How difficult is it for you to answer the question: Are you
sorrowing with hope or sorrowing without it?
Maybe I can
help you answer that question.
God tells
us, through the Apostle Paul, in 1 Thessalonians 4:13 that we must not be
ignorant and sorrow as those who are without hope.
The passage
does not, however, say we are not to sorrow at all. Some of us erroneous
believe that sorrow is a sign of weakness, and we become uncomfortable with
ourselves when it threatens to unbalance our well-ordered lives.
I once
counseled a woman, (who considered herself to be a serious student of the Bible),
that God says you aren’t supposed to be angry. (She was struggling with anger
at the time and the more she tried to release it, and chastised herself for
being angry, the worse her anger seemed to get.)
But the
Bible doesn’t confirm what she adamantly believed. What it says is: “Do not sin
in your anger.” There’s a big difference there. It tells us that we must not
allow our anger to drive us to vengeance or sinful action. It doesn’t say we
will not, or should not, ever have those feelings. How we let them rule our
thought processes and behavior is the concern.
It is the
same with sorrow. Sorrow is a normal part of living in a fallen world. The
depth of our loss and anguish causes us to suffer.
So how do
we, as grieving mothers or fathers, combine sorrow with hope?
One
important thing we can do is remind ourselves where our babies now are.
While their
tiny bodies may lie sleeping in a burial plot, or their ashes lie confined to a
memorial urn, their spirits, I believe, are enjoying the peace and joy of
heaven.
It’s
obvious from Jesus’ behavior toward children that He had, and still holds, a tender
heart toward them. He gave them His full attention when on Earth, and He soundly
gave a firm dressing down to those who tried to keep the children from Him.
From that
example, I think we can safely assume that He probably affords them a special
attention and place in heaven.
How
wonderful to know that the Creator of the Universe, the One who knit your baby
together in your womb and knows him intimately, is still keeping a loving,
watchful eye on him for you.
I know what
you might be thinking: “But I wanted
to be the watchful one!”
I know just
how you feel. The pain is nearly unbearable when you receive the answer “No” from
the Lord, and He takes your baby home. We don’t like to hear “No.” We rebel against
the answer, against not having things go our way.
Yet, after
He does take your child, you can be assured that God’s comfort is ready for the
asking. His presence is vital to your recovery and hope. And His words will
give you the life you need to grieve, and then emerge from to live again. Seek
out His comfort. Spend inordinate amounts of time in His presence, just the two
of you together, talking, weeping, listening, crying out in anger and fear.
He’s the most trusted, tender friend you’ll ever have. Saturate yourself in His
soothing, hopeful words. Scripture is loaded with them. He constantly reminds
us in His gigantic love letter that He will never leave or forsake those who
belong to Him. Even when your world lies shattered around you, and God seems to
have taken an extended trip to the outer galaxies and left you hanging alone in
your suffering, you can remind yourself that He is with you, He cares, and He
will get you through this. Repeating those truths to your brain will help your
heart believe and take refuge in them. Often we don’t feel those closest to us
because we don’t want to, we’re keeping them at arm’s length; or because we’re
so self-absorbed, the protective cocoon we’ve wrapped ourselves in doesn’t
allow anyone else entrance.
And how do
I know that Jesus cares and will weep with you? Because he wept while He was on
Earth. On one occasion, it was when he attended his friend Lazarus’s grave.
Even though He fully intended to fully restore His dead friend to life, He took
one look at Lazarus’s tomb, and cried. It’s the shortest verse in the Bible:
“Jesus wept” (John 11:35).
Jesus wants
to fully engage with you in your sorrow. He wants to feel your pain. Jesus
understands us because He took on our humanity and suffered what humanity
suffers. He knows you and knows exactly what you need.
It is
through the death of your child that Jesus can draw you nearer to Him and that
eternal hope He offers. At some point in the grieving process, we need
to stop asking the question “Why?” and start asking the question, “What now,
Lord?”
There is a
great story of a custom that illustrates how He can offer eternal hope and move you forward to the "What now?"
