In truth, what does one say at the funeral of a baby. Some funerals, especially for family and friends who have lived full lives, are celebrations or life. And the memories shared are inspirational and comforting. Yet, when preaching a funeral for an infant, the dominating feeling is "Why did this life end so soon?" We seek for a rationale that will comfort and give assurance, but human logic fails in the face of the death of a child. All of the preparations, investment of time/money/energy/, nine months of getting to know the baby (not just a fetus), dreams, expectations, hopes of life--all of it--disappear into a black hole of emptiness. Gone. Just gone. And you truly wonder to yourself, "What can be said?"
The hard reality was, Serenity was born not breathing. No one knows how long she was in the birth canal without oxygen. Enough damage had occurred to force doctors to admit that they never really were able to measure any brain activity. We prayed from the beginning for God to heal Serenity completely. We prayed in full surrender mode: God, please take Serenity. If it is your will to heal her and send her back, we will gladly embrace her and help her grow. If it is your desire to take her home, then help us to let go. But we cry out for her complete healing.
And so we prayed. Three times the family discussed funeral plans, and three times God allowed Serenity to stay on earth. When the family met with doctors on April 10, we thought for sure they would take her off of the breathing machine and that she would pass away that very day. But the doctors told us she had gained such strength over the weekend that they had to take her off the machine because she was doing so well. And I was amazed at the gift of God in that moment. We were prepared to say good bye. God said wait, again.
Until April 14, when she couldn't go any further, and God received her into his arms. God answered our prayers--by giving her complete healing in heaven. And we still pray for complete healing for her parents and family still on earth.
The family experienced a great amount of emotional, spiritual, and physical stress--mountain peaks and valleys--all in 16 days.
And yet, some wonderful moments of power, enlightenment, and transformation occurred in those 16 days. Serenity's parents are still so young--and yet they were given a wonderful opportunity to hold Serenity and to love their child when all medical opinion and insight indicated that Serenity would not survive her first night. At least one family who delivered a baby in this time frame did not even get that much time with their child.
They had a moment to hold her hand and feel her strength--a strength that fought in spite of terrible odds.
They watched as she fought for life--and were reminded that some things, especially life, are worth fighting for, no matter what the odds.
Both sides of the family were given the opportunity to hold each other up in stress, and to pray for one another. There was an opportunity for strong family bonds to form.
The young parents showed great resiliency when other were ready to quit. Their youthful optimism was contagious, and some of us mature folks were reminded of the limits of science and human logic.
When they took Serenity off of the breathing machine, the whole family rejoiced just to hold her, even if for only a moment. It was a moment of normalcy in an otherwise extraordinary struggle for life. And as they held her, they experienced unconditional love in a new way. There was no evidence that Serenity could ever respond, or perhaps even know, what was happening due to her lack of brain activity. And yet, the parents, grand parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, nurses, aides, and anyone else with any emotional attachment to the circumstances, rejoiced to hold this child. A truly extraordinary measure of unconditional love. And perhaps even a measure of hope that just the touch of love might bring some measure of healing to this difficult situation.
And so, for 16 days, in the face of desperation and death, the power of hope and strength persisted, and still persists.
- Holding on to love.
- Fighting for what matters.
- Contagious hope.
- The frailty of human reason and the power of God's plan.
- Unconditional love.
So, what do you think you can do in 16 days? God used a helpless, yet determined and strong, babe to touch the lives of parents, families, nurses, and friends. What can he do through those with more abilities and strength who recognize their helplessness before God and surrender their life for his glory?
This is beautiful, Randy. I think the two threads that tie this together, would be hope and glory. When we suffer with hope in Christ, that brings infinite glory to God, especially to an unbelieving audience. To display for the world that God is enough, even when our hearts are breaking, is a tremendous testimony to the faithfulness of God's grace and mercy. I had three miscarriages, one of them late term. It was exceedingly painful. God met me there in the pain. I pray the same for Serenity's family, especially her parents.
ReplyDeleteThank you for the kind words. As I reflect on the display of God's grace and presence in the moment, I hear the voices of doubters and unbelievers speaking against a God who would even let such suffering happen. And I find myself struggling between the two worlds of divine wisdom and human reason. I believe that God's wisdom is greater. And I know that my reason, and human reason, is partial. So, I am assured that faith in the divine is the best option. And then I think, "Would there be true faith if there wasn't a struggle for belief?" After all, if I knew all things, then I would be divine, and everyone knows that's not true.
ReplyDeleteHope and glory. Thank you for putting those terms together in this context. It inspires more thought for me . . . .
ReplyDeleteWhenever I think about trials and struggles, I am always reminded of the night sky. I have often taken my children outside on a dark night to enjoy the starry hosts. We sit, talk, and marvel at the creativity of God's hand. But what I want them to notice, in particular, are the stars. They are beautiful how they twinkle and shimmer, under the cover of night. My point is, we couldn't fully appreciate the stars if we only had daylight. Night must fall and cover the earth, before we can see, appreciate, and enjoy the stars. We even learn to enjoy the darkness and look forward to it because that is when the stars appear. The same is true in life. If it were all good, would we really stop to wonder at God's goodness and faithfulness. His glory is sometimes best displayed on a black canvas, not one filled with sunshine. Anyway, I really appreciate this post. I am encouraged by reading of others who love Jesus, even when it hurts. ~Courtney (meant to sign my name last time, but forgot, until it was too late.) :)
ReplyDeleteThanks so much for sharing this inspiration with us, Brother. I had a similar experience with a stillborn child last August. We changed the word in his case: heavenborn is so much better. Read my take at http://www.aaronhouseholder.net/journal/2011/8/17/there-is-joy.html
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