Divine Despair

I don't know about you, but I love music. It touches my soul in a way that nothing else can. Two of my all-time favorite songs are Magnificent Obsession and One Pure and Holy Passion. Though I have sung these songs hundreds of times over the years, they never get old. I think that the reason that these songs mean so much to me is because I feel that they reflect the cry of my heart.

Now, I have a new favorite song. I Asked the Lord by John Newton:

I asked the Lord that I might grow,
In faith and love and every grace,
Might more of His salvation know,
And seek more earnestly His face.

Twas He who taught me thus to pray,
And He I trust has answered prayer.
But it has been in such a way,
As almost drove me to despair.

I hoped that in some favored hour,
At once He'd answer my request.
And by His love's constraining power,
Subdue my sins and give me rest.

Instead of this, He made me feel,
The hidden evils of my heart.
And let the angry powers of hell,
Assault my soul in every part.

Yeah, more with His own hand, He seemed,
Intent to aggravate my woe.
Crossed all the fair designs I schemed,
Cast out my feelings, laid me low.

"Lord, why is this?" I trembling cried.
Wilt Thou pursue Thy worm to death?"
"Tis in this way" the Lord replied,
"I answer prayer for grace and faith."

"These inward trials I employ,
From self, and pride, to set thee free;
And break thy schemes of earthly joy,
That thou mayest seek thy all in Me."
—John Newton

Friends, for many years, I asked God to "give me one pure and holy passion", to "give me one magnificent obsession." Namely, I asked God to give me more of Himself. Truly, God is answering my prayer, "but it has been in such a way, as almost drove me to despair" (John Newton). The process of pruning has required my Father to "cut through these chains that tie me down to so many lesser things" and to "let all my dreams fall to the ground until this one remains" (Steven Curtis Chapman).

I have kicked and screamed all throughout this process and probably will continue to do so. Oh, how painful it has been and continues to be! Though I suspect that my tantrums probably appear to God as the fits of a toddler to his parent when things don't go his way, I do not doubt my Father's love for me. In the same way that I smile and shake my head when my Caleb throws a temper tantrum, I know that my Father is smiling upon me with His all-sufficient, all-knowing love. You see, I love my child too much to let him get his way when I know that it will only harm him. How much greater is the perfect love of my Heavenly Father towards me.

The Song of Sorrow

The past two weeks have been terribly difficult for me. The first and second day of May marked the 2-month anniversary of David's birth and death. As each new month begins, my soul is assaulted with the reminder of my precious David's painfully short life. Sometimes, I feel like it has been an incredibly long journey, and other times I feel like we just lost him yesterday. But mostly I just feel sorrow.

I feel like such a different person than I did a few months ago, and frankly, I am not too fond of the new me. Recently, I had an emotional breakdown when a close friend of mine told me that she is pregnant. Why? I wish that I knew. I am not really sure. For some reason, I just completely fell apart. It was as if a boil had been festering in the pit of my soul, and it suddenly burst open.

I used to be this really stable person who just let things "roll" off my back. I liked to think of myself as a shelter that others could depend on when the storms of life were closing in. Well, sorry friends, not anymore. Not me. Not now.

I feel a little bit like Emma Thompson's character in "Sense and Sensibility" (Elinor Dashwood). Throughout the movie, she is incredibly strong, though she is quietly bearing the heavy burden of a broken heart. However, at the end of the movie, she bursts into tears, crying uncontrollably. Her emotions finally get the best of her. This is how I feel, except that Emma Thompson's emotional outburst is endearing; mine is not.

People keep telling me that this struggle will change me for the better. I hope that they are right because I have yet to see the "better." Right now, I am just trying to figure out who this strange person is that has moved into my body because I do not feel like I know her very well. I recognize her voice, but she is singing a song that I do not know - the song of sorrow.

I am told that this song will begin to fade as time passes, but it will never stop playing in the background. As I stop and look at the world around me, I wonder how many others are singing this same song. I wonder why it is that this song is so unrecognizable. I remember hearing a line or two when my grandparents passed away and a few notes on occasion when listening to a tragic story. But now, I hear the entire song playing over and over again, and the tune is very different than I had imagined it to be.

