Coming from the hot, dry climate of Northern California where temperatures in the summer (May-October) soar upwards of 100 degrees regularly, I can honestly say that I've always loved the rain. The city I hail from has an average of 249 sunny days, with only 52 days of rain each year, according to one source. In other words, rain was a rare treat and I loved every moment of it. I’ve lived in the Pacific Northwest for almost three years now, and I will make the bold claim that I truly never grow tired of the rain. True, the darkness of the skies can get old after a while, but I see beauty in the abundance of brilliant green grasses and the clinging moss that finds its way onto most surfaces. To me, the darkness is worth it. Rain causes growth and it helps me to appreciate the sun more – something that I took for granted while living in California. I don’t mean to be cliché, but it seems like those vastly different weather patterns reflect what’s going on inside my heart.
Lately, I’ve been meeting a friend in a local coffee shop each week to discuss sharing the Gospel. Last week, we addressed the issue of suffering by asking the common question, “Why would a good God allow suffering?” If I’m honest, the question was as much for me as it might be for a hypothetical unbeliever wrestling with the issue. As you know, my husband and I lost our baby at eight weeks last September, and it feels like we’ve been under the weight of trial after trial since. I have biblical truths that I hold firm to during the pain and struggle, but sometimes my belief is shaky at best – something I believe with my head, but not with my heart.
By now, it seems that I can get through most days with a positive attitude, but there is still a great sorrow in my heart as I ache for that little one that I should have delivered earlier this month. Without going in to detail, our budget is so tight I feel like we’re being strangled slowly. There are also things of a darker nature in my heart that I try so desperately to conceal. On mornings like these, when the sky is dark and the rain pours outside my window, I stop to think and it all comes rushing back. I’m so angry. I’m so tired of hearing other happy pregnant moms talk about how hard it is to be pregnant. I want to rail at them and at God, just to remind them that I remember what it’s like to be sick, to feel a million foreign aches in my body as my baby grew, to feel so tired I didn’t want to move, to crave roasted red peppers and sushi, and to have to use the bathroom excessively. I also remember vividly the horrors of delivering that little one far too soon and the emptiness in my body for the next several weeks afterward.
It’s easy to look at God and ask Him why. Why would He take our baby? Why won’t He give us another? Why doesn’t He just make life a little easier on us so that we have enough money to keep basic staples in our pantry? Why can’t our cars just work properly for a few weeks? Doesn’t He care? Does He see how hard I’m trying to make this all work?
The answer is simple. Yes. Yes, He sees. He is the God who sees me (Genesis 16:3). God is not indifferent. He, being rich in love and mercy, hurts with me (John 11:33-36). He is not a cruel God toying with human experiments, but a loving Father. He CARES. I am not His victim. My anger and cynicism were not created by this thing He allowed. They were there all along. Glen Scrivener describes this as “Hell in our hearts,” and to that I say amen! If I had not experienced this, I would not have had my sin exposed. There was anger and rebellion pent up in my heart, waiting to pounce on God the moment something in life stopped going my way. This morning, I wept as I thought of this. I asked out loud, “How could You love me, God? You knew I was angry. You knew I’d blame You even though You’ve been so good to me.” In the turbulence of my thoughts, I realized that He loved me when I was a comfortable little hypocrite, trusting in my works, knowing that I have always been a “good girl” and building foolish castles in the sand and painting white picket fences in the sunset. He tore me asunder and exposed what was already inside me as His waves crashed over me, sweeping away my idols and dreams as He taught me a deeper love for and reliance upon Him. As my heart draws closer to Him, I am reminded that this is not the first time He has brought forth life from death!
My dreams, however justified, are nothing if they are in the way of my Savior’s glory. As C.S. Lewis wrote, “It would seem that our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.” My dreams are filled with self. I want things that make life comfortable as I cozy up to a broken, fallen world that is coming to a sure end. Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not saying that my desire for a child is wrong, but my dependence upon having one for my own happiness and self-fulfillment is. God, rather than patching up my brokenness and allowing my stinking, festering attitude inside to spread while catering to my whims, has wrenched me apart and exposed the disease inside so that He might bring healing.
It hurts endlessly, but He is good. He has brought life to the dry bones of my apathy. It is painful to be refined by God, but it is good and His love and care are evident daily as He surrounds me with people who extend His love and grace to me daily. I am sorrowful, yet always rejoicing (2 Cor. 6:10), filled with hope as I set my gaze upon Christ. He satisfies me. Even through the storms, I can praise Him for what He is accomplishing. He washes and refreshes me as He brings forth growth. He fills my heart with new dreams, with better dreams. His mercy and grace, like the sunshine, are so much more real to me now that I have known the rain.
”Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God that depends on faith— that I may know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, that by any means possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead.”Philippians 3:8-11
