Tuesday, 28 September 2010


I wrote this series of posts a couple of months ago. Now things are settled we want to share them, as an encouragement to others who may face similar experiences.

When difficulty or darkness descends on us we often ask the question “why”?

One comfort for me as a believer in a loving saving God is that I have someone to actually ask the question to! I don’t have to reach out and shout from a hilltop into an untouchable nothingness that drives creation, I can ask Father.

But you know what, I don’t want to. I just don’t want to. That is not because I am angry at God and so am refusing to talk to Him. It is not because I already have an answer. It is not because I have a neat draw in my various “ologies” that team up to make my overall view of God and man which I can open and present myself with a systemised and clear reason “why”.

I don’t. And I am not sure that there is one. I don’t even think that is the right question.

“Why” may perhaps let me know some sort of purpose, or greater good, for which God allowed this to happen.

“Why” may show me the depth of the curse of the fall on creation bringing sin and death and darkness like this. “Why” may, with hindsight give us another child, maybe a family, which we can appreciate, bring up and nurture with such a depth of understanding of just how important it is because of knowing what it is like to lose a baby.

But I am not asking “why”: because I don’t have time. I need an answer sooner. I need to find something now. I can’t wait for hindsight or history or healthy babies to validate our experiences.

I need some light.

So I change the question.

That is right, I have changed the question.

“Why” can wait.

I cannot prove its answer now. I want some rock. I want something to lean on. I want something that this storm of life may rage against but which holds me, secures me, envelopes me. I cannot afford to throw a bit of vague hope that in 20 years time I may look back and think it was OK because God did some good stuff between now and then. I need it now.

My question is not “Why did this happen”, but rather “Who is the answer?” As I reach out in the darkness I am not searching for a worldview, for an insight into the future, for a hope that my circumstances may be ok sometime. I am reaching out for God.

I am reaching out for the one made all things.

For the one who knows what happens in a womb.

For the one who knows unborn children.

For what I cannot know, I need to reach out to the One who does.

Again the Psalmist exorts me… Psalm 62 11-12a
“11 One thing God has spoken,
two things have I heard:
that you, O God, are strong
12 and that you, O Lord, are loving.”

God is loving. That means His heart for me, for Esther, and for our baby, is love.


The warm arms of love, close, holding. The embrace of a Father.

God is love, He is close, He is holding. There is a grace resting upon us for what we face. Not a clear answer, but a clear Father.

God is strong. A fortress. A rock. Unmoveable. Unshakeable. Not just distant strength like a castle on the horizon, but a source of strength, a place of strength, a fortress. For me, for us, for baby.

This world tells us what is “loving”, but often, if we are honest, what is held up as “loving” is also a bit soft, a bit vulnerable, a bit gooey. A double chocolate muffin experience which turns sickly sweet. Yet God is strong. Loving but strong, firm, secure, robust, to be trusted.

The world tells us what is “strong”, but often what is strong is dangerous, distant, a threat. It can overpower, overwhelm, dominate. But God is loving. The king of kings, the lord of lords, the supreme ruler and authority in the universe, is loving, tender, gentle.

I need someone loving who is secure. I need someone strong who is compassionate.

God is loving, God is strong. My question is not “Why”, but “Who” and a glimmer of light starts to shine.

1 comment:

Pauline said...

I think you both did very well not to be angry! One of our past vicars told a group of us that, when his wife miscarried their first baby, he went through a stage of being very angry with God, to the point of telling God, "I don't want to know you!" But of course, God wanted to know HIM and to use him in His service, so, in many ways, his ministry became more powerful. You are right to point out that God's love is loving but strong. We do find it hard to understand. It is sad that some people actually DO fall away completely, or fail to go on seeking, because of a tragedy in their lives. That is why it's so helpful when you tell your story.