Staring at the wall, my physical body writhing in pain, I asked the question that had been on my heart to an empty room. “God, where are You?” Just a few days prior, I had given birth to our son. The child we never planned on, as pregnancy itself was deemed too risky for my body, delivered far too early during a surgery that would save my life but not my child’s, and that would end all possibility of future pregnancies. I’d spent my life asking God hard questions, but this was, by far, the hardest. Why give me a much longed for child only for him not to stay? Where was God in the barren wilderness of my pain? I remember that day so vividly, because as I was crying out I heard the voice of God. Despite growing up in the church, I’d never heard God as audibly and clearly as I did in that moment. It was as though, in my darkness, I could feel a soft hand reach out and touch my empty womb. It was loving, soft and almost maternal - attributes I’d never connected with God before until this very moment. “Me too. I gave up My Son too.” The grief and loss I felt threatened to tear me apart, and it also provided me with a unique insight into the being of God. How the entire world went dark and the curtain was torn, because God grieved. The very heart of God broke in the same way my heart was breaking at that moment. That encounter with God didn’t make losing my son ok, and it didn’t provide sudden clarity into the situation, nor did He provide answers as to why this had to happen to me or what I was to do following that painful moment in my life. But it did usher me into the presence of a God who met me in my pain. It felt safe to come with my questions, my cries, and my doubts because I knew I had a God who understood and saw my pain. The death of Jesus isn’t just a stepping stone to the resurrection. It’s a divine invitation to come close to a God who is familiar with pain, loss, and suffering. My son would have been 3 this year. I still grieve the absence of him every single day. I still feel that sting of loss, still fresh. I still have questions. But God met me in the deepest way that I never knew I needed. I understand the gospel in a more tangible way because of a little boy named Paris and the immense gift of being his mama.
[Original Post Date: April 25, 2021]
Staring at the wall, my physical body writhing in pain, I asked the question that had been on my heart to an empty room. “God, where are You?”
Just a few days prior, I had given birth to our son. The child we never planned on, as pregnancy itself was deemed too risky for my body, delivered far too early during a surgery that would save my life but not my child’s, and that would end all possibility of future pregnancies.
I’d spent my life asking God hard questions, but this was, by far, the hardest. Why give me a much longed for child only for him not to stay? Where was God in the barren wilderness of my pain? I remember that day so vividly, because as I was crying out I heard the voice of God. Despite growing up in the church, I’d never heard God as audibly and clearly as I did in that moment. It was as though, in my darkness, I could feel a soft hand reach out and touch my empty womb. It was loving, soft and almost maternal - attributes I’d never connected with God before until this very moment.
“Me too. I gave up My Son too.”
The grief and loss I felt threatened to tear me apart, and it also provided me with a unique insight into the being of God. How the entire world went dark and the curtain was torn, because God grieved. The very heart of God broke in the same way my heart was breaking at that moment.
That encounter with God didn’t make losing my son ok, and it didn’t provide sudden clarity into the situation, nor did He provide answers as to why this had to happen to me or what I was to do following that painful moment in my life. But it did usher me into the presence of a God who met me in my pain. It felt safe to come with my questions, my cries, and my doubts because I knew I had a God who understood and saw my pain.
The death of Jesus isn’t just a stepping stone to the resurrection. It’s a divine invitation to come close to a God who is familiar with pain, loss, and suffering.
My son would have been 3 this year. I still grieve the absence of him every single day. I still feel that sting of loss, still fresh. I still have questions. But God met me in the deepest way that I never knew I needed. I understand the gospel in a more tangible way because of a little boy named Paris and the immense gift of being his mama.
