The actual calendar has passed a couple of weeks ago, but Easter Sunday brings about an extra bittersweet memory for me. Four years ago on Easter, I woke up pregnant, having known and been excited about our coming first child for a couple of weeks, without a care in the world--excited to direct our Easter cantata at church. I knew there was something wrong about 20 minutes later but tried to convince myself it was just first-time pregnancy jitters. Justin & I prayed before we went to church but, throughout the day, "things" just kept getting worse. Once family (not knowing anything was wrong) left following a great dinner and we took off for the ER, laughing and saying how much I just wanted to see the baby. A few hours later, we were sent home--after being told there was no heartbeat, no egg sac, and thus, no baby.
Our hearts were broken--I cried for hours. You know that awful, gut-wrenching horrible sobbing you do when you're so upset you can't say anything, yell anything? Those were my prayers--I couldn't express what I was feeling to my Lord, so I just sobbed it. I didn't understand (still don't some days) and wanted God to explain it. But He never did.
I wonder if Jesus felt this way when pleading with God to "take this cup". The Bible says Jesus "sweat blood" from the concentration and tenseness of His prayers. I am so thankful that even though He had the choice to go to the cross, He chose to go there for me.
There's more to the story, you see--one of the reasons I remember that painful Easter is because there was hope in our situation. We knew God "works together for those who love Him, according to His purpose". We knew there could be other babies. We knew that Jesus ROSE from the DEAD to give us new life--that's the hope I remember when thinking about my baby in heaven. What incredible promises! Jesus LIVES!
