I didn’t really think of the ramifications of having a daughter who can read well. The other day I came into the room and she was snuggled up on the couch with Pain Redeemed in her hands. I raised my eyebrows but didn’t say anything.
Later she came to me and hugged me from behind. “Oh, Mommy,” she said into my back, “I didn’t know you lost a baby.”
She was snuffling and wiping tears before I could react and we both ended up sitting on the kitchen floor talking about how God gives and takes away and it’s okay.
“You must be so sad all the time!” she said.
“No, no,” I scrambled to explain. “I’m not so sad all the time. God has been good to us.”
This morning I was reading in Habakkuk 3, where the prophet is talking about all the things that may go wrong.
“Though the fig tree should not blossom, nor fruit be on the vine, the produce of the olive fail and the fields yield no food…”
And I thought of all the things I could add to the list. “Though I may never bear a child, nor cradle my own infant in my arms, should I fail to have the privilege of choosing a name for a son or daughter, or watching them learn to walk and talk and laugh…”
I looked over at my beautiful girl, this precious, incredible gift that God has poured into our lives– the child I didn’t get to name, or carry, or watch grow from infancy, and I say with Habakkuk,
yet, I will rejoice in the Lord; I will take joy in the God of my salvation. God, the Lord, is my strength; he makes my feet like the deer’s; he makes me tread on my high places.
No, I am not so sad. I have been sad. I have mourned deeply. But I rejoice. I rejoice in God’s gracious goodness, His hand of mercy in the midst of my pain, and His brilliant promise of salvation.
And I know that even without the gift of our daughter, I could still rejoice in Him. In Jesus, who redeemed my soul from the pit of emptiness.
Should all else fade away, this would still remain.