What Did I Do to Deserve . . . ?

I headed out on a walk/run this morning for the first time since I delivered our son. The sun had not yet risen. I turned on my playlist – the same one that played as I pushed through the fear and the pain to protect my baby and bring life into the world. A rush of emotions flooded back as I thought back to that day, and as I pushed my body, as my feet pounded the pavement, I remembered pushing, pushing pushing.

I thought about my little boy – in the months leading up to the day of his birth, he grew in my womb. He developed just as God designed; he rolled and tumbled and kicked me from the inside. Before I even met him, I was in love. And as of yet, he had done absolutely nothing to deserve that love. He hadn’t flashed me a gummy smile. He hadn’t gazed deep into my eyes. He hadn’t babbled or uttered the first “I wuv you.” But as I realized his life was in danger, I was willing to do anything. Anything! I loved my son already because of who he was – my son! And I wanted life for him.

As I continued my route this morning, my music began to serenade me the lyrics of “One Thing Remains/How He Loves.” And I began to ponder the cross – the cross that Christ pushed through. The pain. The agony. He pushed, pushed, pushed. And as of yet, we had done nothing to deserve that kind of love. We had not sung his praise. We had not lifted our hands to heaven. We had not told our neighbors of his greatness. He realized our lives were in danger, and Jesus was willing to do anything. Anything! He loved us already! While we were still sinners Christ died for us (Romans 5:8). And because of his great love for us, God who is rich in mercy made us alive with Christ while we were yet dead in our sins (Eph. 2:4). He love us not because of what we’ve done, but because of who we are – His creation, his children – and he wanted (and wants) life for us. Life, not death!

I pushed through the pain to bring my son life. And Christ pushed through the pain to bring us life. Me. You. Us. We are loved, friends. So greatly Loved!

Grieve: Face to Face with Eyes Open

It’s really easy to want to close my eyes and turn away. Much easier than looking into the face of the paradoxical Father of all Comfort. For if I recall the two most important words my pastor admonished me to never forget, I wonder how God’s sovereignty and his love can truly coincide. Always remember, he said. No matter what, “God is sovereign, and He loves me.” But the sovereign God who loves me who would cause my soul such anguish at loss makes me question this love. Severe Mercy. He whispers in my ear. It is a severe mercy that he took my Grandmother when he did. Severe to my own soul and the soul of my family – a piercing of everything that we held dear and true, a cutting through and cutting off of something, someone rather, that we held so dearly near to our hearts. Mercy toward the one taken. Great mercy. Mercy that she is out of this chaotic and frightful world. Mercy that she is rejoicing in the presence of the Savior. Mercy that I cannot comprehend.

God is Sovereign. His control is supreme. And yet he does things that confuse me – even confound me. Or he doesn’t do things that confuse me even further. Job was more righteous than I as he proclaimed that the Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord. He didn’t go in search for answers. Simply the knowledge that God was in control was enough. Oh that my soul could find such rest.

God loves me. Nothing can separate me from it. Height, depth, present, future, angels, demons, death, life – no, none can sever that tender love and compassion. It is because of his great love for me that I am not consumed, for his compassions never fail. (Lam 3:22).

When more questions rage than answers and my soul is faint at sorrow. I must remember. I must. Though a mystery to my eyes bound by earth’s dimensions. God is Sovereign. And he loves me.

And I open my tear-filled eyes to gaze at my Savior. I see tears in his eyes as well. I know you do not understand right now, my child. I care. I’m sorry this broken world has caused you such sorrow. His heart breaks for me. I see the tender compassion as he looks deep into my heart. Continue to grieve my child. I will hold every tear. I will take every question. Grieve. I am here. Grieve face to face with eyes open. Looking to Jesus, the author and perfector of my faith… I am sovereign, and I love you more than you know!