How to Sorrow With Hope

            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

Grief: What's Normal?

           What is normal grief, or normal grieving? What does it look like to you? Can you define it? Can you tell when someone is grieving normally or isn’t going through the standard stages?

            In this post, we’ll return one last time to the Second Samuel story of the death of King David’s baby. I’ll start with the verses leading up to the ones I want to cover today. And we’ll look at normal grieve, along with other important truths.

           

            “When David saw this his servants were whispering, David perceived that the child was dead. Then David said to his servants, ‘Is the child dead?’”

           

            “And they said, ‘He is dead.’”

           

            So David arose from the ground, and washed and anointed himself, and changed his clothes, and went into the house of the LORD and worshiped. Then he went to his own house; and when he requested, they set food before him, and he ate. Then his servants said to him, ‘What is this that you have done? You fasted and wept for the child while he was alive, but when the child died, you arose and ate food.’

           

            “And he said, ‘While the child was alive, I fasted and wept; for I said, ‘Who can tell whether the LORD will be gracious to me, that the child may live?’ But now he is dead; why should I fast? Can I bring him back again? I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me.”

           

            We’ll enter the scene today where David’s servants voice their shock at David’s behavior: the fact that after the child died, he arose, cleaned, worshiped and ate. In other words, David intentionally returned to life and acted “normally.”           

           

            But his servants evidently didn’t think there was anything normal about David’s action, considering what had just happened to his baby. They must have thought he should have thrown himself into deeper mourning. They don’t understand it, and they pointedly confront him about his behavior.

           

            The first takeaway from this section of the passage is: Don’t let anyone around you tell you what “normal” should look like when you’re in the grieving process. You are going to grieve the way you are going to grieve. In spite of psychologists setting forth tidy, common stages of grief, that doesn’t mean that you, personally, will experience all or any of them. And it doesn’t mean your grieving spouse or other family members will grieve in the identical way you do. And it doesn’t mean that if you’ve experienced the same type of loss that someone else has, that you know exactly what he or she is going through. As a speaker told the audience at a recent conference I attended, “I know you’ve lost your momma, too, and you tell me you know how I feel. But don’t tell me you know how I feel, because you don’t know how I fee. That was my momma I lost; this is my momma we’re talking about.”

           

            Resist letting others set grieving standards for you; and you must avoid setting grieving standards for someone else. While we are called to weep with those who weep, we are not called to “fix” or keep tabs on, or direct people through the grieving process, to make sure they hit all of the stages, work through them, and come out whole on the other side in a set period of time.

           

            And don’t assume that if a person quickly returns to life after a loss that they did not grieve sufficiently or grieve well, or love deeply. And while David graciously explained his reasons (which end up being for our benefit), do not feel compelled to explain yours.

           

            The second point is to realize that, under the circumstances, you did your best. David prayed and wept, on the chance that God might be gracious and spare his son’s life. He knew he’d done all he could, and God’s answer was “No.” David faced that answer and accepted it.

           

            What so many parents are tempted to do, though, is to chastise themselves (for years, even) for not having done something more on behalf of their child. They may be haunted by a fear that they did something wrong, something that caused the death of their baby. They “just know” that if things went differently, that the death could have been averted.

           

            When we think that way, we neglect to acknowledge God’s providence in the outcome. While our fears and nagging thoughts may have some truth to them, replaying them in our minds, and in our stories, and in our hearts won’t bring our babies back. It won’t change the past. Thinking that way only saps us of our energy for living in the present, and it often robs us of the love we can give others, or the love others can give us. We do not need to go through penance. We’ll never feel better if that’s how we approach it.

           

            As Dr. J. Vernon McGee wrote in his booklet, Death of a Little Child: “Humanely speaking, you did the best you could. You are not as wise nor as strong as God. You did what you could, and you must lave the results to Him. Do not reproach yourself for negligence or ignorance. Regardless of what you had done, you are still a fallible and feeble creature. You did the best you could."

           

            David did all that he could at the time; and he never gave up hope, until the end was proclaimed.

           

            But then his hope really still didn’t die, did it?

           

            As we see in the last line, and which I have talked about before, David maintained hope. A blessed hope. One built on the promises of God: the knowledge and belief that his precious baby was at home in heaven and waiting for David to come to him.

           

            As he pointed out: “I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me.”