I hope that as time goes by, the notes will slowly begin to sound sweeter. Yet, I know that the song will continue to be out-of-tune until the day that I see my Savior face-to-face. The wisest man that ever lived once said, "It is better to go to a house of mourning than to go to a house of feasting, for death is the destiny of every man; the living should take this to heart. Sorrow is better than laughter, because a sad face is good for the heart" (Ecclesiastes 7:2-3).

My sorrow feels dreadfully painful, and I admit that I do not understand how all of this pain could be good for my heart. But the other day my sweet husband reminded me that my Heavenly Father has "kept count of my tossings" and "put my tears in [His] bottle" (Psalm 56:8). What sweet relief to know that not one of my tears has been wasted. My Father has stored every one of my tears in His bottle, and He will use these very tears of sorrow to water my dry and weary soul.

Words of Life

In March 2007, I attended a women's retreat lead by Judy Reamer. Judy is a Messianic Jew with an amazing testimony about how Christ drew her to Himself. She spent most of the weekend talking about the importance of reading and knowing God's Word. I was ripe and ready for the hearing. I had just finished three grueling years of law school during which time reading the Bible had taken a backseat in my life.

I walked away from Judy's message inspired and determined to know God's Word. I read through the entire Bible three times that year. Looking back, I can see that God was using this time to prepare me for combat. In His infinite wisdom, only God knew the monumental battles that lurked around the corner of my life.

In September 2007, Tom enrolled in seminary and left his full-time job. The two years that followed this transition were marked with turmoil, and there were moments when we were unsure whether or not our marriage could survive such tremendous stress. We were "struck down, but not destroyed ... constantly being delivered over to death for Jesus' sake, so that the life of Jesus could be manifested in our mortal flesh" (II Corinthians 4:9-11).

During this season, I began to learn what it meant to crucify my flesh with its passions and desires (Galatians 5:24), and allow me to let you in on a little secret - it was ugly. I had no clue that so much disgusting sediment was lying in the dark recesses of my heart. Learning to die to myself has been an agonizing process.

Last autumn, we began to see light at the end of the tunnel as Tom was finishing seminary. But before our battle wounds had opportunity to heal, we were struck down with the devastating news that our baby boy had a fatal condition that would not allow him to survive outside of my womb. God had promised that He would not give us more than we could handle, but there were moments when I was not sure that I believed this promise to be true.

I can relate with Jesus' disciples in asking, "Lord, this is a hard teaching. [How can I] accept it?" The enemy has tempted me to give up, telling me lies that God is not really good. Through my darkest moments, the Word of God has answered my many questions with the most important question of all, "Lord, to whom shall I go? You have the words of eternal life. I believe and know that you are the Holy One of God" (John 6:60-69).

I have spent many moments questioning God and His goodness to me, and I know that if there are ever to be any answers to my questions, God Himself is the only one who can supply them. I will probably never fully understand why God has orchestrated this turmoil in my life, but He has given me brief glimpses into the goodness of His sovereign plan.

In the darkest valley of my life, I am learning that only the Word of God can provide hope and healing to my broken heart. Through the reading of His Word, God is making me "like a tree firmly planted by streams of water," rather than "like chaff, which the wind drives away" (Psalm 1). Therefore, I must continue to "hold fast to the word of life, so that in the day of Christ I may be proud that I did not run in vain or labor in vain" (Philippians 2:16).

True Prosperity

A couple of years ago, I watched a YouTube video of John Piper adamantly opposing the prosperity gospel. If you are not familiar with the prosperity gospel, it is a term used to describe a false gospel that teaches that if you believe in Jesus you will have health, wealth, and prosperity. In other words, if you want to live a life of ease and comfort, then play your cards right with God, and you will be blessed.

I strongly agreed with Piper's opposition to this false doctrine and was indignant that people portrayed Jesus as some sort of cosmic vending machine. My new favorite Bible verse became Psalm 73:25-26, "Whom have I in heaven but you? And earth has nothing I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever." Piper said that Jesus alone was all satisfying, and I wholeheartedly agreed ... or so I thought.

