Why "Silent Night" Wasn't Silent
This is a poetry blog, but today's thoughts are in prose. Can you imagine how long of a poem it would have been to convey everything? đ
I hated the process of putting the IV in her little arm. My husband and I and a nurse held her down while another nurse worked first on her hand, and then, after a vein blew, tried again in her arm. She cried; she screamed; she looked at me with pain in her blue eyes, asking without words why I was letting this happen to her. Inches away from her face, and with tears streaming down my own, I talked to her and sang and tried to comfort her, but there was no way her 19 month old mind could process a reasonable explanation. I thought of my mom saying a few years ago that it was harder for her to watch her daughter (my sister) going through an incredibly difficult labor/delivery than it was for her (my mom) to bear children. I suppose nearly all mamas have had similar thoughts regarding their babies.
Also, in the middle of seeing my baby girl going through this ordeal, I thought about our Heavenly Father. I thought of how He must feel when He watches us go through hard experiences for which we will never understand the reasons âwhyâ here on earth. He knows the âwhy,â yet it hurts Him to see us hurting.
Three years ago on another Christmas weekend, I spent six hours in an emergency room across town, where I learned that the baby inside me had died. That night on the hour-long drive home, I cried like I had never cried before in my life. I hated losing my baby, âCuddle Button,â as we had nicknamed our little one. Iâm sure my spiritual eyes looked up at God the way Bethany looked at me last night. Seven months later, I miscarried again, this time our little Riley. I would have done anything to keep them alive, but it was not to be.
John 11 says that Jesus groaned inwardly, was troubled, and wept when He saw the grief of His friends after their brother and friend had died. Some people say His reaction was just because they didnât believe, but the passage doesnât say that like it does on other occasions. He saw their grief, and it touched His heart, much like the way Bethanyâs pain last night touched my heart. I knew the âwhyâ of her suffering, but she could not understand it. Jesus knew the âwhyâ of His friendsâ grief, as He knew the âwhyâ of my grief three years earlier, and as He knows the âwhyâ of every personâs deepest heartaches, even when we donât have all the answers. In fact, God makes an incredible statement and promise in Isaiah 49:15: âCan a woman forget her nursing child, or lack compassion for the child of her womb? Even if these forget, yet I will not forget you.â (HCSB)
How is it possible that the Creator of all is so deeply compassionate for each of His children? The answer is because âSilent Nightâ was not so silent. Immanuel (âGod with usâ) was the answer the Father sent that trumps all other possible answers to any question we ask. Bethanyâs eyes locked onto mine during her ordeal, and ours should do the same toward the face of our God at all times. Truly, as the angels announced in Luke 2, the Christmas tidings are ones of great joy for all people. They were the set-up for another not so silent day, when that baby, now grown-up, uttered these heart-rending words when He died in our behalf: âMy God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?â (Mt. 27:46, KJV). Because He was forsaken when He bore our sin, we who have received His righteousness will never be forsaken by God. What an incredible stability that truth brings to our lives!
When Bethany is grown up, she will most likely not even remember what happened yesterday. The LORD says in Isaiah 65:16-17 that when He has created the new heavens and new earth, the former troubles will not be remembered. Let that encourage you in the midst of your trials.
On a lighter note, I was thinking this morning about what people will say when they find out why we took Bethany to the emergency room. There is always someone who informs us of what we should have done, or should do in the future to prevent re-occurrence. While praying about responding to such delightful comments, the Lord said to me, âI can help you with that, too. People tell Me what to do all the time!â Point taken. May I trust Him more the next time I start to pray instructively.
Thank God that âSilent Nightâ was not so silent. Thank Him that tears course down His face when He sees you grappling with terrible circumstances. âFor He Himself has said, âI will never leave you nor forsake you.â" (Heb. 13:5, NKJV). As Philip Bliss wrote in his famous carol, âthe hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee [Bethlehem] tonight.â Thank God for Jesus!
