Yesterday marked the third anniversary of when I miscarried Sarah.
It's hard to believe it has been that long.
But this time of year--the allure of Thanksgiving Day aromas, the first whispers of Christmas carols on the grocery intercom, the chilly nip that bites in the sunny morning air--always makes me remember her and those few moments I had of being pregnant with her.
And how scared I felt.
I had just lost a pregnancy, and I was scared to even move too quickly for fear that I'd do something wrong that would cause me to lose her and have to feel that deep, acute pain and loss all over again.
So anytime I worried, I prayed.
I prayed while I wrapped my Christmas presents. I prayed while I ironed clothes. I prayed while I lit my tree. I prayed in between phone calls to the doctor.
I asked God fervently and dedicatedly not to remove this precious, tiny blessing from my life. And I did my best to have faith that He wouldn't.
But on 11/26/10 in a cold ER room,
It still happened.
She still died in my tummy. She still went away.
And although my head knew it was possible, my heart couldn't understand why God would allow it.
I had prayed right. I had done everything I thought I was supposed to.
I have several friends for whom I've prayed over the last few years as they've faced uncertain futures of their unborn babies, only to watch a fate befall them that none of us ever dreamed our prayers would have allowed. Despite our hopes,
It still happened.
Sometimes God leads us down a road that directs us to a deep valley, a bitter chasm, and try as we might to circumvent this pit,
It still happens. And God requires us to move down and through it.
In my pain and heartache, I've cried out to God why it must be so. Why when we've done all we know to lean on Him and trust in His ways and to pray with every fiber of our empty souls that can muster an extra breath, He doesn't remove those inexplicably unfair hurts that are sure to see that we will never be the same again afterward.
Sometimes, a baby still dies.
A child still gets sick.
A home is still lost.
A job still goes under.
A friend of mine who went through a difficult family situation years ago recently provided me with an encouraging scripture that spoke to her in the most painful part of her valley.
She said that on a sleepless night, The Lord beckoned her to read Daniel 3.
Obediently flipping open her Bible, she found that the story was of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.
For those of you who haven't heard the story, these three amigos are faithful followers of God, and when their king requires them and the rest of the kingdom to bow down to a statue, the threesome refuses, knowing that the penalty is death in a pit of fire.
They boldly proclaim to the king, "If the God we serve exists, then He can rescue us from the power of you, the king. But even if He does not rescue us, we want you as king to know that we will not serve your gods or worship the gold statue you set up." (Daniel 3:17-18)
This infuriated the king, and he heated the furnace seven times hotter(!) before he threw them mercilessly into the fire.
Despite their faithfulness in God,
It still happened.
They still found themselves surrounded by flames.
Ah, but what comes next in the story is where the real plot twist comes into play.
Although the men who threw Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego into the fire were killed themselves by the extreme heat, the king must have rubbed his eyes at the sight roaming around the furnace.
Four men, not three. Unbound by ties, though they had been when they were tossed inside. And walking about unharmed.
The king ordered them to be brought out immediately, and when they were, it was as though they hadn't seen a flame.
Daniel 3:27 reads,
"When the satraps, prefects, governors, and the king's advisers gathered around, they saw that the fire had no effect on the bodies of these men: not a hair of their heads was singed, their robes were unaffected, and there was no smell of fire on them."
My friend revealed that God spoke tenderly to her through this story, assuring her that even though she was entering a fire in her life, He wouldn't leave her in there alone.
And after all was said and done, she wasn't going to smell like smoke.
I can attest, this woman is godly and brave and bears not even the slightest stench of smoke.
Friends, there are blazing seven-times-hotter fires that God requires us to enter as believers. Some thrust onto us by our own mistakes, some by the mistakes of others, and some by the sheer "luck" of the draw.
But there is no fire hot enough to singe the hairs of a believer who is firmly planted in Christ.
I don't always believe that myself somedays. And you probably won't either. Because the Enemy would have you trust in the reality of your painful circumstances, to burn in the middle of his bonfire than to dance gracefully, unbound and unharmed in the middle of the fury.
Even if it still happens, He won't leave you.
Even if it still happens, you don't have to be burned.
And oh, how the people will wonder--Jesus, may they believe!!--when you come out of the fire smelling of His sweet hope and mercy than the pungent smoke of your circumstances.
Hold on tight to His hand and tender promises, friends,
Even if it still happens.
