Tag / Emotion

by Greg

Loss [Memory Lane]

Each Thursday in August we’ll be taking a trip down Memory Lane! I will be posting some of my favorite stories ever published here, part of celebrating ten years of blogging—August 2003 to August 2013. Some posts are taken from books (like today’s) and others have only been published online thus far. You’ll read stories that are funny, stories that are sad, and several heart-warming moments from the life we’ve lived. If you missed any, you can use the series navigation at the end of this post to read more. I invite you to enjoy these moments from the journey with me, too.

Not all memories are “good” memories. Though, as you’ll see from this account of a very tough day in our lives, tough and good can somehow coexist when our loving Father is present. He makes all things beautiful.

Loss

Loss

November 11th, 2004

“I came naked from my mother’s womb,
and I will be stripped of everything when I die.
The LORD gave me everything I had,
and the LORD has taken it away.
Praise the name of the LORD!”

Those were the first words – words of worship – immediately following Job’s hearing the news that his children had been killed in a horrible accident. And just before that he had lost much of the wealth that God had blessed him with. An amazing reaction to an extraordinary circumstance. His first thought was to worship the God who had given him life, even in the midst of the demise of the life he had known.

There is a song by songwriter Matt Redman called Blessed Be Your Name. It echoes those lines Job spoke so many years ago,

“You give and take away, you give and take away,
my heart will choose to say, Lord blessed be your name!”

Those words reverberated loudly – even confidently – through my head as we learned that the child we had been eagerly preparing a space for in our family, had stopped developing inside mom’s womb.

“You give and take away… You give and take away…
My heart will choose to say… Lord, blessed be Your name.”

The first moments were just hard. Shocking. Deep sadness. Life hoped for, now lost. And this was not the first time we faced this.

About one week into our tour, there was such a shocking occurence that we thought we had lost the baby. That was on our anniversary. Not the way we wanted to end the day. The drive to the hospital was a little over an hour. Of silence. Of doubting. Of wondering. Of self-pummeling. I felt completely culpable for the loss of this baby’s life. Our lifestyle, my missed chances at reminding Jen to rest, my busyness keeping me from helping Jen with the three kids on the outside. All things were pointing to me being the reason we had lost the baby.

But God was beyond gracious.

When we arrived at the hospital, we were greeted by a friendly nurse who was fairly convinced that the baby was doing just fine. The doctor who followed happened to be at the church we had led in worship the morning prior, and he echoed those sentiments, but they needed to do an ultrasound to make sure.

My heart skipped a beat or two in astonished joy. My soul gasped for air! I can’t describe the feeling of life from death. How the Father must have felt when his son was given breath again! Even knowing the plan ahead of time, his heart must have exploded with joy knowing that not only his son, but all of us who trust in him were given back to him that day!

We went from that place, with images of a dancing baby in our head, and the hope that through a rough 6 or 7 months ahead we would emerge with a miracle baby from God.

“You give and take away…”

Yesterday, following the weekend of God giving wildly to us through his people, we experienced the pain of loss again.

Jen had been experiencing signs of trouble again (we thought) and so we went to the doctor, who put the monitor on Jen’s belly to listen for the heart beat. After about 10 awkward seconds, she said, “Sometimes it’s difficult to find the heartbeat with that machine.”

That had not been our experience, and so we were already thinking the worst.

She turned on the ultrasound equipment, and we began looking at the baby inside. It had grown since the first time, but it was lifeless. No movement. No heartbeat. No life.

No words were said for a time, until the doctor broke the silence, “I’m afraid I have some very bad news…”

My heart sank. It was quite final. The baby was gone. Again.

But this time, the words to that song kept replaying in my head. “You give and take away… my heart will choose to say, Lord, blessed be your name…”

And I meant it. Though I was not necessarily comforted by it just yet.

We discussed the next steps and headed out to the van to go home. The song continued in my head.

When we got to the van, we just sat there in silence. We were both attempting to understand what was happening. To process it. Why would God want to give us a baby for 12 weeks, and then take it home?

