About the author:
My husband. I wanted to take this little opportunity to
boast in the Lord for this heart that He has transformed and for this man that
He is conforming more and more into the image of His Son. I praise the Lord
continuously for the kindness He has shown me in giving me Nathan, as my
husband, lifelong teacher and discipler, partner in the gospel, dearest friend,
and leader of our home. I thank the Lord for you, my husband and rejoice that I
am yours.
About the work:
This is a paper that Nathan wrote for one of the classes he
has been taking this semester {Literature and Medicine}. They were given an
assignment to write a piece of literature. After reading it, I asked Nathan if
I could share what he had written. I hope that you are as encouraged by these
words as I am. So folks, without further ado…
The
Rain in Be'er Sheva
Restore
our fortunes, O Lord,
Like
streams in the Negeb!
Those
who sow in tears
shall
reap with shouts of joy!
He
who goes out weeping,
bearing
the seed for sowing,
shall
come home with shouts of joy,
bringing
his sheaves with him. (Psalm 126:4-6 ESV)
I
wait for the Lord, my soul waits,
and
in his word I hope;
my
soul waits for the Lord
more
than watchmen for the morning,
more
than watchmen for the morning.
O
Israel, hope in the Lord!
For
with the Lord there is steadfast love,
and
with him is plentiful redemption.
And
he will redeem Israel
from
all his iniquities. (Psalm 130:5-8 ESV)
The cold water fell. I lifted my
eyes to the heavens as it dropped to the ground. My heart was heavy, my mind
exhausted, my body weary. In my arms, my wife cried, her tears mixing with the
rain that was slowly soaking my shirt. The first rain we had experienced in the
desert we now called home, and we were unable to notice.
Only a matter of weeks earlier, our
lives had been filled with unbridled excitement. Who would have thought that a
blue positive on a piece of plastic would bring such happiness to us? Obviously
the positive itself is not what filled our mouths with laughter, but what it
signified. Our hands clasped in anxious excitement and longing, it was surreal
to see the sign appear. There was life in my wife's womb. We would have a
child. We couldn't contain our happiness, it burst from our hearts like wedding
fireworks we had seen every week since moving into our apartment. We called our
dearest friends, sharing our good news with them so that they could rejoice
with us. We savored every moment of telling our parents and friends, as our
dreams for our progeny ran rampant.
We had no idea what we were doing,
giddy as school children, we talked of our new baby often. I have never felt
simultaneously as much a man and as much a boy as I did in those weeks. My
passion was unrestricted and my delight knew no bounds. The gravity of having
another life dependent on me was weighty, but the thrill of hope seemed to give
me wings and grace to carry the burden. We prayed for our baby everyday, and
couldn't wait to be introduced!
The
doctor was called and we laughed together at my wife's stammering explanation
when trying to make an appointment ("umm... I took a pregnancy test... and
umm... it was positive") We were nervous in the waiting room. Not only was
this our first baby, this was our first experience in the Israeli medical
system. Struggling to explain to the receptionist in broken Hebrew, she
directed us to a machine where I took a number for us and we waited. Our hands
were held, fingers interlocked, tensed in the expectant waiting, unsure of what
to expect. Our number was called and we entered the room. The doctor was
brusque, not cold, but certainly cool and businesslike as we sat down.
"Why are you here? You came to
me." He asked. Caught off guard, we stammered through again that we
had a positive pregnancy test. "Is that a good thing?" He said
almost before we had finished. I was stunned by the question, I understood what
he was asking, but thinking through the unending celebration that had been the
last few days, I couldn't wrap my mind around it being a bad thing!
"Yes, it is." I answered
slowly, but confidently. He asked Kate for details, and she gave them to him.
"Okay, I can't do anything for
you." We were confused by that as well, but he seemed content to let the
sentence sit in the silence
My words finally broke the
awkwardness, "Why?"
His answer was directed to my bride.
"You're only 4 and a half weeks pregnant. If you took a home pregnancy
test and you're sure you're pregnant, I can do an ultrasound around eight weeks
and be sure everything is normal."
