in memory and in hope

Two years ago this week, my nephews Phineas Jon and Abraham Steven met Jesus before they were born, at 24 weeks gestational age.

They ran into the arms of their Heavenly Father before their earthly parents got a chance to see their smiles or hear their laughter. And although since then the Lord certainly has Multiplied our Joy (the precious gift of my niece, Josephine Joy), still the hole in our lives remain; memories of twin moppy-haired, brown-eyed toddlers fill the heart of this out-of-town auntie--memories left unmade.  I adore my ten-month-old niece and wouldn't trade her for all the world, and yet it is impossible to not wonder about the would have beens. All of our anticipation and dreams and excited giggles waiting for these two boys were shattered in a moment. 

When some people think of miscarriage or stillbirth, they think of it as merely a great disappointment, one of life's major let-downs that will pass with time and more children. I suppose I did, too, before August 2013. Then I learned that the weight of all those unformed memories is an insurmountable and inarticulate grief. Those lives are unique and irreplaceable; their names and faces will never be forgotten. So please, please be gentle with your friends or neighbors walking that difficult road.  

This year more than in years past I find myself reacting strongly against the Evangelical tendency to pass over grief with claims of a greater good. We attempt to bandage wounds by looking on the bright side or finding the purpose, as if believing that this utterly heart-wrenching loss could be worth something somehow dampens the sting. (I can tell you, it does not). I don't think this reasoning is biblical. See, sometimes, there simply is no purpose in suffering.

First please hear what I'm not saying. I'm not saying that God is not mysteriously Sovereign over these things. I am not saying that suffering does not result in good, as Romans 8 and 1 Peter 1 so clearly attest. But I am saying that I don't think God orchestrated the twin's conception, growth, and death for some abstract greater good. I believe that death is a result of human sin, and sickness and stillbirth are symptoms of creation groaning in it's bondage to decay. I am saying that Vanity is something that does actually exist and it plagues this fallen world. I can say this out of the conviction that this earth is not the way it's supposed to be, and contrary to our instinct to blanket grief with shallow happiness, we actually honor what was lost by joining mourners who wander in the wilderness.

I believe that grieving what was lost and lamenting the vanity of that pain actually makes me yearn for God's promised restoration, and I rejoice in hope. 

Scripture does say that God will bring good from evil. It does say that our faith is not in vain, because we will receive a richer inheritance that far outweighs the sufferings of earth. That's why we have hope. That's why we can count on our glorification. The brokenness and vanity of this world is plain, but so is the promise of all things being restored. I can say with certainty that this family will one day hear those giggles and see the smiles of our two boys. I love to imagine that day, the day that God finally does reverse the curse of Vanity and brings true Shalom--all things as they should be--once again.