Kept for Us

Picture 281

Ethan’s Dad: Last week was somewhat difficult because it included a 10th (as we have mentioned before, Ethan died on March 10, 2017). And on evening of the 10th last week, which was a Wednesday, I was at church helping with my oldest son’s activity group that has age rages from first grade through sixth grade. The leader of the group that night read the kids the story of Elijah and the widow of Zarephath from 1 Kings 17:7-24.

For those of you unfamiliar with that story, it involves the prophet Elijah’s encounter with an Israelite widow and her son who are starving to death in the midst of a drought and famine brought about as a result God’s punishment against Israel’s evil King Ahab. The part of the story that is repeated most often concerns Elijah asking the widow for some water and bread. She readily gives him water, but she initially hesitates at offering him bread because the widow says that she and her son only have enough ingredients to make bread for one more meal for themselves. Elijah tells her not to be afraid, to make her meal, but to give him some bread first because the Lord had told him that she will always have enough flour and olive oil in her containers to make bread until the day the Lord sends rain and the crops grow again. So, the widow made bread for Elijah, and events unfolded exactly as Elijah had said: “There was always enough flour and olive oil left in the containers, just as the Lord had promised through Elijah.” (verse 16).

That part of the story is usually told as an example of what happens when someone shows faith in the Lord. Indeed, the Wednesday group leader summarized it by saying: “You do what the Lord says and good things happen to you. I am not saying a miracle will always happen, but good things result from obedience.”

The leader then went on to discuss the second part of the story, which is not told as often. 1 Kings 17:17-24 relates that later on the widow’s son somehow became sick and he eventually died. The widow expresses her anguish to Elijah, saying:

“‘O man of God, what have you done to me? Have you come here to point out my sins and kill my son?’

“‘Give me your son,’ Elijah replied. He took him from her arms, carried him to the upper room where he was staying, and laid him on his bed. Then he cried out to the Lord, ‘Lord my God, have you brought tragedy even on this widow I am staying with, by causing her son to die?’ Then he stretched himself out on the boy three times and cried out to the Lord, ‘Lord my God, let this boy’s life return to him!’

“The Lord heard Elijah’s cry, and the boy’s life returned to him, and he lived. Elijah picked up the child and carried him down from the room into the house. He gave him to his mother and said, ‘Look, your son is alive!’

“Then the woman said to Elijah, ‘Now I know that you are a man of God and that the word of the Lord from your mouth is the truth.'”

The group leader did not add much commentary to his reading of this part of the story beyond observing that the widow blamed Elijah even though he had nothing to do with her son’s death, and that God is able to do great things. For the moment, I do not want to focus on the probable meaning of Elijah’s raising of the boy back to life. Instead, I want to convey what hearing a story like that can feel like for someone who has experienced the loss of a child.

We have so far not related the details of Ethan’s death in this space because that is an extraordinarily personal and painful memory. What I will say is that his passing was very sudden, and as it was happening, as efforts were made to resuscitate him, we literally screamed to God to save our child. Immediately after we were told to accept that he was gone, we cried rivers of tears, pleading over and over for the Lord to bring our Ethan back to us.

Nothing happened. His body became cold. His life slipped away. We were left in the dark.

I don’t write that to make you feel sorry for us. I relate it because that is the way it is for many parents who lose a child. And so when you read a story like Elijah’s raising of the widow’s son, what someone in our position immediately starts thinking about is the death of our own child. Why didn’t God bring Ethan back to life? Was it because I did not have enough faith like the widow? Was this a punishment for some unrepentant sin? To many people it is just a Bible story. To us, because we have lived this, it (like so many other stories) takes on an entirely different character.

So, I felt discouraged coming home from church that night. That Friday, the same boys’ church activity group went on a camp out with their dads. All of the kids seemed to enjoy it very much, including our oldest, who caught his first fish during the outing. However, that night while the kids were playing, the men were sitting around the campfire chatting. At one point, for some inexplicable reason, one of the dads turned the conversation to talking about people’s ashes, and urns, and then cemetery plots. I got up and walked away from the fire because the discussion depressed me. What was idle talk to them was nothing to joke around about to me because my youngest son’s body rests in a cemetery. I felt disquieted the rest of the night (and not just because I was sleeping on the ground in a tent).

But then on the following Saturday evening and Sunday morning before church, I was reading the Scripture excerpts for those days from Daily Light for the Daily Path (my copy is in the English Standard Version, unlike most of the online versions which are King James), and some of the verses unfolded into a timely reminder:

“Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” (Matthew 6:10)

“Understand what the will of the Lord is.” (Ephesians 5:17)

“It is not the will of your Father who is in heaven that one of these little ones should perish.” (Matthew 18:14)

“Christ died and rose and lives again that He might be Lord of both the dead and the living.” (Romans 14:9)

It was not God’s will that Ethan would die. Sometimes “this present darkness” distorts God’s perfect will in this imperfect world. (Ephesians 6:12). That is not to say that God did not know or could not have prevented Ethan’s death — He certainly did and He definitely could have, but in this instance, evil was allowed to run its course. Yet, this is one of the reasons Christ died and rose again: so that He could reign over death and prevent such a little one from eternally perishing.