Apparently, my conviction that Jesus is all-satisfying was not as rock-solid as I believed it to be. You see, I was living life "at ease, and he broke me apart; he seized me by the neck and dashed me to pieces" (Job 16:12). I am learning that it is one thing to say that Jesus is enough, but it is quite another thing to live it when God shakes you to the very core of your being.

In his song Questions, Steven Curtis Chapman asks, "Who are you God? For You are turning out to be so much different than I imagined. And where are you God? Because I am finding life to be so much harder than I had planned. And where were you God? I know you had to be right there. I know you never turn your head." These are my questions too.

Since learning of David's diagnosis six months ago, I have been wrestling with God. There are no easy answers and no platitudes to make me feel better. I either believe in the God of the Bible, or I don't. I either take Him at His word, or I don't take Him at all. I cannot make God into my own image. I cannot take the parts that I like about Him and leave the parts that make me uncomfortable. It is all or nothing.

When I left my 20-week ultrasound appointment, God had not changed. The same God who walked with me into the hospital with David alive in my womb was the same God who walked with me out of the hospital with David's lifeless body cradled in my arms. Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever (Hebrews 13:8). God has not changed; I have changed. My faith has been put to the test. Thank God that He is able to keep me from stumbling, and to make me stand in the presence of His glory blameless with great joy (Jude 1:24).

Hebrews 11, the great faith hall of fame, says that some "through faith conquered kingdoms, enforced justice, obtained promises, stopped the mouths of lions, quenched the power of fire, escaped the edge of the sword, were made strong out of weakness, became mighty in war, put foreign armies to flight. Women received back their dead by resurrection ... Others suffered mocking and flogging, and even chains and imprisonment. They were stoned, they were sawn in two, they were killed with the sword. They went about in skins of sheep and goats, destitute, afflicted, mistreated ... And all these, though commended through their faith, did not receive what was promised, since God had provided something better for us, that apart from us they should not be made perfect."

Destitute ... afflicted ... mistreated? This is certainly not what I had in mind for my life. I like health, wealth, and prosperity. I like being comfortable, and I want God to bless me. God has blessed me tremendously, and I do not want to discount His provision, but I am learning that my ease and comfort are not God's primary objectives in my life. He is pruning me so that I may bear fruit, and it is a painful process. God is the great surgeon who is using His scalpel to perform open heart surgery on me.

And, when all is said and done, I believe that I will have true prosperity - abundant life in Jesus that allows me to face whatever he brings my way with the confidence that "my Redeemer lives, and at the last he will stand upon the earth" (Job 19:25).

The Raw Truth

I am sorrowful.

Grief is my constant, unrelenting companion. Everything around me reminds me of David. When I see a picture that was taken before David, I think to myself, "I had no idea when I took that picture that I was going to have a baby boy that would die." When I walk by the baby section in Target, I get choked up thinking about the fact that I should be shopping there. When I hear a baby's cry, I wish that it were my baby.

Every day when I wake up, I am confronted with the harsh reality that my baby boy is not going to cry for me today or any day. In going through my daily routine, I am constantly thinking of all the things that I should be doing with my newborn son, and I am flooded with feelings of loss and emptiness.

I am afraid.

I am scared to "move on" because I feel like moving on means forgetting David, and I do not want to forget him or move on with my life without him. I feel as if I am in a time warp while all of the world is moving on without me. It is as if I have boarded a ship that is sailing farther away from David with each day that passes on the calendar.

I know that I will never "get over" David, and I will most certainly never forget him. David changed my life forever, and somehow I have to learn to adjust to the new "me." This new me is less controlled, more emotional, and much more uncertain than ever before.

I am angry.

I asked God to do something miraculous. In fact, God put it in my heart to ask for David’s healing, and then He said, “no.” His answer to my prayer was a no, without any explanations. Well-meaning people try to find a miracle in the situation by saying that that the fact that David was born alive was a miracle. I do not deny that the seven hours that we got to spend with David alive outside of my womb were truly a gift from God, but this was NOT the miracle that I asked God to do.

In God’s sovereign control over the work of His hands, He knit David together with bones that were not strong or big enough to sustain his life. I do not need to make excuses for God about why David was not healed. The truth is that I know that God was able to heal him. It would not have been difficult for the Creator of the Universe to heal my baby boy. But He chose not to do it, and this makes me mad. I do not understand. "O Sovereign Lord, you alone know." (Ezekiel 37:3)

I have hope.

