Fear Thou Not

Because I hadn't felt Hazel moving yet, January 14th, the day of my ultrasound, was tinged with worry. I kept assuring myself everything was probably fine and I looked forward to having certainty that all was well. But as I drove to the hospital the doubts grew louder and I had to face, "what if?" God spoke to me in such a profound way in that moment with comfort. "Donna, whatever is coming, whatever you are about to face, you don't need to be afraid. I am with you." "Okay, Lord, I won't live in fear. Your presence goes with me." It seems too simple. But it was the truth my soul needed then and needs now. I found that to be very true in the following moments. In hearing the words, "I'm so sorry, but there is no heartbeat..." In having to sit there alone and drive home alone and wait a week for a procedure to deliver a dead child and in shivering alone waiting for that procedure. A million times over the words from James' little book paraphrasing Psalm 23 ran through my head. "The Lord is my shepherd and I am his little lamb. He feeds me, he guides me, he takes care of me. I have everything I need. Even when I walk through the dark, scary, lonely places, I won't be afraid. My shepherd knows where I am. He is here with me." 

Weeks later, that initial comfort and fullness at times feels missing. Every week they they draw my blood to see if my hormone levels are dropping, since rising levels could indicate a rare form of cancer is a complication of my pregnancy. Every week my doctor calls to update me and I'm filled with worry. Is my body going to be okay? Will I have to endure cancer on top of everything else I'm experiencing? It's harder for me to trust God right now. I want to be filled with comfort at the promise, "Do not be afraid, for I am with you." 

That's the greatest tension I think I've experienced in this heartache: massive comfort and joy at God's goodness and love for us; for Hazel. This is at odds with the other strong emotions of terror and fear: what if we lose even more? What if I a had lost James? What if we lose future children? Or health, or other loved ones, or the ability to carry future children...it all feels so much more possible now. On one hand it feels like I couldn't possibly handle more pain and suffering and yet on the other hand I hear God's whisper of promise that the same unfathomable grace that sustains us through each unimaginably heartbreaking day now would sustain us through whatever the future holds; and he holds that future.

Oh father, give me grace today to rest in your presence with me; whether tomorrow holds green pastures and quiet waters or valleys of death's shadow--you are with me, I need not be afraid. Comfort me by your Spirit as only you can do.