Sometimes, life is tough.  Sometimes, it's worse. 

It's been five months since I've seen my girls...since I've hugged them, stroked their hair or whispered in their ear that I love them.  I miss them so horribly.  And tonight, a little boy named Eliot, who went home to the Lord as I was (unknowingly) enjoying my last few days with my girls, has encouraged me deeply.  Thank You Lord for Eliot's life.

It seems we Christian-types want to jump to the end. That is, when something is difficult, I often will throw around verses detailing how “all things work together for good” and how the Lord is sovereign- all of this in some attempt to make things, somehow better or at least bearable.

Now, this is often because I, like others, do not typically know what to say to people who are dealing with things that rip their heart out. Gut-wrenching things. Difficult situations that I cannot explain. Times that I know make them question why God, if He is all-powerful, is allowing these things to happen.

I feel somehow afraid to acknowledge that- well, for lack of better words- that it sucks. That what they’re going through is really hard and I cannot imagine their pain. For some reason, that acknowledgement seems almost like giving up on God. Kind of like I am letting down the entire faith if I don’t point out that through God it will all be fine.

Despite my own fears, I have found my favorite reactions to all that has gone on, from my best friends. Upon finding out that our firstborn son was sick with a disease, for which there was no cure- one by one, they came up to me or called me and basically said…I am so sorry. I do not know what to say. This is hard and I hate it.

To our friends who so reacted, I say thank you. I know many of them must have felt the same pressures I do when faced with a difficult situation in the life of another. But they saw the fallacy of that temptation; they journeyed to the depths with us instead of telling us that life would return to the high ground.

You see, Jesus wept. If anyone was in the position to know that everything was going to be all right, it was him. He was going to save the day. Resurrect the dead. It was all going to be better. But Jesus wept. I think He wept for his friends who had been through the death of their brother. He wept over death, over heartache.

Awareness that all will eventually be set right does not require acting that such is now.

I went to the hospital where Eliot was born the other day....I went, not to be sad, but to remember. I thought that if I could just remember what it was like on that day, then my sadness would begin to turn into something else...gratefulness, joy, hope. I wanted to remember hanging so desperately onto Christ for strength that I could barely breathe. I wanted to remember the unknowns...Boy or girl?...Life or death? I wanted to remember the joy of that cry- because that cry meant that he was alive, that cry meant time- and I hoped, with all that I had, for time with this child I carried. I wanted to remember what it was like to stay up all night holding him that first night because we had no idea how long we would have with him. I wanted to remember, and I did...

...99 beautiful days of relentlessly loving a sweet, sweet little boy named Eliot...99 days that I wish I could remember better. He has been gone for 3 months now, and my sadness & my missing him so badly makes everything, the wonder of his life, so hazy. It makes the joy of that day & of the 98 days that followed hazy; God...gave me a glimpse of His glory. I wait for more glimpses that will eventually turn into long stares at the glory of God through a little boy’s life. I know glory lives there. On day 99 I saw Eliot breathe his last breath. I was there, and despite the despair, I remembered on my visit back to the hospital that I also saw him breathe his first.

"the Lord gives & the Lord takes away. blessed be the name of the Lord" Job 1:21

I am marveling in God's glory, and the pure power and majesty of His might is so evident.  I know without any doubt that God is in control.  My tears represent hope.  Hope with all that I have for time with these children I carried. 

Pray for us this week, especially this Friday, when major decisions affecting my children's future will be decided.  And thank you to all who have mourned with me when I mourned.  This would have been so much more difficult without you.