There were tears. There was silence. We prayed together. We talked. But the most amazing thing was happening inside my head and heart.

Instead of sadness, there was supreme confidence in God’s love for me. More than just confidence, there was palpable reality. Almost like his hands on my shoulders.

And the song would not leave.

I knew the scripture was from Job, so I looked it up on the computer we had brought with us.

The first thing that stuck out to me was in the NIV translation: “Job got up, tore his robe and shaved his head, then he fell to the group in worship.” His first response was a brief moment of agony and mourning, and then he worshipped. Instead of blaming God for letting this happen, he was compelled to worship him.

That’s where I lost it.

I was too! That’s what I had been feeling the whole time in silence. Strong images and feelings of God’s love and provision for me, for us, were present in my head. I was not conciously thinking of them… they were just there. I was not dwelling on the loss, but rather on things gained from the Giver of all good things.

And that’s exactly what Job experienced.

God’s bigness, his caring, his inividual attention to my life, his unfathomable love — all of that had never been so near to me, so palpable, so REAL.

Words do not do the experience justice, but I really wanted to try. I was astounded by the love God has for, and was showing to ME. I was crying, not out of sadness at our loss as much as out of overwhelming joy and gladness at my Father who loves me.

In a moment, literally less than a second, God also gave me a strong series of images that reminded me of his goodness.

There were three sets of two images. First was the hopsital back in Arkansas. Image one was the deep sadness of losing the baby, and image two was the unspeakable joy of getting that life back! Second was from the weekend just past, where image one was the empty bank account and actually having zero cash being 3000 miles from home with many big bills to pay, and me asking God in a parking lot, “God, what are you going to do??”. The second image connected to that was of the generosity of our Father through his people this weekend, we were given nearly $2000 by people and places that wouldn’t normally be a source of such abundance. The third image was our present circumstance, the final loss of our baby, and attached to that image was a future provision from God that would blow us away with greatness as much as this loss had brought us low.

I had a very specific image, but as I am not claiming to be a prophet, I will guard that image in my heart and will let you know if that does indeed come to fruition. I don’t think God gave me those images for you… but I KNOW he gave them for me.

In less than a second, all of that imagery of God’s attention to our lives came into focus, and I was full-on reminded of his incredible provision and love.

And again, I was brought to tears… not of sadness, but pure, unthinkable joy!

Our God is so good. So, so good.

We are sad, and still dealing with loss. Loss costs us. We won’t know this member of our family until heaven. I see images of families with kids, or even our kids, and I miss the face of the baby we lost. We are definitely hurting.

But there is over all of that, a far greater peace and hope. God made me SO aware of his presence and love in my life today, right now. He is so good that way. And I am not alone in that experience. Which makes it even cooler. Friends today have shared a similar experience, and I believe the reason Job reacted when he did was that God was as overwhelmingly present for him that day as he was for me. And Jobs loss exceeds mine by such a volume as I can’t imagine.

He is so good. Today, yesterday, forever.

The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away. Praise the name of the Lord.

by Greg

To Write

I need to write.

And yet, I let my days go by without intentionally making that happen.

I have myriad reasons for it. Some practical, some less so. Quite often, I might just actually not have a moment long enough to flesh out these thoughts within me between all of the other things and people I am responsible for. Other times my heart is too burdened by the events of the day—and/or the current season of life—to allow the gates to be opened and the contents to spill forth upon paper; or, keyboard and data storage device, as it were.

But somehow when I take the time to pour forth my inner being through words chosen, crafted, formed in my mind and heart… somehow by that action my spirit is buoyed. My heart feels lighter, freer. It is because I am somehow made to be this way. Not just made to do this, but deeper. More true to me, as God fashioned me.

That’s not to say that I am somehow a great wordsmith or have honed any of this “way of being” into a craft or trade (or anything like it). My writing has at times inspired, encouraged, uplifted, even challenged other souls who may come across it, but in their essence, the times I take to write are meant for me. As I work out the thoughts that are nearly constantly “on” in my head, God speaks to my inner being and teaches me as the words form on the screen in front of my eyes.

