Out of the blue

Today we went to Matt and Claire's wedding. Congrats guys! Awesome wedding! Wish you all the best for your future together.

As special as the day was (I was green with envy at how beautiful and meaningful their wedding was! Wish I had been that creative with ours.) I found it very difficult to sit through. One of the most difficult things about losing Zoe is that I never know when grief will strike. It struck fairly early on in the service, during the worship at the start, making it incredibly difficult to share in their joy.

There was a line from a song (I can't even remember the song now) which spoke about how God destines all our days, from the first cry to our last breath. As I sang those words, something within me cracked again. Surely God destines our days from the moment of conception, not just the first breath? Because if it was only from the first breath, then that means God had no plan for Zoe's brief life, and that the life she had was outside his power or will or something. Although I still struggle to accept that God allowed her to die before she was born, I have to believe that every moment from her conception was in his power, that he had amazing plans for her life.

Of course, the moment I had started thinking about her, I couldn't help myself thinking about all I will never share with her - particularly her wedding to some amazing man. I will never have the honour and privilege of giving her away. Needless to say, I spent a good portion of the wedding frantically wiping away tears and trying not to break into sobs. Thank God we were in the back row, so no-one would have noticed anyway, even if my mascara had run all over my face.

One of the passages read, which was rather obscure for a wedding - at first glance anyway, was from Nehemiah. It spoke about the fact that time of mourning and weeping has come to an end, and that now the time for rejoicing and laughter is here. Over the past few days I have been coming across verses that, in various ways, have encouraged and exhorted me to leave my grief behind, trust God fully, rejoice in him fully, and move into the next season - which is joy.

On the one hand, I am very pleased by this. I would love to be able to leave this heavy heart behind. I would love to stop crying and mourning.

On the other hand, the thought that I might forget Zoe really scares me. I don't want to forget her. I don't want to stop missing her. I don't want to pretend that it will ever be okay that she's not here.

So how do I bring these two extremes together? How can I possibly experience the full measure of joy, laughter and a spring season in my life when my daughter is dead? I know that I have good days, days filled with laughter, and I rejoice that I am able to have those, because I know that to remain in grief for ever is unhealthy for me. However, I just don't see how I can go from this current space where Zoe is often on my mind, where the very thought of her makes me cry, to a space where when I think of her it is only with joy and thankfulness, with no hint of sorrow or longing.

Then again, maybe I'm completely misinterpreting these verses.

There is no doubt in my mind that if this child survives, my heart will be full of joy and love for it. There is no doubt in my mind that this child, if it survives, will make me laugh and smile, and will make my heart feel so full it will want to burst. But none of that can erase the pain I feel that Zoe is not and never will be with us here on earth. No matter how much joy this 3rd child of ours brings us, I just don't see how that joy can overpower the grief and pain in my heart that comes from missing Zoe.

I've realised that the comfort God offers does not wipe away the pain. The comfort he brings is that our pain is not pointless, or meaningless. The comfort he brings is that one day we will see her again, and that her death can bring about hope & help for others. But it does not wipe away the pain. I always thought it did. But God didn't wipe away Jesus' pain on the cross. In the Garden, the Father did not wake away Jesus' fear of the cross. Rather, he gave him the strength to do what had to be done despite his fear. The Father did not abandon his son on the cross, but neither did he make the pain any less to bear. God's comfort does not mean pain is wiped away - at least, not here on earth.

One day, all injustices will be righted and vindicated. One day, all pain will be healed, not just comforted. But that day is not today - at least, not for me. I look forward to the new spring season of life that God seems to be preparing for me. I look forward to the birth of this child. But I doubt that either will miraculously heal the pain in my heart. Rather, I live in hope of that day when all sorrows will cease, all wars will end, and shalom comes in the full glory God always intended.