If only for this life do I have hope in Christ, then I am to be pitied more than all men (I Corinthians 15:19). But thanks be to God. "Death has been swallowed up in victory. Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting? The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ." (I Corinthians 15:55-57).

Therefore, I will stand firm and let nothing move me because I know that my labor in the Lord is not in vain.

A Letter to David

My Sweet Baby David,

There are so many things that I want to say to you. First and foremost, I love you and miss you so much. It is hard not to have you here with me. My arms ache to hold you close. I want to run my hands through your soft, black curls and touch your beautiful, little face. How I wish that I could hold you once again.

Our time together was too short, but I would not take back one moment of it. I did not want for you to be born one day early because I wanted to spend every possible moment with you. I am thankful that our Heavenly Father allowed my body to go into labor on its own - that way I will never have to wonder how many hours that I missed out on spending with you in my womb.

Carrying you in my womb was sometimes difficult, but if I could have kept you there for the rest of my life, I would have done it. As each day drew us closer to your "due" date, I wondered how I was going to get through your birth. I did not know if I had the strength to make it through, and the truth is that I did not have the strength, but our Heavenly Father carried me through. It was painfully beautiful, bittersweet, excruciating and wonderful ... all at the same time.

I was worried about how "being born" would affect you. I did not want for you to suffer. I knew that you were fragile, and I prayed so many times that God would place a hedge of protection around you. He did. My labor was very quick. We arrived at the hospital sometime after 8:00 p.m., and you were born at 11:01 p.m. When Dr. Joe came to "deliver" you, your bag of water was still fully intact like a beautiful pool of water protecting your precious little bones. Amazing grace!

You cried when you were born. I had prayed that you would cry. I knew that healthy babies always cry when they are born. I prayed that your cry would be the sweetest sound that I had ever heard, and it was. It was not a strong cry, but it forced oxygen into your little lungs. That cry kept you alive and allowed you to spend sweet time with us. David, those seven hours with you will forever be etched in our memories.

I wanted for you to weigh five pounds because I had made up my mind that the five-pound marker was a milestone, and it marked the sign of a thriving baby. The scale told us that you weighed 4lbs. 14.5oz., but your Aunt Jenny told me that you were at least 5 lbs. when you were born because you peed several times before we weighed you. I think that she was right. You were five pounds when you were born, even though the doctors all said that you would not be an ounce over 4lbs. 8oz. You showed them!

Before you were born, part of me was afraid to see you because I did not know what you would look like. I am sorry for being afraid, sweet baby boy. I tried to be strong for you, but sometimes I was scared. When I saw your beautiful face and your head full of soft, black curls, I immediately fell in love. You were absolutely gorgeous! You looked just like a little porcelain doll. I had always wanted a baby with lots of hair, and God gave me this gift in you, David. What a gift you were to us.

You cried for over four hours after you were born. I wanted so badly to comfort you and make things better for you. I felt so helpless because I did not know how to help you feel better. Your daddy was the one who was finally able to calm you down around 3:30 in the morning. You laid on his chest and slept peacefully. This time was such a precious time for you and daddy. I had been blessed to take care of you for nine months, and it was daddy's turn to take care of you for a little while. What a gift to you and daddy.

Even though you were sleeping peacefully, I could not rest my eyes. As you and daddy slept, I stared intently at you, watching every breath. I was afraid that if I took my eyes off of you for even a second, you might stop breathing. Around 4:00 a.m., the nurse came in to check your vitals. Your heart was still beating strongly, and you were still breathing, though your breaths were labored. I asked daddy if I could take a turn holding you for a while. He gladly handed you to me.

After I laid you on my chest, I was finally able to close my eyes to rest. We fell asleep together in the stillness of the night. It was so peaceful. I woke up about 6:00a.m. and looked down at you. I questioned whether or not you were still breathing, but I was not sure that I wanted to know the answer, so I closed my eyes for a few minutes and tried to go back to sleep. I did not want for our time together to end. It was like waking up from a good dream and trying desperately to fall back asleep ... I did not want it to be over.

