the God who takes away

Today was difficult.

I thought coping was only a verb defined as "dealing effectively with something difficult." Coping in that respect is hard enough, but there's another type of coping for us to contend with now. Today I learned that it's a noun, too. It's the short stone wall that borders most graves in a cemetery. I learned that fact while attempting to design a headstone for our sweet Luke. 

He died two weeks ago today, but the sting of it is still sharp. I walk around feeling like I'm marked by my grief. Like it's written on my forehead. MY BABY DIED. Then somehow at the same time I feel like everyone has forgotten Luke but me. Everyone else's world doesn't stop just because yours did. Everyone else doesn't feel the gaping hole in your heart. Everyone else doesn't have to help a two year old understand why we couldn't "keep" his little brother. Everyone else doesn't spend every waking moment playing out "what ifs" and "why Gods" in their mind.

Nope. That's just you, sweetie. 

Except it's not. 

I've received book after book in the last two weeks. Some I bought, some were sent. The aim is the same. They're all books to help me understand. They're full of stories of other families who have faced similar trials, and I'm reminded that we're not alone. Other mamas have gaping holes in their hearts. Other mamas' worlds have stopped while the rest of society hurries around them. Other mamas have had to try and explain some of life's greatest hardships to children too young to carry the burden. Other mamas are left questioning everything on this side of heaven. Regardless of the book or the story, I've noticed a common thread among these women and families. 

Your faith is strengthened much, much more when you are faced with the God who takes away. 

It's pretty easy to praise the God who gives. He's approachable, right? You picture this big, huggable granddad type of God smiling down at you as you get caught up in the joy of whatever it is He's given to you. 

But he's also forgettable. 

Like I said, you get caught up in the joy of what you've been given. Maybe you begin to think that He didn't give it to you, but you earned it all by yourself. For instance, people call pregnancies and babies "accidents" all the time. I can tell you from experience, there is no accident about the miracle of conception or the delivery of a healthy baby. It's a gift from God. Every. Single. Time. So when God gives you a miracle it is easy to either praise Him or to foolishly pretend that it was some work of your own or others' that allowed it to happen.

Would the miracle of saving Luke in the final minutes of his life have been more effective in building His Kingdom? I don't know, but my best guess is 'no.' If it would've then God would've performed that exact miracle. But he didn't. Yes, it would've been amazing, and it would've made for an awesome testimony. But it would've also made way for an easy faith among the people who were called to Christ through that testimony. Do you know the phrase 'easy come, easy go'? I don't think God wants to grow His Kingdom through an easy faith among believers. I think God wants hard-won faith to be the foundation on which his Kingdom stands.

When the hospitalist first told us that Luke was a "sick, sick baby" my first thought was, "And my Jesus is the same now as He was the day I delivered him." I truly believed into the depths of my soul that "sick, sick" or not, the same God who performed the miracles that allowed me to deliver a healthy Luke would also allow me to bring him home, healthy again, in the next few days. I never once allowed myself to think that any moment may be his last. I cried a lot of tears on the day he died but none of those tears were over fear that he'd die. 

Until he did. 

I cried because he was cold. I cried because he wouldn't eat. I cried because he was too sleepy to react to literally anything the nurses or doctors did to him. I cried because my baby was being readmitted to the hospital. I cried because my four day old newborn would have to undergo a lumbar puncture. I cried because they were doing things to my baby that I couldn't be in the room for. I cried because I wouldn't be able to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas morning with both of my boys after all. I cried because he had a metabolic defect and I wouldn't be able to nurse him like I'd planned. I cried because he had to be airlifted to Birmingham. I cried because he had to have dialysis. I cried because he had to be put on a ventilator. I cried because he had to have surgery. I cried because he looked so swollen from all of the fluids. I cried because he had spit bubbles around the vent tube in his mouth, and I couldn't wipe them off. I didn't shed a tear for fear of his dying until there was no other option.

Because, in reality, all I had ever known was The God Who Gives. But when Luke was called Home, I came face to face with a side of God that I had truly never known, The God Who Takes Away. I am now at the plot twist of my story, the point where my faith is put to the test, and it's my turn to show how to praise Him when life doesn't quite turn out like you'd planned. I have long been the one sending encouraging bible verses and thoughtful gifts to others who found themselves in the "deep waters," and my faith seemed strong then. But that was when God was taking away from everybody else, when the bad things happened to other people. Is my faith as strong when I find myself in those same deep waters? I'm going to be bold here and say, "yes." 

Because if the answer to my "why" is "to bring glory to Him," then I will not let my child die in vain. I will spend the rest of my days praising the Lord who gives and takes away.