Big Fears & A Big God
In the post I wrote in May (sorry it’s taken me so long to get back here), I shared that my wife and I have had three pregnancies in the last two years. Two of those babies were lost in the womb, and one just celebrated her first birthday.
A few weeks after I published, we found out we are expecting again. I wish I could say that I felt sheer joy when I saw the positive test—like I did that very first time. When Talitha came downstairs to my office on March 16, 2022 and threw (yes, threw!) multiple positive pregnancy tests on my desk, the only emotion I experienced was joy. Pure, electric joy.
Two losses later, that’s no longer the experience. Sure, joy is there. Somewhere. But it isn’t as proximate as it was that first time. It feels further away, with a couple of thick brick barriers between me and it.
The first barrier is fear. What if it happens again? What if we lose this one, too?
The next barrier is related to the first—a response to it, actually. Avoidance. Part of me wants to avoid thinking about the fact that, by God’s power, a baby descended from my body presently exists in my wife’s womb. I want to avoid thinking about that baby opening his or her eyes and looking into mine sometime in February 2025. I want to avoid thinking about my daughter having a sibling, or my wife and I having two little humans to rejoice over every day. The further I keep my mind from this joy-inducing reality, the less crushing the pain will be if this reality ceases to be.
While I acknowledge that this kind of psychological response to loss is understandable, I’m also convinced that I should not make peace with it. I don’t want to respond to the loss of good gifts in a way that (a) destroys my ability to enjoy God’s present or future gifts, and (b) robs him of the glory he gets when my sanctified heart rejoices in his gifts.
So, how do I do that? How do we do that?
I know I’m not alone in this struggle. We all live in this cursed world. We’ve all suffered. And many of us are inclined to protect ourselves from potential future pain by keeping our distance from present opportunities for joy. We let our fear of imagined realities prohibit us from enjoying the goodnesses of reality today.
The only way I know to overcome this unbelief (and I do think that’s what it is) is by really trusting in the God who promises to be with me and for me, forever. And the only way I know to cultivate this trust is to mediate on realities in texts like Romans 8:31–32:
What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things?
What Paul is saying here is that we can know deep in our bones that God will continue to give us every grace we need because he has already gone to the maximum length for our good. He’s already done the hardest thing. He’s already paid the highest price. Every other thing God gives us is easy compared to subjecting his treasured Son to the horrors of the cross for us. If he would go that far for us, give that much for us—and he did—then we can rest assured that he will give us everything else we need.
Should suffering come, so will grace (1 Pet 5:10).
Should there be more pain, there will be more comfort (2 Cor 1:3–5).
Should trials beat us into the dust, there will be power (2 Cor 1:8–9, 12:9).
Should the all the worst things imaginable happen all at the same time, at our side will be a God who causes “all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose” (Rom 8:28).
Brothers and sisters, we don’t need to fear that there is some future version of reality we will not be able to bear up under. Our God will let nothing ultimately crush us. He will comfort us and uphold us in the midst of any sorrow, any trouble, any pain. And not only will he get us through any and every suffering, but he will turn those sufferings on their head and cause them to serve us. All things work for our good.
So may we enjoy the good gifts he gives today without fear of losing them tomorrow. Perhaps we will lose some of them. If we live long enough, we might lose a lot of them. But we will never lose him. And because we will never lose him, even what we do lose will—in a way that doesn’t trivialize the suffering or erase the pain experienced—serve our everlasting joy.
P.S. Talitha is now about 14 weeks along. We praise God for these 14 weeks of life, and we hope for several thousand more.
And no, we aren’t finding out the sex. :)
Whew. Can relate to so much of this. With you, brother. Thank you for sharing so candidly.
I decided/realized a long time ago, and still currently have to remind myself, not to borrow tomorrow's trouble today. The days I could have spent in joy, instead of worry. The worrying has not ever changed the outcome, but it has robbed me of a few days of peace and nights of sleep.
In the hospital, In the middle of covid I was getting so anxious going into the positive rooms, and then I would relax in the other rooms with negative results. That's when I would get an email the next week telling me I had been exposed in the negative rooms. Where I was relaxed and enjoyed my patients and my work. All that to say - the anxiety did not protect or help me at all, my Father did. I was actually safer in the covid room with all the gear on. Lol. I feel like every day I'm trying to clench the steering wheel while God is telling me to relax and enjoy the ride. I love you guys, I'm praying for you!