In the
summertime in the Alps, when the valley grasses wither and no longer provide
nourishment for the grazing sheep, the shepherd turns his face upward, toward
the rich, green grasses found higher in the mountains. But the pathway there is
rocky, windblown and laden with thorns. As you can imagine, it’s not the kind
of path sheep are eager to follow the shepherd on. Often, they will refuse to
follow the shepherd and turn on their little cloven hooves and make a beeline
back to the familiar, “safe” valley. After repeated attempts to get the
frightened, untrusting sheep to follow, the shepherd plucks a little lamb from
the flock and tucks it under one arm. Then he repeats the process with another
lamb and tucks it under his other arm. Then he turns his face toward the high
country and starts out again on the craggy, arduous path. Can you guess what
happens?
The mothers
of those two sheep can’t stand it. With their eyes plastered on their babies,
they follow after the shepherd, undoubtedly now oblivious to the once-feared
obstacles and dangers in front of them. They probably keep their eyes glued to
their lambs, their ears pricked with the constant bleating emanating from each
of them. And the remainder of the sheep, being the habitual followers sheep
are, turn and head up the hill after the shepherd and mothers. The shepherd leads
them up the path to more comfortable, life-giving pastures.
Sounds like
the shepherd knew how to get their attention.
It’s
definitely how He got mine.
As Dr.
McGee so beautifully put it in his booklet Death
of a Little Child: “The Great Shepherd of the sheep, the Lord Jesus Christ,
our Saviour, has reached into the flock and He has picked up your lamb. He did
not do it to rob you, but to lead you out and upward. He has richer and greener
pastures for you, and He wants you to follow.”
You can
keep your eyes turned upward, toward the Shepherd, who guides and comforts. The
Shepherd who provides everything you need, if you let Him.
So keep
your eyes turned toward heaven. Let the Shepherd lead you. Let hope flourish in
your heart. Unravel the cocoon and let Him in. And rejoice, for to such belongs
the kingdom of heaven, and your baby lies safe within His loving arms.
If you
follow the Shepherd, you will see your precious little one again someday.
Knowing and
reminding yourself of that is when you can truly sorrow with hope and not
flounder without it!
I’d like to
leave you with a couple of poems. Clearly, these two writers knew suffering, and their Savior.
Where
High the Heavenly Temple Stands
Where high the heavenly
temple stands,
The house of God not made
with hands,
A great high priest our
nature wears,
The guardian of mankind
appears.
He who for men their
surety stood,
And poured on earth His
precious blood,
Pursues in Heaven His
mighty plan,
The
Savior and the friend of man.
Though now ascended up on
high,
He bends on earth a
brother’s eye;
Partaker of the human
name,
He knows the frailty of
our frame.
Our fellow sufferer yet
retains
A fellow feeling of our
pains:
And still remembers in
the skies
His
tears, His agonies, and cries.
In every pang that rends
the heart,
The Man of Sorrows had a
part,
He sympathizes with our
grief,
And to the sufferer sends
relief.
With boldness, therefore,
at the throne,
Let us make all our
sorrows known;
And ask the aids of
heavenly power
To
help us in the evil hour.
~
Michael Bruce
Scottish Paraphrases,
1781
And
then there is this poem written by Martha Snell Nicholson, a bedridden invalid who suffered from four incurable
diseases. She struggled with pain for over 35 years. After being an
invalid for many years, her loving husband, who she depended on, died
suddenly. Through all her pain and suffering came some of the finest Christian
poetry ever written. May you be blessed by reading her spiritually rich
and heartfelt poetry that exalts Jesus, her Savior.
There is a new lamb cradled on Thy breast
tonight,
A sweet small lamb, so lately mine
I
scarce can keep my arms from reaching out
As
though to snatch her back from Thine.
These
arms of mine are wonted so to her, dear
Lord,
They
curled about her little form
So
sweetly, and from dawn of time my breast
was
meant
To
be her pillow, soft and warm.
What
does one do with aching arms and empty
hours,
With
silent rooms, and dragging days?
The
things I knew before will not avail me now—
Teach
me new lessons and new ways.
Take
Thou, I pray, these idle folded hands of
mine
Which
can no longer busied be
With
dear, familiar tasks for her…. In mercy,
Lord,
Fill
hands and heart with tasks for Thee!
Until next week,
Thanks for joining me!
Blessings,
Andrea
To read more of Martha Snell Nicholson’s poetry, go
to:
http://www.cavaliersonly.com/poetry_by_christian_poets_of_the_past/poetry_by_martha_snell_nicholson
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