-A home pregnancy test?- I thought, -try 4 home pregnancy
tests-. We left after making an appointment for after Succoth and laughing
about the difficult experience of navigating the building and finding our way.
We got home and googled our due date as well as how big our child was. Our
smiles were never ending as we discussed names, hopes, ideas and desires for
our new addition.
We began to imagine. I imagined a
girl, saw her grow up before my eyes. I dreamt of her blue eyes, her long curly
blonde hair, her gentle and kind heart, just like her mom. I dreamt of
telling her the stories my parents told me, reading to her from Lewis, Tolkien
and others. I dreamt of telling her the stories from the scriptures, of
watching The Lord bring spiritual growth to her life as she grew into a woman,
beautiful and tender. I dreamt of intimidating young men with bad intentions, I
dreamt of handing her over to a groom on her wedding, I dreamt of her children,
and her children's children. She was alive! I loved her very much.
I imagined if it were a son, blue
eyed, compassionate and charming (again, like his mother). I dreamt of telling
him the stories, explaining the scriptures, watching him grow in wisdom,
stature, and godliness by God's grace. I dreamt of teaching him to shoot a free
throw, I dreamt of showing him how to throw a spiral, to study the works of the
saints who had gone before us, to lead others. I dreamt and he grew up before
my eyes, and began to lead his own wife and children, and their children. I was
so proud of my son. He was alive! I loved him very much.
We couldn't contain the excitement,
we were rejoicing, and our joy loves company. We promised ourselves many times
"this will be the last person we tell until after the first trimester,"
Only to violate our word the next day. We were thrilled.
Then, one day, truly in an instant,
our emotions began to change. My wife and I gather for worship with a
congregation in the old city, about a thirty minute walk from our home. We
arrived in Be'er Sheva in the summer, and the desert heat on that walk was
oppressive. It was easier now, the end of September, and I held Kate's hand
tightly the entire way, more protective of her well-being now than ever. We got
to the building a few minutes early, and I chatted as Kate went to the
bathroom, something that seemed to be a favorite past time of hers in the last
few weeks. She came back and touched my arm, lightly, softly, but as I looked
in her eyes I felt as if I had been struck through my heart.
"We need to go home," she
said softly, with tears gathering in her eyes.
I
gathered my things, we left less than 5 minutes after arriving. She was scared,
I didn't know how to comfort her. We talked, I attempted to soothe her, saying
blood alone wasn't a guarantee, but I knew in my heart what was likely. We were
losing our baby. We got home, and began to pray for the life of our baby. The
Lord was kind to us, assuaging our fears, and we began to be more confident as
we watched a movie together and relaxed, resting, hoping, her hand in mine,
giving the illusion I could protect her from what was happening, when I had
never felt more helpless in my life.
The next day was the first day
of Succoth, and we were unable to get a doctor's appointment, so we went to the
emergency room. In that prison shared by the afflicted, the waiting room, our
hands were clasped; I was inadequately and clumsily attempting to reassure my
wife that everything would be all right, she, praise God, allowed me to
comfort her. We finally saw the doctor. I was preparing myself for the total
lack of empathy we had first experienced. I, in my frustration at the
helplessness I felt, was prepared to end our visit with a haymaker if I felt he
did not care for Kate in her vulnerable state. I am so glad to write that we
were shocked at his kindness and empathy. He gave us an ultrasound, and we saw
our baby! There it was, implanted normally, a peanut shaped ultrasound picture
that meant more to us than any person alive. I felt my heart being lifted as I
thanked God for His kindness. The doctor shared with us that there was no
heartbeat, which was odd for eight weeks, but not hopeless. We took our first,
and only, picture of our baby, thanking God for it. We returned to our home,
begging in our prayers for God to help our child.
