I just don't get it. I don’t understand how this emptiness has fallen on our house and refuses to relent its suffocating cover. Tonight, I just can’t believe that this is what our lives look like now. What happened? I feel disoriented, like I just got punched or something.
I’ve been tormented all week by a snapshot in my mind of handing my Zachary’s perfect, but lifeless body over to the nurse after saying my last goodbye on the day he was born. I had to hand my son over to a stranger, knowing that I would never get to hold him again. I had to give the baby I had dreamt of holding for 9 months away to someone I didn’t even know! I so vividly remember every fiber of my being wanting to scream out in protest.
And, as haunting as that memory is, I know that that’s exactly what God is asking of me again tonight. He just keeps whispering, “Give Zachary to Me once again. He was never really yours in the first place. Place him in My arms and let Me soothe your empty, aching arms.”
Oh, if only it were that easy.
I read this verse this morning during worship at church. I know without a doubt that these words are true…I just wish they would sink in a little bit deeper right now:
“But now, this is what the Lord says – He who created you, O Jacob, He who formed you, O Israel: Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are Mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, the flames will not set you ablaze. For I am the Lord, your God, the Holy One of Israel, Your Savior.” Isaiah 43:1-3
Lord, please meet me right here tonight. Fill the emptiness. Gently pry my tightly-closed fists open. I want to release Zachary to you once again. I want to feel alive again. Walk me through this, Lord. May the morning bring new life, a breath of fresh air, sweet memories, and the necessary surrender of my life to You. Amen.