           

            He knew, and firmly believed in, the end of the story. The happy ending. And there is a happy ending. In spite of all of your anguish, you can be assured of a happy ending.

           

            And it’s this point that I will explore next week. Knowing you will see your little one some day, and grieving as someone who has hope. You will know the joy that David alluded to: Even though your child has gone on ahead of you, and will not return to you in this time, you will one day go to your child and be reunited with her!

Until next week,

Thanks for joining me!

Blessings,

Andrea

Grief: What's Your First Focus?

             In this post, we’ll return once again to the account of King David and the death of his child found in Second Samuel 12:15-23 (NKJV). Today, we’ll look specifically at this section:

            “When David saw that his servants were whispering, David perceived that the child was dead. Then David said to his servants, ‘Is the child dead?’ 

           

            “And they said, ‘He is dead.’

           

            “So David arose from the ground, washed and anointed himself, and changed his clothes; and he went into the house of the LORD and worshiped. Than he went to his own house; and when requested, they set food before him, and he ate.

            This section tells us that when the seventh day arrived, and the baby died, David received the news by picking himself up from the ground, cleansing and anointing (smearing with oil) himself, and putting on clean clothes. Then he went into the house of the LORD and worshiped.

           

            And then he went home and had a meal.

            At first glance, what David did seemed unbelievable. It almost seems…heartless.

           

            But I can relate.

           

            For the four days I lay in that hospital bed tethered to medical contraptions, torso tilted south and legs elevated north twenty degrees, I think I did just about anything I could do to save my unborn baby. I know I didn’t pray with the intensity David did; I didn’t know God well enough twenty-one years ago to do that. But I “fought” right up until the end. And when two doctors and my husband called a halt to the fight (which ended up saving my life), I knew there was nothing more to be done.

           

            And—at that moment—I relinquished the outcome to God.

           

            It’s amazing how God often prepares hearts.

           

            After I awoke later that morning, hunger pangs suddenly struck. It’s as though it was the first time I’d noticed I was hungry, or maybe my mind and body were finally giving me permission to be so. My nurse blew in and announced I’d be wheeled down the hall to take a shower in the adaptive shower stall. (Tiny hospital.) There was no point in me staying in sackcloth and ashes (or a gamey hospital gown). The world had not come to an end, (although the following day I could have sworn it did, or should have); and I was still part of it, even though I might have rebelled against that.

           

            The following day I was allowed to go for a walk, as long as I held onto the wall railings for support. I patrolled the hospital corridors and found the closet-sized chapel (Remember: tiny hospital). And I sat and worshiped, and thanked, and prayed and glorified God. My heart felt compelled to do it; my soul craved it. I needed to do it to verify that in this painful, tear-filled, unpredictable world, there is Someone who is faithful and constant. And He was waiting for me.

           

            I can relate to David.

           

            David knows who can and will restore Him, and He makes a beeline to Him, all cleaned up. I think it may have also been a powerful sign to the nation that he was ready to get back to the job, and the most important place for him to be before returning to “work” was the temple, praising and worshiping. Priorities.

           

            And the Sunday following Victoria’s death, three days after I’d been released from the hospital, I couldn’t wait to attend church, to worship God with the body of Christ—my family and friends. Despite Chris’s strong reservations against it, I insisted. I was empty, and I needed to be replenished.

           

            What can we take away from David and his behavior?

           

            David knows what it’s like to be forgiven.

           

            David knows what it’s like to lose.

           

            David knows who gives and takes away life.

           

            And David, in effect, like Job, says to us through his behavior, “No matter what happens, blessed be the name of the LORD.”

            The fourth point, given in this particular section? God should be our first thought and focus after our loss. If we are truly living our lives intentionally, it must be so. Cast off our sackcloth. Clean ourselves up. Point our faces in God’s direction and give him all we’ve got. (On a note: David did have seven days—a number meaning completion and perfection in Scripture—prior to his baby’s death; seven days in which to agonize. Many cultures have a formal seven-day grieving process. The take away is, though, that at some point, you must be deliberate about your actions. And, in order to be restored, God must be the first focus, because He's the one who is going to do the restoring.)

           

            Since last week’s post was long and intense, I think covering one point today is sufficient. Next week, we’ll go through points five and six and finish up this passage about how David handles his grief.

            So, until next week,

           

            Thanks, once again, for joining me!

           

            Blessings,

           

            Andrea