When the Going Gets Rough: Part 2

A few months ago it seemed that our time of waiting, this season of suffering, had finally come to an end.  We rejoiced over the positive pregnancy test, thanked the Lord for his goodness and provision, wondered what our child might look like, what adventures God would have planned for her (or him).  And then a month later we were stunned to learn that the pregnancy was not progressing as it should and that we were going to lose the baby. And I was crushed.  Brought to my knees in grief, confusion, and anger: "Lord, we have waited so long.  We've prayed so fervently.  We've been faithful to you. Why have you created this miracle child only to take her from us so soon? How does this bring you glory?"

I searched scripture for comfort, identifying with the psalmist as he cried out to God for help in the midst of his distress, remembering days when it had seemed easier to praise (Psalm 77: 5-8): 

      I thought about the former days,
          the years of long ago;
     I remembered my songs in the night.
          My heart mused and my spirit inquired:
     Will the Lord reject forever?
          Will he never show his favor again?
     Has his unfailing love vanished forever?
          Has his promise failed for all time?

And I wonder the same: "How long, Lord? Forever?  Will we ever have children? Have you forgotten us?"  I don't think that God minds these questions.  I think that our tears and even our anger are ok. He knows the pain of suffering and loss. So, like the psalmist, I find courage and comfort in remembering the Lord's past faithfulness (Psalm 77:10-12):

     "Then I thought, 'To this I will appeal:
          the years of the right hand of the Most High.'
     I will remember the deeds of the  LORD;
          yes, I will remember your miracles of long ago.
     I will meditate on all your works and consider your mighty deeds"

When the going gets rough, I have to remind myself that God's never failed me yet.  He is my strength and portion when the way becomes steep and my legs grow weary.

As a runner, this metaphor of the distance race has always struck a chord with me, and I was reminded again last weekend how important it is to "run with perseverance the race marked out for us" (Hebrews 12:1). Last weekend, three days after surgery and mourning the loss of our child, my husband and I ran a marathon.  I was heartbroken and not well-trained--I had scaled back mileage weeks earlier.  I had to run that race though, and stopping at the 13 mile mark just felt like giving up. And so we ran--and walked--the remaining miles together.  I've run marathons before--much faster marathons--but I've never experienced pain like this. It was humbling.  And it was rewarding. The finish line really is sweeter when the race has been hard-fought.  The prize seems more valuable when it comes at greater cost. And though his footprints may not be seen (Psalm 77:19), we trust that God is leading us through these waters of suffering, strengthening us as we run on, and holding  a prize for us at the end of the race.