It’s really quite humbling. Astonishing. Invigorating.

Again, this is more for me—likely—than for you, the reader.

I am also glad you are here, though. Because, even if your eyes should never come across this page… I write to you. I speak to you who listen intently. Who ponder these thoughts with me. Who allow all prejudices and biases and other cages we make for thoughts and realities and possibilities to be absent from this place; you allow your mind to wander with me down ways perhaps less (or even never) trodden.

It’s good to have company. It’s good to not be alone.

I must say, that I find God is recently stripping away façades that I myself have placed on others around me. Not anything of their own doing. Really and truly these are of my own making. It springs from my eternal optimism. (A friend once referred to it as PermaJube. I think he may have referred to me as PermaJube…) I always think the best of everyone, to the point of forgetting that we are all fallen, all broken. And so I hold people to higher standards than they can possibly achieve—unwittingly—until some event, direct or indirect, shows me that they are just as broken, weak, fragile, and needy as me.

And that leaves me feeling alone. Because, even in my brokenness, I know that I am redeemed. I am restored, healed, I have hope. And for the most part, I live that hope. What I’m seeing around me (I believe by God’s great grace given to me) is that so many of us don’t live in that. I’m sure that even though I feel that I am living that way, Jesus will reveal to me more and more deeply the ways that I can live in the fullness of life that is him. But somehow, in this season, I am seeing the frailty of even the people I most cherish and respect.

And again I am alone.

Just Jesus remains. Just he and I, navigating this path of brokenness. He, and I, and words. Words which meagerly attempt to capture the essence of these spiritual realities that my consciousness (and my unconsciousness?) merely grazes the outer edge of a much deeper, greater sea of truth that I can never really know.

But he does. He is that Truth. That Life. That Reality.

I’m so glad I have him. And that he has me. That’s even better.

And so I write. And by writing, by giving “voice” to these thoughts in my head, he reminds me of truth. Of him. I breathe hope. I exhale grief, weight, burden. I breathe him.

I am not alone.

I’m glad you’re here, too. I know you are frail and weak like me. I know we do have days when we feel more sure-footed, but I also know we look in the heart mirror at times and see the full blackness of us. But we have hope. We are loved. Even then. At our worst (or at what we think is our best)… we are loved.

You are. And I am. And we are not alone. We have hope.

And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate, who will never leave you. —John 14:16

And, since we have hope, we ought to live in the light. We can be free to be whom God made us to be. So I will write. I will. I must. And whatever it is that God has made you to be, be that.

For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago. —Ephesians 2:10

Be you. As I am able to live in hope and light and freedom, I will endeavor to also be “me”. Thankfully, it’s not just me, but Christ in me.

It’s much better that way. As it was meant to be.

by Greg

Disappointment

Everywhere I turn these days it seems I am dealing with disappointment. Failure. Unachieved goals, unmet expectations. Nothing is going the way it is supposed to, or like it used to…

One disappointment after another.

And I’m not just talking about being let down by other people. In fact, I think the disappointments that affect me the most are those that are perpetrated by me.

It’s most disappointing of all when you let yourself down.

And I think our Enemy knows that. I think he uses that. The forces of failure, and guilt, and inability to accomplish something you feel is within your power to do… all keep you down and out. And even can lead to deeper self doubt that leads to hopelessness, apathy, and even just throwing in the towel.

A final word: Be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. Put on all of God’s armor so that you will be able to stand firm against all strategies of the devil. For we are not fighting against flesh-and-blood enemies, but against evil rulers and authorities of the unseen world, against mighty powers in this dark world, and against evil spirits in the heavenly places.
Ephesians 6:10-12

I’m not throwing in the towel. I’m not even feeling hopeless. But I’m tired of being beat down.

You’re blessed when you’re at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule.
Matthew 5:3 MSG

I know. I know.

But right now, I’m just tired.

