The Face of Hope

This post is one I have held in my mind for many months now, but never sat down to type until now. It felt too precious, too holy. But I’m going to try because it is about someone who changed my life. It’s about someone who was the motivation for publishing this little blog… the inspiration to share a newfound settledness over some deeply rooted fear. I won’t do a great job putting all of it into words because it’s too big, but I want to at least try. I want to remember her. I want to remember that moment that deeply changed and shook me to my core. Her name is Ruach, which means “spirit,” and she lived only a few minutes after her birth.

Her mother, Mary, was excited to announce she was pregnant with her second baby. It was a season of pregnancies and births for a lot of the ladies in the small group I had been leading for years. It started as the “young married small group,” then turned into “married with dogs and kids,” and has morphed into deep friendships that have gone through many peaks and valleys. When Mary announced to our group that some test results came back that weren’t the numbers they were hoping for, we still assumed that all would be well. But over the next few months it became more and more clear… her baby had Trisomy 18, a chromosomal abnormality with which most babies don’t survive to term or long after birth. The diagnosis and related prognosis was devastating. The team of doctors urged her to abort the baby for the sake of her own body, but Mary and her husband confidently chose the longer, harder road of carrying the baby girl to full term… to honor her life and to see her face if only for a day or perhaps a year. It was a no brainer for them.

The pregnancy was extremely taxing on Mary physically, mentally, and emotionally. Their baby would require a lot of extra medical attention post birth. So instead of picking out baby clothes and having traditional baby showers, Mary battled with insurance companies to get the care she and her daughter needed and we held prayer meetings. We did everything we could to honor and celebrate this baby girl’s life, but ultimately Mary would not be picking out toys and dresses for her baby girl. She would be selecting things no mother would ever want to think about for her child.

Watching Mary walk through this incredibly difficult season was life changing in itself. She and her husband somehow walked the road of faith and trust, holding onto hope while still making plans for the worst case scenario. It was a tender time. It was also a time when a certain holiness emulated from Mary. She didn’t try to hide her despair or disappointment. She faced it head on and was met head on by a loving and tender Father. The verse “he is close to the brokenhearted” (Psalm 34:18) was evident in her peace and in her sorrow. But that part isn’t my story to tell … I’ll skip ahead to June 17, 2022.

(Again, there is a much bigger story here, but I’ll just be telling my experience of it.)

I knew I would be coming back to Virginia Beach from Hatteras on that day and I had a gut feeling for weeks that baby Ruach (“Ru”) was going to enter the world on that day too. I got a text that Mary was in labor on my drive home to VB and prayed all through the day. When I heard that Ru had been born… and that she was with Jesus, I headed to the hospital not knowing if I could even go in and see them. But I did.

When I walked into the hospital room, it was holy ground. Here I was going to pray for my dear friends who had just lost their daughter, when I would be the one who was deeply ministered to that day.

There was Mary sitting upright in the bed holding Ru in her arms, with a big smile on her face. She had just gone through the most traumatic event of her life, had almost died herself, yet there she was, joyfully looking down at her precious baby girl. My eyes went from baby Ru, to Mary, to baby Ru again… a full blown picture of hope in the form of an indescribable peace. It was settled for me. It was certain … there is so much more to life than what we can see with our eyes. Mary would never see her baby girl age beyond that point, but she gazed down at her in pure admiration and joy, seeing past death and into the eternal. My heart exploded with hope.

How could this moment of seeing a mother look upon her deceased baby be an image of hope? I can’t fully explain it, but I think that’s the upside-down way of Jesus. That’s the explanation of the Beatitudes in Matthew 5:

“Blessed are the poor in spirit,
    for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn,
    for they will be comforted.
Blessed are the meek,
    for they will inherit the earth.”

Ru was wearing a white gown and hat, her eyes closed, her fully formed face was like that of an angel… perfect, sweet and beautiful. Her spirit was with Jesus, but her body remained for the lucky few to behold, savor and be ministered to. Her sweet mother offered to let me hold her, but I didn’t want to take one second away from this mother holding her baby when the minutes were numbered. Being in her presence was enough of a gift, and one I will forever savor.

It was clear to me that there was nothing I could do to help this young couple in that moment, except to witness and partake of their daughter’s beauty and share in their delight over her. I awkwardly prayed over them in full awareness that I was the one being filled up.

When it comes to marriage and children, it feels like the older you get, the higher the stakes become. The more you bind yourself and your life to another in marriage, then to your children, the more potential there is for loss. This is not a bad thing of course, but the risk of losing what you love most is scary. The pain of grief in losing someone is there at any stage (as well as the grief of what could have been if there is an early loss). But with each pregnancy and child we’ve had, the more my heart is spread out… walking around the earth as four unique individuals who will one day move on from my arms and our home. Right now they are ages 7,9,11, and 15 and soon part of my heart will be DRIVING around the town without being under my watchful eye.

Entering the hospital room that day has shaped even the way I view my oldest daughter Ila becoming an increasingly independent teenager (which is very scary). It has shaped the way I view my role as a parent and in this world.

How?

My deepest fear of losing a child was answered with a holy smile that day. And not just that day… over the next several months as this young couple grieved, God continued to speak and comfort and reveal Himself to them. This reminded me that God really is IN IT with us, all of it. Our everyday longings as well as our deepest sorrows. We are His and He is ALWAYS looking lovingly upon us.

It is possible to look at death right in the face and smile. . . Because there is a bigger story at hand, a bigger world, a kingdom of God that goes beyond our biggest fears and deepest regrets. Even if the worst thing happens, we are still held. When it feels like we are sinking in sorrow and loss and worst case scenarios, there is still something, Someone, who is our solid foundation underneath it all. And not only underneath, but beside us, ahead of us, and within us willingly giving unconditional love.

The world may say Ru was a baby who died, but to those who believe in the Kingdom of God, her life is a signpost of the eternal life we do not just wait or hope for, but grab hold of now. This day. In this situation and that situation. We know there is something bigger than us at hand. So we can get older, commit our lives to those who might hurt us, have babies who may leave us, and cling steadily to a bigger hope. Metaphorically, we embody a paradox of loosening our grip while clinging to Christ’s hand. Living without fear and living with freedom and knowledge that we are not on our own is what I will always remember when I think of Ru and her mother, Mary.

There is much more to unfold in this story, but I am thankful for the bit I am able to carry with me forever. When I approached the hospital that day in June there was a huge, cloud-shaped angel in the sky right over the hospital. The sun was shining right behind it, radiating light, announcing to all that this is sacred space, all is well, and all will be well.

That is the reality in which we live everyday. There are all sorts of fears besides the worst case scenarios that can flood our minds and handicap our ability to love. But in the Kingdom of God, which is here now, we are seen and held no matter what. There is a bigger world and a bigger story at hand beyond what we can see. I am grateful to have had my eyes opened to it that day.