I was folding up the guest room sheets and putting them away in the changing table drawer, the one intended to hold diapers and onesies. We had put away the crib and pulled out the select comfort mattress and set it up so that we could host a missionary family with us this summer. It had been just two weeks since we had received the news that Isaac was not coming to our family, but that his paternal grandmother would be adopting him. Our whole year of preparation and anticipation had culminated to that decision from CPS. I had wept as I said goodbye to the tiny nursery. As pieces of my heart were boxed up and stored away to make room for a completely new and different reality. One which did not consist of a baby.
It was now almost five months since we received the news. I pulled open the drawer to the changing table and saw a collection of various pieces of baby clothes my mother had given to me at Christmas, confident that she was receiving another grand child soon. There, atop the clothes and few diapers, was a letter I had written to Isaac last Christmas. I sat down on the bed and read the letter. It was such a sweet read, telling him all about our children and our dogs and all the animals here on our farm. How we had gotten everything ready for him and were so excited to meet him, even though we didn’t know that they would pick us to be his parents. But the part that got to me was toward the end. I wrote:
Even though we don’t know if you will come to stay here forever, we do know and trust the Lord God, Creator and Redeemer of our lives. He is infinitely good and so we can put our confidence in Him, knowing He will do what is absolutely best for you and for us.
I sat there in our baby-room-turned-guest-room and wept because I didn’t know if I believed my own words anymore. Infinitely good! Absolutely best! Was this true? Deep, deep down I knew it to be true, but the pain was fresh again. The sorrow and the loss seemed to be more real than the sovereignty of God. And the questions I had! How it all made no sense at all. Why would we have gone through almost a year and a half of so much work and expecting and hearing very clear words from the Lord only to give birth to wind?
It dawned on me last week that Isaac turned two years old. And I had completely missed it! Last year, we celebrated his first birthday as a family, though we hadn’t met him yet, but this year we had gone on with our lives without him and had forgotten all about it. The sadness didn’t hit me until I remembered him. It is in the remembering that the pain cuts deep and the tears bleed out.
A few nights ago, I drove home in the rain after taking my daughter to a youth retreat and was overcome with the sorrow of losing Isaac. I sobbed to the Lord, “I just want to understand what last year was all about! I want to hear your voice!” Over the course of the last few months many people have given me words of encouragement and phrases they heard from the Lord for me. And they were good things, beautiful things, but I wanted more. I wanted Him to speak to me. But I think what I really wanted was for Him to explain everything to me. And every time I asked for an explanation, I received nothing.
But yesterday I asked again. I was making myself a cup of coffee and then, “You, my child, are righteous,” spoke softly to my heart. It caught me off guard. It didn’t make sense that He would tell me that. That didn’t explain anything about this last year. And, righteous? I didn’t feel very righteous!
But then I remembered something. There was one phrase from the book of Hebrews that the Lord brought to my heart a year ago, which became the theme of our long, arduous wait for a son. I remember being out in the woods, worshiping God and listening. I heard in my spirit, “He who is coming will come and not delay, but my righteous one will live by faith and if he shrinks back, I will not be pleased.” I grabbed at my Bible that I had brought with me and thumbed through the concordance to find the place where it said that in scripture. It took me a while, but I finally found the place. It was Hebrews 10:37-38. I came away from that time in the woods, not believing that it promised me that Isaac was coming, but that the Lord Himself was coming and that I must live by faith, and not by sight.
I did some simple logic. If God called me righteous, then according to that verse, and though I felt a bit presumptuous in saying it, I had lived by faith this last year and He was pleased with me. I looked back over this last year and knew it to be true. We had all walked by faith in the goodness and justice of God, even though we didn’t know what the outcome would be. We trusted Him. We did all He called us to do. The thing that was driving me crazy was that I couldn’t understand why we didn’t get what we wanted. But yesterday, though I did not receive any explanation for the past year, I received the confirmation that my Daddy was pleased with my faith. His pleasure with me makes all the difference.
And as C.S. Lewis states so eloquently in the book Til We Have Faces, “I know now Lord, why you utter no answer. You are yourself the answer. Before your face questions die away.”