The beat down slowly erodes at my internal understanding of my friendship with God, of my worth (which he places on me) and then it depletes all of the reservoir of grace and other Spirit fruits whose abundance I can usually share with the people around me; starting with my family.

But when the cycle of disappointment takes too strong a foothold (and when I forget Who can break it) then there is a tipping point that is reached, and disappointment turns into despair.

I don’t want to go there.

I won’t go there.

These thoughts, and putting on my armor, and tapping into God’s living water and bread of life are definitely needed; they are foundational. But unfortunately, there are also consequences to action and inaction, no matter what the cause. (My fault, or some scheme of the devil against me and my household.)

So tonight, after posting my thoughts for the day (at 11:59!) 🙂 … sleep will come later as I must tend to some tasks that will put food on our table. There’s still that.

Thankfully I have not neglected things that are more important than food. I think that will have a more lasting impact than keeping bellies full. But, there’s still that.

And so… we press on.

We are pressed on every side by troubles, but we are not crushed. We are perplexed, but not driven to despair.
2 Corinthians 4:8

by Greg

Letters To God

The reviews of Letters To God are either glowing, or not kind. And, I can see where most of them are coming from.

In some ways this movie was pretty hokey. Some of the acting was bad. Some of the story was a tad unbelievable. Some of the “Christian” part seemed a bit too forced.

But I’ve seen some bad Christian movies. (There’s one with Mr. T in it, that is really only watchable because it’s funny to see and hear Mr. T say he needs to get his guns to go take down the “Antichrist”…) And, don’t forget the Left Behind movies…

But somehow this one was just different.

Cheesy, yes. Hokey, yes. Christian, yes. But there was not a dry eye in our living room. All seven of us, down to even three-year-old Emma connected with the emotional messages in this movie. And we loved it.

First, the “Christian” part was fairly authentic, and not “churchy”. (Meaning, a major portion of the film was not set inside a church building, or at church functions. Those moments were rare in this movie.) The story unfolds in the setting of “real life”. I think the movie makers wanted to keep this film accessible to the widest age range possible, so some of the more “real” stuff is toned down a bit (which leads some reviewers to say it’s less “real”) but there were good discussions on many parts of the movie amongst the three decades of ages covered by our family in the room that night. (Ages 3, 5, 7, 10, 13, and 37!)

Without giving the ending away (though, since it’s based on a true story, you already know “the ending” going into the movie…) the very real, very authentic, deep trust that an 8-year-old boy lives daily in his God is so infectious that an entire town (it seems) is affected, even changed.

The best part for me was that everything this boy (sick from cancer and the treatments he underwent to try to cure it) was only focused on other people. On top of his sickness, his Dad had died not long before he got sick! And still he only thought of his brother, his Mom, his best friend, his neighbors, the new mailman (who has a world of his own hurt) …

Do you remember that I recently was talking with our teenager about what (generally) distinguishes heroes from villains? Well that clearly stood out in this movie again, too (though there weren’t really many “villains”). The clear hero of this story is Tyler, the boy who could so easily not care one bit about anyone else. He only thinks about everyone else.

It’s because his focus is on God, and not on himself, good or bad.

We really do recommend this movie. If you just hate anything that might present life with Jesus as a reality or a real possibility, then you probably won’t much like this video. But, if you love feel-good, family-friendly, make-you-cry, “heart-warming” stories that spawn multiple further discussions…

Letters To God is for you, too.

by Greg

And Life Moves On

Yesterday was full. I had a ton of work to do, I had bills to manage (and even more I needed to figure out how to manage), I had plans to attend to, people to meet up with, and even books I was trying to read.

My list of things to do was long, and the crossing off of some items seemed unequally balanced with the adding of others.

There wasn’t really a frantic pace to the day, just classic multi-tasking. A little of this, a little of that. Spinning several plates at once.

Around noon I decided to take a brisk walk to the bank—just around the corner from our house—to make a deposit to our account. I quickly put on my shoes and coat and headed out the door.

The flashing lights were the first thing I saw.

