead drifted through my head, and my soul ached as I pleaded with the Lord to bring that little girl to life.  I prayed that the box in front of all of us that contained a lifeless body would soon start thumping as a perfect baby cried, desiring to be held in her mother’s arms.  I feared that maybe the Lord had answered my prayers but we wouldn’t be able to hear Gwen and that they would bury her alive. 

There seemed to be so many babies around during the service, and their cries and coos seemed to echo loudly through the chapel.  “Get your babies out here!”  I wanted to scream.  Didn’t they know that Erin wouldn’t ever get to hear her baby cry?  Didn’t they know that she would have craved sleepless nights if it meant holding her breathing baby again?  Didn’t they know??  And as mother’s shuffled around to take their babies into the corridor behind the sanctuary, I could swear I heard a noise come from that little box in the front.  My eyes locked on the back of Erin’s head, waiting for her to pry open the coffin with the strength of a desperate mother wanting to save her child.  Erin didn’t move.  I didn’t understand.  Was I the only one hearing things…?  Was I crazy?  Doesn’t God raise the dead?  Why wouldn’t He? 

I talked myself back into a rational thought process.  Gwendolyn Hope was dead.  There were no noises coming from the coffin.  She was dead.  And there was nothing else to do about it.  And somehow, in all of this, God is still good. 

Right?  
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This wasn't the first time the Lord hadn't answered my cries for healing, for restoration, for wholeness...or, had He? Had our prayers, in fact, been answered?? 

In pleading for complete healing and wholeness, is it possible to recognize that for the believer maybe that's what death is? That being united with Christ again is better than being alive here on earth? That being in a place where there is no more tears, no more death, no more pain might be better

I was talking with one of my brothers today about how when we pray for things and don't get them, it affects how we view God. We pray to God as though we deserve something more than what we've already been given through Christ. But isn't that enough? And can we begin to view everything else as a blessing, a bonus, another thing we didn't deserve? 

There's a lot more to say about this...
But today I'll cut it off here. 
When He doesn't heal...can we believe that maybe it's better? Can we trust in His sovereignty? Even when it hurts, when we don't understand, when we feel like a piece of us has been cut off? 

Can we confidently say that God is still good? 

...all the time?? 

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