Sorrow and Hope

My brother James and I grew up with a unique closeness to a family who lived down the street from us.  Their daughters were the same age as James and I, and the joke between our families was that we would all grow up and get married to the brother/sister who was our age. 

James sent me a text earlier this week which asked a simple question, “Did you hear about Helen Smith?”  Helen is the daughter who is my age, and I’ve changed her name for this story.

My heart immediately sank.  Actually, instead of sinking, my heart skittered across the slippery surface of uncertainty and teetered on the edge of despair.  I quickly texted James back – what happened?  I started praying for Helen and her family, and for whatever reason, I started praying that their four-month old son was OK.

It turns out that Josh – their precious baby boy – passed away this week.  My dad reached out to Helen's dad yesterday and got a message back that Josh had passed away in his sleep totally unexpectedly.  I wept in my car as I read Josh's obituary online earlier this morning.

Even as I see these words on the screen, my eyes begin to burn with tears for them, for their pain and sorrow, and for everything that I couldn’t imagine giving up if our son were to be suddenly gone from us.  When Josh was born, I remember thinking to myself, “How cool would it be for our boys to someday play together like we got to do when Helen and I were kids?”  It’s excruciating to imagine that being impossible now.

I don’t feel anger toward God.  Maybe I should; He can handle it.  I feel deep pain for my friends, and once again – like when a close friend told me earlier this week that he and his wife are getting a divorce – my gut feels twisted by the force of yet another catastrophic blow.

Excruciating.  Catastrophic.  Yes, there are certainly worse things in life than even the pain these friends are facing.  I would argue that there aren't many things worse than losing a child.  And God is with them – unfailingly, unflappably with them – which means that even the worst human suffering isn’t as awful as if God were to remove His presence (which is how I’d define hell).  My comfort for them and for anyone who faces shock and sorrow like this situation comes from Isaiah 26:3 - "You will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in you."  Only a perfect God can provide perfect peace, and that's what I hope you'll join me in praying for Helen and her husband Shawn.

Two simple prayers:

Father God, please surround and protect Shawn and Helen as they mourn, and give them plenty of time with people who have the courage to just sit and be the presence of Christ with them.  May their church and their small group be examples of your perfect peace to them as they mourn and grieve.

I also pray, Father, that in your mercy, their marriage would weather this storm and that you would fortify them through this awful time.

I ask in the merciful name of Christ, Amen.