Friday, July 29, 2022

A Wisdom so Broken

 

It’s 5:30 AM, which is my new wake-up time because we got a puppy. Technically, the kids got a puppy, which means that she “sleeps” on their side of the house and they are responsible for getting up in the middle of the night if she needs to go out. And by “they,” I mean that when I come into the living room at 5:30 AM I know I will find Claire sleeping on the couch with little Lucy curled up at her feet. I tap her on the shoulder and whisper, “Honey, do you want to go back to your bed?” She nods, picks up her pillow, and stumbles away for a couple more hours of sleep. Claire is twelve, but has always been forty in her heart, which is what I will be in reality one year from today.

Today is my birthday. I sit beside Lucy on the couch and think about it. I read from my Bible-in-a-year plan and think about how Solomon had all the wisdom he asked for but slipped further and further into compromise until you can’t even recognize that wisdom anymore. I wonder about myself, and whether I will remember or forget the wisdom I have learned in 39 years.

Three months ago, for the fourth time in my life, I experienced the incomparable shock wave of awe that comes when you realize that God has formed a new life inside of you. It was unexpected. I had thought our family was complete, but when the shock wore off I laughed at how much I had believed that I was writing my own story, and at how different the plot was going to turn out than what I had expected.

The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord established his steps.

This morning my reading was of Solomon’s prayer of dedication at the completion of the temple construction. He was on point as He recalled the Lord’s faithfulness in the past and pointed toward all the different circumstances that would compel God’s people to call on Him in prayer. I wonder if Solomon had clung to that thought, if it would have changed the trajectory of his story. I wonder if the turning point was when he stopped thinking about God’s faithfulness, stopped thinking that he needed to be one of those people crying out to the Lord.

In those early weeks I was not afraid. This was completely God’s idea and not our own. I’ve lived long enough to know that He is faithful, and that His plans are better than ours. In past seasons I have struggled and rebelled against unexpected change, but for the first time, I knew nothing but peace about this twist in the plot. This little life was God’s plan, and it was good.

But when I walked into that ultrasound room to see my baby for the first time, and when the technician took too much time before turning the screen around to face me, I knew.

Abide with me, fast falls the eventide
The darkness deepens Lord, with me abide

For three more weeks I walked around in a body that thought I was still pregnant but with a mind that knew the truth and a heart that hoped against hope that maybe the ultrasound was wrong. Week by week I watched as my labs returned with the confirmation that the life in my womb had ended. On June 23, the day before I would have been at the end of my first trimester, alone in my bathroom I delivered the sweet shell of my child.

When other helpers fail and comforts flee
Help of the helpless, oh, abide with me

The thing that I knew most deeply during the days of my miscarriage was that my Shepherd was with me and that His faithfulness would never fail. I knew it so deeply that I could taste it. Even when my spirit was raging within me, I was fully confident in His goodness. I found rest. My disbelief and fear and disappointment were safe in the refuge of His compassion. In my brokenness He was so near.

On my 39th birthday, I think about Solomon. I wonder in those early days of his reign, when he was so broken and bowed by the weight of the crown on his head, when he knew without a doubt that his only hope for fulfilling his purpose was to sit at the feet of the Fountain of Wisdom, if he felt that same nearness, if he could taste it. I wonder when it started to fade. I think at the end of his life he remembered, but it was so bittersweet as he wrote, “Remember your Creator in the days of your youth.”

If this baby was a girl, her name was going to be Tessa Joy. Tessa – “harvester” –  after my mom, who also discovered that the name can mean “fourth child.” Harvester of joy. In the hardest days, I read from Psalm 16 – “In Your presence is fulness of joy.” This fourth child is in a fulness of joy I have not yet experienced, and that is a beautiful thought for my heart to dwell on.

I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness

I’ve probably never been so broken as I have been in this season. But what a deep well of wisdom is formed through suffering. I pray that I would never be the same, that I would be marked forever by the comfort of God’s presence that can only be experienced in brokenness. I look at Solomon and see someone who gained wisdom but forgot how to use it.  On my 39th birthday I hope I will not forget.

Where is death's sting? Where, grave, thy victory?
I triumph still, if Thou abide with me