At the end of the road, at the main intersection in town, I saw the familiar red and blue cycling lights of a police car. As I studied the scene I noted that the car was “parked” at a 45º angle in the center of the intersection, but there did not appear to be any other vehicles out of place; just a line east and west, and a line to the south. Odd… I thought, and continued to assess the situation as my steady stride brought me closer.

Then I saw that a line of cars from the north were all turning to the east. Included in this stream of vehicles were a few more police cars with their lights also flashing. (But no sirens to be heard.)

A funeral… I realized, And apparently for someone in some sort of service due to the number of police cars involved.

Around the corner, heading the same direction as the train of vehicles before me, I spotted an enormous flag flying directly over the center of Main St. It was suspended over the road by four ladder trucks. Four trucks… from four different towns… Who was this guy?

I proceeded to my destination, and completed my transaction using the automated teller machine. Knowing that we live in a small town, I guessed that the tellers inside would know what was going on this day, so I entered the bank to find out.

“The funeral for Mike Murphy,” I was told. “Mike Murphy?” I asked, not sure why they said his name as though I should have known him.

“Murphy’s funeral home?” one teller clarified, “He was only 41 years old…”

We all took a moment then to reflect on the obvious sadness of this day for those that knew him. I’m not sure if any of the three ladies in the bank knew him personally, or his family, but regardless, we all knew it was indeed a sad day.

It struck me as I walked back past the fire trucks, now lowering their ladders and removing the flag that had honored the premature passing of this man only a few years older than I am, that this day was going so differently for them than it was for me. I thought of his family. I thought of my family. I thought of me.

I thought of what I’d been doing this day, and how important it seemed—maybe you can even still say that it is important, on some level—and how irrelevant such things are to his family and close friends today.

It fascinated me how life just moves on.

While they hurt, and grieve, and wonder, and ache, and just process the events of the past week… others—like me—are nearly oblivious, dutifully carrying on with the mundane tasks of daily life.

Life just moves on.

It’s surprising to me the flippancy and depth that those words carry simultaneously. On one hand, it seems as though there is little thought given to the untimely death of a fellow human being; a neighbor. On the other hand, the reality of the relentless procession of time is incredibly obvious as the world continues its endless motion around these people who are mourning.

Oblivious. Ignorant. Uncaring. Unaware.

The questions of the hurting, unheard by the rest who are likely dealing with their own individual hurts, or at best, enjoying a momentary respite from the cruelty of this broken world.

If that were the end—a brief, insignificant, mostly unnoticed moment to recognize a life created in God’s image… that would be pretty sad. Meaningless.

The amazing truth is, we are not unnoticed. (At least, not by the circles of people God has placed us within.) We have great impact upon the people we walk next to—not necessarily measuring by the standards of this world. Our family, our close friends, even mere acquaintances. Even if we only have one passing interaction with someone. We can have an impact.

Mike even touched my life today—though I never knew him. A moment I only noticed by coincidental timing caused me to reflect on the daily doings of my life; our lives.

We are not insignificant. Quite the opposite. Our lives have purpose, meaning.

And we are not without hope. Though each of us has a terminal disease from birth, we can live each day we get to its fullest when we recognize and find our life in Life’s Creator. I don’t know if Mr. Murphy lived that way or not, since I never met him. But you and I can.

And I hope you do.

That… is not insignificant.

by Greg

[From The Archive] Feeling Loved, And Lovable

Highlighting Articles from the GregsHead.net Archives!This week’s trip into the Archive will be much shorter than last week’s (sorry about the link overload with that one!) Maybe because there’s been so much to read here lately that I want to give you a break…

But probably more because the content of this previously-posted article is beautiful in its simplicity.

I’m not talking about my words, or any idea I’ve had. It’s the core of the message Jesus spoke. We are loved.

Better yet, we are love-able. Worth loving.

And he does. With great pleasure.

Enjoy your visit to the Archive. May it encourage you again. And again.

You are worth it.