By that afternoon we were exhausted
with worry, and some kind friends, the only who knew the situation we were in
at that time, invited us to their home to share dinner, so that we
wouldn't be alone with just our thoughts. We appreciated their kindness so
greatly, and were thankful to be distracted by them. We helped their children
build a Succa, we ate and drank and laughed, enjoying their fellowship and
company. They were used by God to lift our hearts in a dark time. We never
forgot what was happening to us, but it was easier to hope in the presence of
those who loved us. As I talked with some men, Kate excused herself to use the
restroom again. I prayed silently, as I had often in the recent days. She
reappeared in the doorway, lips quivering, eyes searching for mine. I have
never seen her look as alone as she did in that instant, and my heart, struck
with that terrible blow, shattered. She signaled to me, so I hastily made our
excuses as she fought back the bitter tears that were beginning to fall on her
cheeks.
Once we got outside, she buried
herself in my arms, sobbing. She knew. I knew. We knew and our hearts were
crumbling together. We had lost our child. She sobbed on my chest, I had no
words, and my tears began to fall on her head. We heard the rain descending,
but the significance of a first rainfall meant nothing to us. It was merely
diluting the mixture of our tears, falling to the dry ground as our hopes and
dreams for our child collapsed. We aged together as we walked back to the
hospital that evening, seeking the closure we needed, crying as the pain in our
hearts pulsated together. We sat in that horrible place, the waiting room, all
by ourselves. My wife shook with sobs as I held her hand softly, reassuring her
that I was there and would be there, not having words for her except to express
my love for her again and again, as we both struggled with the horrific blow we
had been dealt. We were called back again, the doctor on call spoke the worst English
of all the doctors we had talked to, but she was patient and kind as we
explained the recent days' events. She took an ultrasound, and as we had
already known, our baby was gone. The doctor tried to explain what had
happened, and we tried to explain that we already knew. The language
barrier was too much for our exhausted minds, and so we sat with the doctor in
silence. She, in a gentle display of maternal kindness, placed her hand on
Kate's leg. Oh the grace of God in giving us that doctor! Although she couldn't
speak, we knew she understood our pain, and she attempted to comfort us with a
touch.
We decided to walk home that night,
regardless of the weather. It felt right, for our grief to be met by the rain.
We were mourning, hurting, crying and talking. The gentle rain fell on the
parched thirsty ground. The desert atmosphere causing the earth to drink the
rain instantly, ravenously. Although our hopes for our son or daughter had been
dashed, we talked that evening of our True Hope. We talked about how He had
been through all the pain this fallen world had, indeed how He had born the
penalty of the pain caused by man in his body on the cross. We talked about His
promise to us. He had left this world, going to God, but He would return, and
when He did, this earth would be redeemed! We talked about the depth of our
groanings now, how we joined all of fallen creation in groaning for the
Promised One's return. He would make all things new.
Our pain was a desert of shifting
sands, and we were struggling as the wind pushed us and moved the ground we
stood on from beneath our feet. We felt the sting of death, we felt the wound
of loss, and it seemed as if our grief would overtake us in defeat.
We were stumbling, and thought that after we fell, we would be buried beneath
that desert forever. As the winds of grief blew the sand from our feet, we fell
to our knees, and the sand gave way to reveal the Rock of our Hope. From there
we could see the future. The winds stopped, and the clouds burst in the sky,
life-giving rain falling into the desert around us. We could see the desert
burst forth into brilliance, as streams of living water filled it's barrenness
with the fruit of hope. We wait for this day with patience.
For
I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing
with the glory that is to be revealed to us. For the creation waits with eager
longing for the revealing of the sons of God. For the creation was subjected to
futility, not willingly, but because of him who subjected it, in hope that the
creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the
freedom of the glory of the children of God. For we know that the whole
creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And
not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the
Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption
of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not
hope. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we
wait for it with patience. (Romans 8:18-25 ESV)
Restore
our fortunes, O Lord,
Like
streams in the Negeb!
Those
who sow in tears
shall
reap with shouts of joy!
He
who goes out weeping,
bearing
the seed for sowing,
shall
come home with shouts of joy,
bringing
his sheaves with him. (Psalm 126:4-6 ESV)
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