Later that same Sunday morning as I was sitting in church, the Scripture reading for the service included 2 Timothy 1:12. The second part of that verse says: “I know in Whom I believe and I am persuaded that He is able to keep that which I have committed to Him until that day.” I used to take that verse simply in its context of Paul discussing preaching the gospel to unbelievers. After Ethan’s death, however, the verse became a promise from God for us: that He will keep Ethan, who we have committed to Him, until the day Christ returns. (This interpretation stems from the context of verse 10: “our Savior, Christ Jesus … has destroyed death and has brought life and immortality to light through the gospel.”)  Obviously we did not willingly give Ethan away; evil robbed us and him of his earthly life too soon. But God has promised to keep and guard Ethan for us until we come to him. Ever since I was reminded of that verse shortly after his death, I have included it in a string of verses I repeat when I visit Ethan’s grave.

So I sat in the pew thinking about that, and about the verses on the Lord’s will I had read earlier that morning, and then the music minister had the congregation sing the hymn “I Know Whom I Have Believed,” which is based upon 2 Timothy 1:12. If you are unfamiliar with the hymn, the fourth stanza says:

“I know not what of good or ill
May be reserved for me,
Of weary ways or golden days,
Before His face I see.”

This is followed by the refrain, which is repeated after each stanza:

“But I know Whom I have believed,
And am persuaded that He is able
To keep that which I’ve committed
Unto Him against that day.”

Then the final stanza reads:

“I know not when my Lord may come,
At night or noonday fair,
Nor if I walk the vale with Him,
Or meet Him in the air.”

By the time we finished singing that hymn, I felt overwhelmed with God’s reassurance that even though a miracle did not occur on that day Ethan passed, and even though his tiny body is resting in that small grave I so often visit, Ethan is okay because he is being kept safe by God until that glorious day. As I was reminded today: “Behold, the Lord God will come with power, and His arm will rule for Him. … He will gather His lambs in His arms and carry them close to His heart.” (Isaiah 40:10,11).

And as for Elijah’s raising of the widow’s son, it should be remembered that even the widow, with her great faith, despaired when her son died. She earnestly questioned Elijah as to why God would perform a miracle to keep her and her son alive only to let her son die of a sickness. It must have seemed like a cruel joke. Elijah himself did not understand what God was doing, asking God: “Lord my God, have you brought tragedy even on this widow I am staying with, by causing her son to die?”

God did not rebuke their doubts, which merely stemmed from a lack of understanding. As I explained above, both the widow and Elijah erred in concluding that God caused the boy’s death. He did allow it, but He did not cause it — there is a difference (as difficult as it may be to see) between causing the tragedy and allowing it to unfold. For what the widow and Elijah could not know is that this event was meant to foreshadow a much greater one hundreds of years later.

The widow’s son died; Elijah laid his body over the boy’s body three times; the boy came back to life; and the widow exclaimed that by this miracle she knew Elijah was a man of God who spoke the truth.

Mary had a son named Jesus. He was crucified on a cross even after He had performed many miracles. (Mary was probably a widow when this occurred because Joseph is not mentioned in the Gospel accounts after Jesus’s childhood, and on the cross Jesus told his disciple John to take care of Mary). Jesus was buried, and after three days God resurrected Him from the dead. And it is by His resurrection that we know Jesus is God and that He spoke the truth.

The point is that there was something larger going on with the boy’s death that neither the widow nor Elijah could comprehend because the events that would give its context lay in the distant future. I am not saying that every death of a child has a larger purpose beyond demonstrating with stark coldness the evil that pervades this world. But I am saying that the fact that we may not understand why a tragedy occurs does not mean God allowed it to happen without preparing the future context in which it will be wiped away. Because in that future

“The Lord God will swallow up death forever. He will wipe away the tears from all faces. He will remove the reproach of His people from all the earth. And in that day it will be said: “This is our God, we have waited for Him, and He has saved us. This is our Lord, we have trusted in Him; come, let us be glad and rejoice in His salvation.'” (Isaiah 25:8-9).

Until that day, “the Lord will bless and keep Ethan, and make His face to shine upon Ethan and be gracious to him and give him peace.” (Numbers 6:24-25).

Over and Underneath

Ethan’s Mom: This past weekend, I attended the (in)complete Retreat for moms who have experienced stillbirth and infant loss. The weekend consisted of group sessions with a certified counselor and Bible study with a leader who had attended the first of these retreats, held in 2016. My hope in attending was to connect with other women who know the pain of this loss firsthand, and I did, in fact, develop relationships which I think will last many years. But I was surprised to find out what a milestone this retreat would become on my journey.