Feeling Loved, And Lovable
[link]

by Greg

Hugs

Alex Campbell

I am a hugger. It’s one of the main ways I express love, especially to my kids. (I think it has rubbed off on them, too, as I must get a hundred hugs a day! I love it! And I always welcome it, even if I don’t feel like I have the time.)

One time we definitely don’t miss the chance to give hugs is right before bed. Whether it’s after they are already in their beds and I am about to leave the room, or as they are heading up to get ready for bed, or after we finished reading under the low incandescent light in my office.

We don’t miss the good night hugs!

Tonight as Alex was hugging me good night following another very interesting chapter from the Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R.Tolkein (love his extra initial!) I had a brief realization that this nightly ritual was definitely only for a season. As I patted Alex on the back and got in one more squeeze, I slid back and gently grasped his arms and said, “You know Alex, there will come a time when you are living in your own home, with your own family, where we won’t get to do this hug every night.” (Alex is particularly good at remembering to get the good night hugs in… and sometimes he’s also good at forgetting that he already did get his good night hug in) 🙂

He looked at me and a look of understanding and realization swept quickly across his face. His words followed not too long after, “Yeah,” he admitted, “But… we’ll have sleepovers.”

My heart smiled at the quick remedy that Alex devised for the future reality he hadn’t ever really considered. What do you mean I won’t get to hug my Dad good night every night??

Like most things in life, we easily take such small (but meaningful) things for granted. Until they are gone, or in this case, until we realize we won’t have them forever.

I think Alex continued to elaborate on his plan, mentioning “playing Madden” in there somewhere. 🙂 I was honestly losing myself in my own realizations of that time that will someday come. Thinking of the quietness of the home … and the much fewer hugs.

I did manage to respond that I’m sure we’ll find some ways to get together for some “boys” time. And I’m sure we will.

Thankfully, these few hours later, I’ve also remembered that I do still get nightly hugs. I do have Alex here in my house, every night, and every day. And, if God has numbered my days so, I hope that though I may not have them as readily available, I should be the recipient and giver of many more hugs as time moves forward and this family increases. What a joy that will be, too.

But for now, I will take every chance I get to accept hugs and give hugs to these precious people God has given me. I’m so glad to be their Dad. 🙂

by Greg

No Comparison

I have this friend.

He’s pretty amazing at everything he attempts. He has a lot of the same interests and capabilities, and does a lot of the same work as me, only a lot better. He can build smarter web sites. He can code (well) in several web programming languages. He’s even a handyman kinda guy, who can build just about anything. (Wonder if he uses duct tape?)

There are days I think, “Man, I should just quit right now! My friend can do all this stuff I’m trying to do so much better than me. Sheesh!”

I have these other friends.

They have been in the hospital with their beautiful baby boy almost the entire 3 months he has been alive. (When they weren’t in the hospital with him, they were at home—not sleeping—just to make sure he would make it through the night.) It’s not looking good. There are people all over the world praying for this little guy (with God, all things are possible) who is suffering from a terminal genetic disorder. (Though, actually, adding to the difficulty is the fact that the doctors aren’t even sure what is causing all that is happening to his tiny body.)

There are moments where, when I look back at the very emotionally and physically and spiritually draining year (plus) that we have lived through in 2011, I am tempted to think, with my heart heavy for my friends, “Well, I suppose I should be thankful that all that I have been through can’t be as bad as what they are facing, and all they have been through.”

What is it about our hearts, our inner selves, that must compare?

Whether it is, “I’m not as good as him…” or, “I guess I’m better off than them?” … there is a strong tendency to compare.

It’s why we judge. It’s why there are prejudices. We are constantly looking at others lives in comparison to ours.

But there is no comparison.

I am me. You are you. You are the most perfect you. And quite likely, no… most definitely, you are not me. (And of course, I am not you.)

And, we shouldn’t be.

God made a world full of diversity. There is diversity beyond our imaginations in all the rest of his creation, and when we’re having a good day, we can see that there is beautiful diversity in Us: the Crown of His Creation.

