Over the summer, God was busy at work of healing me in areas I had forgotten I even needed healing. He was cultivating the soil of my heart, preparing me for the next thing He had called me to. In the process, he unearthed some painful memories I thought I had dealt with, but truthfully, I had stuffed them and pretended they weren’t there.
Now he was uncovering them. Asking me to deal with them. One memory was especially hard to work through. I miscarried my first child and was hemorrhaging, so they admitted me into the hospital. Do you know where they put women who have lost their baby? On the maternity floor, right next to the women who have just given birth to healthy babies.
That night, I laid there completely broken and unable to sleep, haunted by the sounds of crying babies and the sights of giddy family members who were there to welcome the little bundles of joy. I so desperately wanted to be the mother there cuddling her crying baby, but instead I felt as if my heart had been ripped out of my chest along with the dream tucked away inside.
My pain and disappointment had led to anger. Angry at myself, and even more concerning, angry at God. My clouded vision prevented me from seeing God in my situation, and I felt abandoned and alone.
As God turned up the soil concealing these feelings of disappointment and abandonment, He gave me perspective changing vision. He brought me back to that memory, but this time I wasn’t alone. He was there, and like all the moms in the other rooms who were singing lullabies over their babies, He was comforting me with sweet, gentle lullabies.
Then He revealed Himself in the same way through other painful memories. He brought to mind one of the many sleepless nights I had with my babies. After our youngest daughter, Sydnee, came out of her sedation in ICU she went through withdrawals from all the medications they had used to keep her sedated for over a week. I was informed by our pediatrician that these kinds of withdrawals are very similar to the withdrawals babies go through if the mother is on drugs during pregnancy, only worse.
One night, Sydnee was going through these withdrawals and she was absolutely inconsolable. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t soothe her. Actually, touching her only made it worse as her body was unable to appropriately respond to stimulation. So as she cried, I sang to her through my own sobs. It was like she couldn’t even see that her mama was there. As I cried and sang lullabies over my baby, Jesus showed me that He was there, singing lullabies over me, straight from His word to my heart.
Just the other night as I shared these revelations with my small group, one of my dear friends helped me to make the connection. Through her pain, Sydnee was unable to see me there, comforting her, just as I was unable to see Jesus comforting me that night in the hospital.
Sometimes our pain clouds our vision and blocks us from seeing Jesus, from seeing who He really is. Maybe today you are going through something causing you so much pain you can’t see His hand in it. If this is you, let me pray for you…
Lord Jesus, you are who you say you are, and today we choose to stand on that. Your word tells us that you, in your unfailing love, are our comfort. So Lord draw near to my hurting friends. There is a woman out there feeling alone and abandoned with pain so deep she can’t see past it. I know you see her and I know you are there. Lord, wrap your comforting arms around her in a big, tight bear hug. Unveil her eyes to see you in her situation. Show her that you are there. We love you, Lord, and we need you. Thank you for being all you say you are and more. In your precious name we pray, Amen.