I really didn’t realize how tired I had become – tired of pretending, tired of avoiding, tired of trying so hard to figure it out. The best picture I can give you of the change in my soul is an overtired child. When I arrived home Sunday, I was putting an overtired, no-nap 20 month old to sleep. This is not pretty, in fact, it is nearly impossible. No amount of rocking or shushing or calm reassurances of my love or his need for sleep made any difference. Eventually, into the bed he went, still wailing at maximum volume. After 30 minutes of throwing down in his crib, I went back in and asked if I could try rocking him again. This time, he did not fight me, and his anxiety lifted as I rocked. He stilled to my voice and seemed to accept that what he needed was to sleep. I didn’t put him in the bed as soon as he stopped gasping for breath between sobs. I held him until he was relaxed and ready to accept going to sleep. My love did not change one bit, and my actions were pretty similar both times I tried to put him to bed. He wasn’t able to accept my love in the same way he typically does at bedtime because his body and mind were so incredibly tired that it was affecting him deeply. Eventually, he hit bottom and looked to the person who had been there trying to help all along.

I have been an overtired toddler in the arms of God for many months now. Perhaps those of you who interact with me are surprised by this, but that is the best description for the angst that has built up inside of me, maybe mostly since the anniversary of Ethan’s death. It has felt like people have moved so far beyond this tragedy that anytime I tried to talk about Ethan or my grief, I felt like people became very uncomfortable. Well, if there is one thing I try to avoid, it is rocking the boat. Taking responsibility for how people reacted to my life and my loss was putting a tremendous strain on me. I was overwhelmed by the darkness — fighting and punching at air, trying to wrestle with what happened to my sweet baby, my family, and my faith — but I didn’t want any help. I didn’t want to invite anyone into the darkness with me.

There were many holy moments throughout the weekend, and some I will ponder in my own heart instead of sharing them on this blog. But I want to share a message I believe I received from God the Father through his Holy Spirit and the wise counsel of the retreat staff.

The Bible study leader and I were cut from the same perfectionistic cloth. Her journey contained battles with many of the things I had been struggling with. She encouraged us that we can stop wrestling with ourselves and start wrestling with God, inviting Him into our darkness. The enemy would have us fighting within ourselves instead of going to God with questions and doubts and turmoil. If he can keep us from bringing Him the negative feelings that are so hard to feel and harder still to express to other people, even the closest of friends or family, He can keep us away from the source of healing.

It sounds easy to bring everything to God, but it isn’t, at least for me. In the first few months after Ethan died, I remember telling Greg that people needed to stop telling me about the loving arms of Jesus. I did not feel surrounded by the loving arms of Jesus. I felt like I was in a choke-hold and that Jesus, if he was even really real, was a million miles away, coolly detached from my misery.

What I didn’t realize until this weekend is that I was stuck there. I have returned to church and Bible study, and I have watched as my husband’s cracked faith seemed to cement back into place. I have a completely new and deep gratefulness and longing for the return of Christ and the redemption of the world, but for the here and now, He seemed so far away. One day He will be my hero, defeat death, and restore me to Ethan, but until then, I’m just on my own down here in this crazy messed up world, fighting all the battles that wage inside of me. Grief has been the loneliest experience of my life.

Maybe it is easy to read that and think, “Oh, how misguided. What weak faith. Of course, God is always with us, He says so.” Beggin’ your pardon, but if you have never buried a child, you have no idea what it takes to choose every moment of every day to keep trusting in a loving God who could have saved your baby in a hundred different ways but did not.

That is the paradox. My really thoughtful and deep husband addressed this in a blog post already. I guess this is my version of coming to terms with this, a little later on.

The Bible study leader encouraged us to lean into the paradox, to wrestle with God, to “pour out your heart like water before the Lord’s presence” (Lamentations 2:19). And throughout the rest of my messy, tearful, heart wrenching prayers during the weekend, I started to lean in. He spoke to my heart in a non-saccharine, non-loving-arms-of-Jesus way that He was here, and even though I couldn’t even see or acknowledge Him, that He has been here all along. He told me that it was time to stop flailing and fighting His love, that it is real and near even though it hasn’t felt like that at all.

And in that revelation, I rested. My soul rested, just like my overtired bundle of sweat and tears fell asleep in my arms as I rocked and sang over him.

I do not mean to imply that I was “fixed” this weekend or that I don’t have sadness and doubt, longing and heartbreak, and all the other emotions that can weigh so heavily on those of us who walk through the valley of the shadow of death. But I do know in a way I didn’t before, that He is with me in the valley. His rod and staff comfort me. I believe He will give me provisional grace for this messy life and have decided to trust it from here on.

I want to share the lyrics to a song that describes what I am trying to express in this post.  Jesus loves you, always, and I am praying that you can rest in this truth today.

I hear You say
“My love is over, it’s underneath
It’s inside, it’s in between
The times you doubt me
When you can’t feel
The times that you question
“Is this for real?”
The times you’re broken
The times that you mend
The times you hate me
And the times that you bend
Well my love is over, it’s underneath
It’s inside, it’s in between
These times that you’re healing
And when your heart breaks
The times that you feel like you’ve fallen from grace
The times you’re hurting
The times that you heal
The times you go hungry and are tempted to steal
In times of confusion
In chaos and pain
I’m there in your sorrow under the weight of your shame
I’m there through your heartache
I’m there in the storm
My love I will keep you by my power alone
I don’t care where you’ve fallen or where you have been
I’ll never forsake you
My love never ends
It never ends.”