I’m not sure why we do it. I am thankful that God keeps developing my trust in him to the point where I am doing it much less often. But I still do.

And I should not.

All we are meant to do is to stay connected to him, listen to him, be loved by him, and then live life with the people he asks us to: rejoice with those who rejoice, mourn with those who mourn. None of us is better or worse than another. We may make choices that are better or worse, but even in those, we are not the ones who are to judge others and mete out praise or punishment (unless we’re in some official capacity to do so).

[T]he Lord has told you what is good, and this is what he requires of you: to do what is right, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God.

Micah 6:8

We’re not competitors in life. We are fellow pilgrims. We have the same Father, and the same Oldest Brother. And the same Spirit he promises to those who will follow. Life lived together with him is vibrant and deep and there’s enough to go around, through the highest and lowest we go through.

It’s a lie that we should be as good as that guy, or that we’re not as good as that girl. We can’t have it any better or worse than anyone else. We have it exactly as he wants us to. We’re right where we’re supposed to be, especially if we’re listening to—and following—His lead.

Then there’s no comparison.

by Greg

Whispers

I am hearing whispers on the wind.
Signs that life may return to these pages.
Evidence on the horizon that this keyboard will once again freely bring forth thoughts long subdued.
Could it be?
Dare I hope?

I do.
I pray that God, the source of hope, will fill [me] completely with joy and peace because [I] trust in him. Then [I] will overflow with confident hope through the power of the Holy Spirit. (Rom 15:13)

Yes.
Overflow.
I hear it coming.
A whisper… but I hear it.

There is a cautious but giddy excitement but almost apprehension in me right now.
But I have hope.
And faith.
And definitely love.

And those remain forever.
Loud and clear.

by Greg

Loss

“I came naked from my mother’s womb,
and I will be stripped of everything when I die.
The LORD gave me everything I had,
and the LORD has taken it away.
Praise the name of the LORD!”

Those were the first words – words of worship – immediately following Job’s hearing the news that his children had been killed in a horrible accident. And just before that he had lost much of the wealth that God had blessed him with. An amazing reaction to an extraordinary circumstance. His first thought was to worship the God who had given him life, even in the midst of the demise of the life he had known.

There is a song by songwriter Matt Redman called Blessed Be Your Name. It echoes those lines Job spoke so many years ago,

“You give and take away, you give and take away,
my heart will choose to say, Lord blessed be your name!”

Those words reverberated loudly – even confidently – through my head as we learned that the child we had been eagerly preparing a space for in our family, had stopped developing inside mom’s womb.

“You give and take away… You give and take away…
My heart will choose to say… Lord, blessed be Your name.”

The first moments were just hard. Shocking. Deep sadness. Life hoped for, now lost. And this was not the first time we faced this.

About one week into our tour, there was such a shocking occurence that we thought we had lost the baby. That was on our anniversary. Not the way we wanted to end the day. The drive to the hospital was a little over an hour. Of silence. Of doubting. Of wondering. Of self-pummeling. I felt completely culpable for the loss of this baby’s life. Our lifestyle, my missed chances at reminding Jen to rest, my busyness keeping me from helping Jen with the three kids on the outside. All things were pointing to me being the reason we had lost the baby.

But God was beyond gracious.

When we arrived at the hospital, we were greeted by a friendly nurse who was fairly convinced that the baby was doing just fine. The doctor who followed happened to be at the church we had led in worship the morning prior, and he echoed those sentiments, but they needed to do an ultrasound to make sure.

My heart skipped a beat or two in astonished joy. My soul gasped for air! I can’t describe the feeling of life from death. How the Father must have felt when his son was given breath again! Even knowing the plan ahead of time, his heart must have exploded with joy knowing that not only his son, but all of us who trust in him were given back to him that day!

We went from that place, with images of a dancing baby in our head, and the hope that through a rough 6 or 7 months ahead we would emerge with a miracle baby from God.

“You give and take away…”

Yesterday, following the weekend of God giving wildly to us through his people, we experienced the pain of loss again.

