Meeting God in the Inevitability of Pain
2 years of missing you. I’ve never missed anyone so deeply without reprieve before. I’ve never had such a deep, unending pain surrounding one person before. All of the pain and hurt feels so heavy yet has become something of a familiar burden. It’s always with me and sometimes I even forget I am carrying it, until it sneaks up with a memory or something that reminds me of my time with you.
I love mentioning your name any chance I can. Even though your story seems to end with death, every time I speak your name and mention the three fullest days of celebrating you- your story lives on. The unending pain collides with joy- a joy amidst pain. To be able to joyfully speak your name and tell of how you’re already living with Jesus, fully and wholly completely- fills me with enough hope to outshine all of the dark and painful days that have come and will continue to come.
I’m not one to randomly open my Bible and grab whatever verse jumps out at me. However, this morning, I opened my Bible to Job and I have sermon notes from my dad taken a couple of years ago. The sermon was about the inevitability of pain and suffering- no one is immune. We live in a fallen world full of sickness, pain, suffering and death. While God is not the author of our pain, he is infinitely capable of using our pain and suffering for good.
Snuggling Sweet Molly Mae
We knew early on that your life would likely end in death- yet God was there. I remember the moment I found out that your body was not going thrive outside of the womb, Psalms began reciting in my head. They were loud and echoed, reverberating off every nook and cranny. As my heart sunk realizing the inevitable, unavoidable pain that would come in losing you- God literally wrote verses on my heart that sang promises. The verses didn’t promise being saved from pain and suffering, but rather promised that God would be my foundation, my rock and a safe place through everything. I clung to the Psalms that promise to lead me beside quiet waters and restore my soul. I played these verses on an endless loop, clinging to God’s goodness:
The Lord is my shepherd,
I will not want.
He lets me lie down in green pastures;
He leads me beside quiet waters.
He restores my soul;
He guides me in the paths of righteousness
For the sake of His name.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I fear no evil, for You are with me;
Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.
(Psalm 23:1-4)
I have never been one to lean away from discomfort and pain. Through your death, I discovered my true strength came from leaning into the pain, from allowing my community to carry me and realizing all of my strength was actually in my weakness. Just like in 2 Corinthians 12:9, “my grace is sufficient for you, my power is made perfect in weakness.” It then goes on to say for when I am weak, then I am strong.
Something happens when I lean into the discomfort, the pain and the unknown. Something changes when I lean into my weaknesses, admitting I need help and ask for others to come around us. I found the most peaceful quiet places of rest as others took care of our every single need as we walked through the darkest valley of grief. Others helped loved and cared for our children as we were struggling to wade through the torrent of grief and emotions. Hundreds of people lifted us up in prayer, praying on our behalf when we just didn’t have the words. Something happens that seems so counterintuitive, so against the grain, that it can only be God.
2 years might be a long time, but it means I am that much closer to seeing you again. As much as I would love to have you in my arms again, I wouldn’t trade the world to know you are fully whole and safely with Jesus.
I love you, my Molly Mae.