I woke up your daddy a few minutes later, and he could not find your breath. I started to cry. We called the nurse into the room, and she could not find your heartbeat. Our hearts broke as your daddy and I wept together in those early morning hours. We did not want to let you go.

As the sun rose, the snow fell peacefully to the ground the morning of your passage from earth to heavenly paradise. We had given your life over to God, but it was so hard to cut the strings of release. It is still so hard, David. I suspect that those strings will have to be re-cut many times in the coming days, weeks, and years. Letting go of you while holding fast to the memories is a seemingly endless cycle of love and pain.

We spent the day in the hospital with you, holding you close. We did not want to put you down for even one minute. Every second of time with you counted as a week, a month, or a year that we would never be able to spend together. I stared intently at your precious face, trying to etch every little feature of yours into my memory. I did not want to forget anything about you ... your long fingers and toes, your sweet smell, your soft skin, your tiny nose, your adorable lips, and that head full of curly, black hair - your crown of glory! You were so beautiful.

We had many precious moments with you that day as the snow fell steadily outside of our hospital window. We laughed, we cried, we hugged, and we LOVED you, David. I could not give you enough kisses to last a lifetime, but I gave you as many as I could that day. I knew that we could not stay there forever, but I did not want our time together to end. I did not want to leave that hospital without you. How could I bear to go home without my precious baby boy in my arms?

Dr. Joe and the hospital staff graciously arranged for us to leave that evening when the funeral director came to take you. I held you close as the nurse wheeled us out of the hospital. I could not look up. I wept as we moved down the halls and out the door. The time had come. The funeral director was waiting in his white van to take you away.

I hugged and kissed you and handed your small, fragile body over to him. You were wrapped tightly in your soft, white blanket. Oh David, that was the hardest thing that I have ever done. The memory of that moment is still almost too difficult to bear. As we walked to our car and the white van disappeared into the distance, it took every bit of strength that I could muster to hold myself back from chasing after you. I knew that I could not keep you, but the pain of letting you go felt unbearable.

We met with the funeral director the next morning to finalize the arrangements for your service. I sat at the table and cried as we discussed the details. Once again, I had to tie myself to the chair because every part of me wanted so badly to come find you. My arms ached to hold you.

Somehow, by God's grace, we made it through the next couple of days. On Friday, your Mimi took me to buy a new outfit. I wanted to look nice for your service. I wanted to honor your life. When we walked into the store and started pulling clothes off the racks, the lady at the store asked me, "What's the occasion?" I could not tell her. I just wanted to buy something and get out of that store as quickly as possible. I looked at her and replied, "Trust me, you do not want to know." She was very sweet and gracious to us.

On Saturday, we woke up to a beautiful, sunny day. It felt like spring outside. The irony of it all was strange ... a snowfall on the day of your death ... spring on the day of your funeral. We forced ourselves to go through the motions of getting dressed and ready to go. I felt like I was watching a movie of someone else's life. As we arrived at the funeral home, I kept thinking, "What are we doing? Why I am here?"

It was good to see your sweet face once again. In my heart, I knew that you were not really in that tiny, white casket. I knew that you were alive and well with your Heavenly Father. Your daddy had often prayed and reminded me that you would be given a new body one day - a frame with strong, healthy bones. I can picture you in my mind's eye running and playing with your brothers in the heavenlies one day ... no more broken bones, no more pain, no more tears.

God was glorified by your life and in your death. Your life served a great, big purpose, David. You touched so many hearts. You were and will continue to be an indescribable gift to us. It has been such a privilege to be your mommy. I am forever changed.

Always loving and missing you,

Mommy

David's Celebration Service

A memorial service to celebrate the life of David Nathaniel Watson will be held at 2 p.m. on Saturday, March 6, 2010, in the Chapel at Crowell Brothers Funeral Home, 5051 Peachtree Industrial Blvd., Norcross, Georgia. Our family will receive visitors on Saturday from 1-2 p.m. at the funeral home.

In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to the National Christian Foundation, 11625 Rainwater Dr., Suite 500, Alpharetta, GA 30009, for The David Nathaniel Giving Fund - fund #759371. This fund was established to continue the legacy of David's small but powerful life. All contributions will be used to support the ministries that have loved and encouraged us through this journey.