Dichotomy

Death is such a strange, surreal experience.

When someone we love dies, our world stops for just a moment.  Life continues to pass us by.  Reality does not bow or bend to our broken hearts.  Everything else keeps going amidst our heartache, our grief.  Diapers still need changing.  Meals still need cooking.  Homes still need maintenance.  Relationships still need growing.

As a parent, I already know how quickly and deeply our hearts intertwine, connect, and bond with that of our child's.  I was surprised at how this happens just as fast, as strong and intense even when we have not yet met a child of ours.

* * *

The ultrasound technician was friendly.  She began and at first, chatted with me.  As she moved the scan instrument to do her work, she became more focused on the screen, and did not look at me.  She did not talk to me.  In less than what felt like 10 minutes, she was complete.  She told me I could empty my bladder while she went to show the scan to the on-site doctor.  I obliged.

I wondered while in the bathroom - wait, brad hasn't had a chance to see anything.  If my bladder is empty, can they show him still?

I returned to the scan room.  Technician also returned and informed me that the doctor is processing my report right away and is immediately sending it to the doctor.  She told me that I should go talk to my doctor right away.  She was apologetic that she couldn't tell me in detail what the scan showed, only that it's not great news.  Is this really happening?  My worse nightmare.

I took a deep breath.  I had just prayed minutes before: not my child but yours, God, just as our son is yours - whatever this scan reveals is in your hands.  I walked out of the room into the waiting room to meet Brad.  And cried immediately.  These were the surreal moments.  Is this really happening?  My worse nightmare.

When one is pregnant, "not great news" usually is translated to "worse case scenario: baby is gone."

It seemed like a some one else's reality.  A television show perhaps.  On hindsight, it could have been an out of body experience.  Or a dream.  If it wasn't for my husband's concern and his own broken heart sinking in his eyes, I would've wondered: how is this real?  is this really happening?  My worse nightmare.

Shortly after, I received a phone call from my doctor's office.  My doctor is actually on holidays but another doctor, whom I personally know as I taught both her children, delivered the news.  I was comforted to be hearing from her.

The scan showed that our baby #2 measured about 8 weeks, though I was supposed to be nearly 12 weeks.  There was no heartbeat detected.

Our hearts broke.  We mourned the loss of our child.  We grieved the future that we had imagined as a family of 4 along with baby #2.  We cried.  Our world stood eerily still for a moment despite an active toddler busy around us.  Is this really happening?  My worse nightmare.

* * *

Why us, God?  Why not us, God?

These two questions truly stood side by side as we've processed and grieved over the last few days.

In the past several years, I've have often felt quite hedged in.  It feels as if God has built this protective barrier around us shielding us from harm, evil and danger.  It's not that we don't experience sin.  It's not that we don't experience brokenness.  But more to the effect that we have been ABUNDANTLY blessed.  The Lord has been good to us.  Good.

And in a dismal, human way, I wondered, when is something bad going to happen to us?

Something bad happened to us this week.  We discovered the loss of our beloved, unborn child.

There are certainly emotions and responses that we could've predicted.  Grief.  Sadness.  Mourning.

There were also surprising discoveries.  Peace.  Rest.  Comfort.  Hope.

More to my awareness though were how these emotions and responses, seemingly on opposite ends of the emotional spectrum, existed together in a strange dichotomy within this eternal moment.  Simultaneous.  Juxtaposed.

We mourn and have hope.

We cry and have comfort.

We are sad but at peace.

Death is always harder for the living than for the departed.  This is particularly true in our case.
For now, though we will not physically hold January 2015 baby in our arms, we rest together in the same place.  January baby is safe in the arms of Jesus on the real side of eternity.  And our family here, we too are secure in Jesus' arms on the temporal side of eternity.  This is not the end.

* * *

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures.
He leads me beside still waters.
He restores my soul.
He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, 

I will fear no evil, for you are with me; 

your rod and your staff, they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; 

you anoint my head with oil;

 my cup overflows.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, 

and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Psalm 23

I've never noticed the dichotomy that exists in this passage.  As a Jesus follower, I tend to focus on the characteristics of God particularly when I read from Psalms.  I've always known that this Psalm has been a balm to the hurting soul.  But I had never ached before.  I don't remember a time when my heart was broken.  So in this passage, I understood simply, a mite naively, that He is my comfort, my peace, and my hope.

Since experiencing this grief and heartache, the passage's circumstances which surrounded the cleaving to God's character is stark and obvious.  The reality of why this psalm was written is soothingly clear.  It soothes because this was David's reality.  And it was true.  This is our reality.  And I see our truth reflecting back at me.

The Lord is my comfort amidst a time of emptiness since "I shall not want." He is my comfort because the opposite of "[laying] down in green pastures," and being led "beside still waters," is turmoil, unrest and discomfort.

There is temptation to walk on other paths.  Paths of worry.  Paths of despair.  Quicksands of my imagination.  Nightmare.  Worse case scenarios.  But not for those whose glory is God Himself.  We follow Him as He "leads [us] in paths of righteousness for His name's sake."  Our baby's death will be for His glory.

More apparent, "though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death," be it death of others or David's, the Lord is protection from evil.  His very presence, "rod and staff," is comfort.

Amidst the threat of harm, being surrounded by enemies, the focus is on the Lord's anointing.  This is the person whom God has called him, called us to be.  Our position is as one who focuses not on this temporal life, but on the "house of the Lord forever... all the days of my life."

As Jesus followers, we focus on reality: eternal life.  Death is not the end.  The same God who created our January baby is the same God who desires our baby more than our arms ache to hold him (we don't actually know whether baby was male or female.)  So we have rest.