Jen had been experiencing signs of trouble again (we thought) and so we went to the doctor, who put the monitor on Jen’s belly to listen for the heart beat. After about 10 awkward seconds, she said, “Sometimes it’s difficult to find the heartbeat with that machine.”

That had not been our experience, and so we were already thinking the worst.

She turned on the ultrasound equipment, and we began looking at the baby inside. It had grown since the first time, but it was lifeless. No movement. No heartbeat. No life.

No words were said for a time, until the doctor broke the silence, “I’m afraid I have some very bad news…”

My heart sank. It was quite final. The baby was gone. Again.

But this time, the words to that song kept replaying in my head. “You give and take away… my heart will choose to say, Lord, blessed be your name…”

And I meant it. Though I was not necessarily comforted by it just yet.

We discussed the next steps and headed out to the van to go home. The song continued in my head.

When we got to the van, we just sat there in silence. We were both attempting to understand what was happening. To process it. Why would God want to give us a baby for 12 weeks, and then take it home?

There were tears. There was silence. We prayed together. We talked. But the most amazing thing was happening inside my head and heart.

Instead of sadness, there was supreme confidence in God’s love for me. More than just confidence, there was palpable reality. Almost like his hands on my shoulders.

And the song would not leave.

I knew the scripture was from Job, so I looked it up on the computer we had brought with us.

The first thing that stuck out to me was in the NIV translation: “Job got up, tore his robe and shaved his head, then he fell to the ground in worship.” His first response was a brief moment of agony and mourning, and then he worshipped. Instead of blaming God for letting this happen, he was compelled to worship him.

That’s where I lost it.

I was too! That’s what I had been feeling the whole time in silence. Strong images and feelings of God’s love and provision for me, for us, were present in my head. I was not conciously thinking of them… they were just there. I was not dwelling on the loss, but rather on things gained from the Giver of all good things.

And that’s exactly what Job experienced.

God’s bigness, his caring, his inividual attention to my life, his unfathomable love — all of that had never been so near to me, so palpable, so REAL.

Words do not do the experience justice, but I really wanted to try. I was astounded by the love God has for, and was showing to ME. I was crying, not out of sadness at our loss as much as out of overwhelming joy and gladness at my Father who loves me.

In a moment, literally less than a second, God also gave me a strong series of images that reminded me of his goodness.

There were three sets of two images. First was the hopsital back in Arkansas. Image one was the deep sadness of losing the baby, and image two was the unspeakable joy of getting that life back! Second was from the weekend just past, where image one was the empty bank account and actually having zero cash being 3000 miles from home with many big bills to pay, and me asking God in a parking lot, “God, what are you going to do??” The second image connected to that was of the generosity of our Father through his people this weekend, we were given nearly $2,000 by people in places that wouldn’t normally be a source of such abundance. The third image was our present circumstance, the final loss of our baby, and attached to that image was a future provision from God that would blow us away with greatness as much as this loss had brought us low.

I had a very specific image, but as I am not claiming to be a prophet, I will guard that image in my heart and will let you know if that does indeed come to fruition. I don’t think God gave me those images for you… but I KNOW he gave them for me.

In less than a second, all of that imagery of God’s attention to our lives came into focus, and I was full-on reminded of his incredible provision and love.

And again, I was brought to tears… not of sadness, but pure, unthinkable joy!

Our God is so good. So, so good.

We are sad, and still dealing with loss. Loss costs us. We won’t know this member of our family until heaven. I see images of families with kids, or even our kids, and I miss the face of the baby we lost. We are definitely hurting.

But there is over all of that, a far greater peace and hope. God made me SO aware of his presence and love in my life today, right now. He is so good that way. And I am not alone in that experience. Which makes it even cooler. Friends today have shared having a similar experience, and I believe the reason Job reacted how he did was that God was as overwhelmingly present for him that day as he was for me. And Job’s loss exceeds mine by such a volume as I can’t imagine.

He is so good. Today, yesterday, forever.

The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away. Praise the name of the Lord.