Yesterday I was reading in my Bible my daily read-through-the-Bible-in-a-year chapters, when I was surprised. I have been asking God to heal my body quickly so that I can return to a semblance of normalcy. I have not been asking God, “Why?”
I’ve been a Christian long enough to know that God works all things together for my good and that enduring through suffering produces hope. But my response to grief has always been action: I remember when Fishie (my pet name for him) broke up with me . . . A mentor encouraged me to start a blog and write my way through Matthew Hussey’s “how to get over a guy in one month.” After all, there are plenty of fish in the sea. And for a month I put makeup on and dressed up, I worked out more faithfully and ate a more balanced diet, I went out with friends for coffee and filled my little dot of universe with activities that helped me feel better about myself . . . That relationship had been the most important of my college career, so spiritual healing took closer to six months. Eventually I realized that his influence on my life was really very thin. And now he is a distant memory . . . I’ve lived and thrived without him for ten years. I’ve always been inspired by “This too shall pass,” and it has always been natural to me to desire that “it” pass as quickly as possible. To get to the ocean I can swim in--to realize with gratitude that I’m happy (without trying). And so in these last ten years when I find myself drowning instead of walking on water, I keep looking up and try to move. But this grief hits differently because I thought I was prepared. I was happily pregnant and filled with faith about our baby’s future. There was one moment three days after learning I was pregnant that I became afraid. I looked into the future and it was overwhelming. And then a voice . . . you don’t know you’re meant to have this baby. And my husband reminded me that I was pregnant and that I am pregnant until God tells me I’m not. I’ve never been so angry with him before. I came away from my first ultrasound alone . . . I had enough faith then to believe that God would save the baby. He’s Almighty God and can do anything. For ten days my husband and I prayed for greater faith. But my body knew that God wasn’t going to save me this time. For ten days I wrote down everything I could think of to be grateful for surrounding this baby. And I made plans for how to celebrate after baby passed--eat all the lunch meat I can get my hands on--but I didn’t know that my body would betray me. According to our doctor, I might still be bleeding for six weeks! So far, I’ve found that I don’t have the energy I used to; I can’t even go running in the mornings before work. It’s been almost four weeks, so I’ve stopped estimating when my body will be fully healed. And as far as feeling good about myself? I don’t feel good. I have a baby belly but no baby. I’m eating thousands of calories a day--I need them to counteract the blood loss--and my ambitious plans to put this miscarriage behind me (not that I don’t love this baby in heaven) and try again are impossible while I’m still bleeding. So I’ve been praying for God to heal His temple as quickly as possible so that I can move on. Mentally, emotionally, and spiritually I’m ready to shake up my lifestyle and return to pre-baby normal (read: happy and hopeful), but my body is keeping me stuck in the center of the storm. Yesterday I’m reading in Exodus. And what the children of Israel do after promising to follow all God’s commands--I have never empathized with their forgetfulness--is make a golden calf to bow down to. But for the first time yesterday I realized that maybe they were afraid. Maybe all they could feel was darkness. Maybe all they could see was God’s consuming fire. I read chapter 24 yesterday in awe, my own burning bush encounter. I understand fear and darkness. I know what it feels like when God consumes your dreams with fire. All God told the people was that He was going to give Moses the tablets of stone. Slightly misleading. I don’t intend to be blasphemous, but He didn’t tell them that He was also going to explain to Moses His plans for the ark of the covenant and the tabernacle--and Moses was on that mountain for forty days and nights--(that’s about six weeks!) far longer than he needed to be to receive the ten commandments that God had already gone over with the people in chapter 20. Yes, God often doesn’t share with us the entire picture of what He’s doing. And because their hope who was supposed to lead them out of the wilderness wasn’t coming down the mountain, the people of Israel fashioned an image of gold to worship, the gold that God intended to be given for His sanctuary. God is intimately concerned with His creation. He explains to Moses for seven chapters just how He wants Moses to build the tabernacle and implement His creation. And my faith affirms that God is the Creator. He creates life. My faith affirms that my body is the temple of the Holy Spirit. And He is building my body back up in the way that He knows is best. God tells the people of Israel and Moses that He is going to give Moses the ten commandments on a tablet of stone. Moses hikes up the mountain in obedience . . . and waits for seven days. If I were Moses, I would have been frustrated with God’s silence. After all, I have a people to lead. God knows they love getting into trouble. And I need to get them to the Promised Land. God knows I’m here, and He’s wasting my time. But no. For seven days Moses is content to sit in darkness. He watches God’s glory as though it were a consuming fire, as do the children of Israel. But he waits. He knows God is being present with him even when He isn’t speaking. Unlike the children of Israel who only saw God’s glory from a distance, Moses was with God’s glory. He was living in it. My faith has shifted ever so slightly--perhaps my biggest need is not to return to pre-baby normal. Perhaps my greatest need is to sit with God and wait. He is building something I don’t yet know. From where I sit all I can see is darkness, but God’s glory is still with me in it. Why would I rush this time with Him? KAITLYN CHISHOLM DADA
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