I originally wrote this in September 2012.
Michael was one of my groomsmen, and his wife Emily one of Rachael’s bridesmaids. These were not honorary positions but acknowledgements of deep friendship. During our early college years, Michael and I prayed much together. He joined me on weekend trips home to Atlanta and fast became an honorary Davis. We did ministry together, and we ministered to each other. As Michael shared more of his painful family history–along with the contorted view of God those experiences handed him–our times of tears and anger and unanswered questions and scripture and just doing something were the early indicators that God was making me a pastor.
Emily was both friend and mentor to Rachael. In college they served together in ministry to high school students. They memorized scripture together. They also trained for a half-marathon together. During those runs Emily asked Rachael a simple question, without fail: “What is God teaching you from his Word?” The anticipation of this question pushed Rachael deeper into the Word, closer to God, and more grateful for this model of gentle, consistent accountability.
As our respective marriages grew, we wrestled with different flavors of heartbreak in the area of childbearing. Rachael and I faced infertility, that month-after-month roller coaster of heightened expectations followed by the plummet into the reality of an empty womb. Michael and Emily faced the opposite struggle. They had no problem getting pregnant but experienced miscarriage after miscarriage. A higher expectation, a deeper plunge.
Then, at long last, Emily’s pregnancy survived the first trimester. All seemed well until a sonogram 4 months in revealed the heartbreaking situation: their baby boy was not developing a skull. Thus he would be able to survive in the womb but not outside of it. Against advice to abort, Michael and Emily chose for her to carry their son full term, taking nearly 5 months to simultaneously anticipate a few fleeting moments with their son and to grieve his loss.
Not long after we were settling in at Whitton Avenue Bible Church, Michael and Emily welcomed their son Francis into the world, spent 23 wondrous minutes with him, then placed him into the hands of Jesus. When the elders heard this story, they encouraged us to go be with our friends. We wept together. We watched YouTube videos together. We talked about the Psalms of Lament that gave voice to their pain when they weren’t ready for Romans 8:28.
Fast forward almost 7 years, and our friends are now missionaries in Africa with 2 beautiful boys adopted from the country where they serve. Life is full, with new chapters being written. Then the news: Emily is pregnant. The baby seems healthy. The roller coaster was higher than ever.
The stakes here were not children. Michael and Emily have two children who could be no more “theirs” than if she had given birth to them. But with the painful history of years past, the risk felt immense.
So it was that I found myself sobbing uncontrollably on Wednesday as I looked at the pictures of their healthy newborn son. I wrote them seeking to express all the sorrow and joy I was experiencing and hoping to acknowledge the complexities of their journey. What Michael wrote back will serve as my theme until Jesus calls me home:
“There is no real way to describe the complex emotional, theological, and existential realities you are alluding to. I think if someone has not lived through it or something similar (as our families have), it really lies beyond one’s grasp.
“So I agree. We are weeping and joyous today in all of this and looking forward to the day when all the woes, losses, deaths, and brokenness will be made undone and real reality will finally be ours to live forever. And all the losses in your family and mine will be redeemed and gone forever. Come, Lord Jesus.”
Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.
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