Yesterday at 1:11pm my husband and I headed to the
childrenâs hospital with our 19 month old daughter. We didnât walk out of that
building until 8:00, and the intervening hours were not dull, to say the leastâŚ
Bethany had
been sick since Monday afternoon with a tummy virus and congestion. Her brother
and cousins had all had the same thing last week, so we settled in to fight the
72-hour bug one more time. One of our biggest concerns was preventing dehydration,
which we worked at every way we could. I literally held her all day/night
for several days, giving her water one teaspoon at a time. In many ways, she
was improving, but by Thursday night, her lack of wet diapers was concerning
us. I didnât want my baby to have an IV, but by Friday noon, we knew that was
most likely what was necessary.I hated the process of putting the IV in her little arm. My husband and I and a nurse held her down while another nurse worked first on her hand, and then, after a vein blew, tried again in her arm. She cried; she screamed; she looked at me with pain in her blue eyes, asking without words why I was letting this happen to her. Inches away from her face, and with tears streaming down my own, I talked to her and sang and tried to comfort her, but there was no way her 19 month old mind could process a reasonable explanation. I thought of my mom saying a few years ago that it was harder for her to watch her daughter (my sister) going through an incredibly difficult labor/delivery than it was for her (my mom) to bear children. I suppose nearly all mamas have had similar thoughts regarding their babies.
Also, in the middle of seeing my baby girl going through this ordeal, I thought about our Heavenly Father. I thought of how He must feel when He watches us go through hard experiences for which we will never understand the reasons âwhyâ here on earth. He knows the âwhy,â yet it hurts Him to see us hurting.
Three years ago on another Christmas weekend, I spent six hours in an emergency room across town, where I learned that the baby inside me had died. That night on the hour-long drive home, I cried like I had never cried before in my life. I hated losing my baby, âCuddle Button,â as we had nicknamed our little one. Iâm sure my spiritual eyes looked up at God the way Bethany looked at me last night. Seven months later, I miscarried again, this time our little Riley. I would have done anything to keep them alive, but it was not to be.
John 11 says that Jesus groaned inwardly, was troubled, and wept when He saw the grief of His friends after their brother and friend had died. Some people say His reaction was just because they didnât believe, but the passage doesnât say that like it does on other occasions. He saw their grief, and it touched His heart, much like the way Bethanyâs pain last night touched my heart. I knew the âwhyâ of her suffering, but she could not understand it. Jesus knew the âwhyâ of His friendsâ grief, as He knew the âwhyâ of my grief three years earlier, and as He knows the âwhyâ of every personâs deepest heartaches, even when we donât have all the answers. In fact, God makes an incredible statement and promise in Isaiah 49:15: âCan a woman forget her nursing child, or lack compassion for the child of her womb? Even if these forget, yet I will not forget you.â (HCSB)
How is it possible that the Creator of all is so deeply compassionate for each of His children? The answer is because âSilent Nightâ was not so silent. Immanuel (âGod with usâ) was the answer the Father sent that trumps all other possible answers to any question we ask. Bethanyâs eyes locked onto mine during her ordeal, and ours should do the same toward the face of our God at all times. Truly, as the angels announced in Luke 2, the Christmas tidings are ones of great joy for all people. They were the set-up for another not so silent day, when that baby, now grown-up, uttered these heart-rending words when He died in our behalf: âMy God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?â (Mt. 27:46, KJV). Because He was forsaken when He bore our sin, we who have received His righteousness will never be forsaken by God. What an incredible stability that truth brings to our lives!
When Bethany is grown up, she will most likely not even remember what happened yesterday. The LORD says in Isaiah 65:16-17 that when He has created the new heavens and new earth, the former troubles will not be remembered. Let that encourage you in the midst of your trials.
On a lighter note, I was thinking this morning about what people will say when they find out why we took Bethany to the emergency room. There is always someone who informs us of what we should have done, or should do in the future to prevent re-occurrence. While praying about responding to such delightful comments, the Lord said to me, âI can help you with that, too. People tell Me what to do all the time!â Point taken. May I trust Him more the next time I start to pray instructively.
Thank God that âSilent Nightâ was not so silent. Thank Him that tears course down His face when He sees you grappling with terrible circumstances. âFor He Himself has said, âI will never leave you nor forsake you.â" (Heb. 13:5, NKJV). As Philip Bliss wrote in his famous carol, âthe hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee [Bethlehem] tonight.â Thank God for Jesus!