Learning to trust God (again)
The big question
‘How can you still believe in God after everything you’ve been through?’ This is one of the most common questions that is posed to me after aftermath of my multiple miscarriages, mostly by friends who don’t share my faith, but sometimes by curious believers as well…
And I’ll be honest, it’s a question I’ve asked myself pretty often too. Well perhaps not exactly ‘How can you still believe?’ because I think when you’ve been around Christianity for as long as I have - which is literally all my life - the existence of God is no longer a question mark. For me, the evidence has just stacked up over many, many years.
But some of the questions that sit just beneath this one are not quite so easily resolved. Questions like - How can you still trust that God loves you and is for you? How can you still pray, believing that He hears and cares? And not just in some generalised sense, but more personally and specifically ‘for me’ and for ‘my’ situation?
I recently heard someone say that it’s possible to be in close proximity to Jesus, but to still feel disconnected and far away from him in your heart. And that sums up how I’ve felt about my relationship with God for quite a long time in the aftermath of our losses.
I‘ve often been in the same room as Jesus, but not felt we were close. I’ve sat in church services but struggled to connect with the words being sung. I’ve found it hard to talk to God when we’re alone. And I’ve found it difficult to sense His presence in my day.
I’ve never stopped believing that God is real, or good, or able to do great things. But trusting Him with the finer, more personal details of my life? Not so much. Because that is what disappointment often does to faith. It can corrode away our confidence.
And the experience of recurrent miscarriage (or any form of infertility) drags you through the same hope and disappointment cycle, not just once or twice, but over and over again…
And at some point you begin to wonder things like, what is the point of praying to God about anything, when your biggest and most important prayer has already failed so conclusively? When you know that God ‘can do it’, but He ‘didn’t do it’ for you - how do you rebuild trust again?
For a long time, I just didn’t have any good answers to these questions. And that’s part of the reason why I’ve been silent in this space for quite a while… I just haven’t really had any answers to some of those questions I’ve been holding.
But over time, as the dust has begun to settle over this painful season, I am beginning to find some of those answers taking shape. And so, if you asked me that question again now, this is what I would probably say…
An answer in parts
Because I know God isn’t the cause
I have written on this subject more extensively in other posts, but basically I have studied the Bible and come to a clear point of peace in knowing that God didn’t cause, plan or intend any of my miscarriages.
You can read more about the reasons why I have come to that theological view point in a longer blog that I wrote about this here: a theology of miscarriage
This might seem like an obvious thing to say for some people - but there’s a difference between giving mere mental consent to an idea, and knowing something deep down in your heart with real conviction.
Knowing that God is not the cause is such an important issue to resolve, because what I’ve come to realise is that you cannot draw close to God, or even begin to receive His comfort and healing when you’re still consciously (or even subconsciously) feeling angry or disappointed with Him for not stepping in as you wanted Him to, or still partially blaming Him for your pain.
In total contrast to that, it’s a whole lot easier to trust God with your pain and disappointment once you are clear on the fact that He wasn’t the source or cause of any of it, and that He never wanted those things for your life.
2. Because I know God has been with me
There have been so many times when I’ve found myself asking, ‘Where is God?’, but there have been just as many times when God has graciously shown me glimpses of how closely He has been walking alongside us in this infertility journey, and how intimately involved in the details He is.
I still don’t pretend to understand all (or even any?) of the theological or spiritual dynamics of why God might or might not intervene to give us the answers to prayer or the healing that we seek, but I do accept that my human perspective is limited. As 1 Corinthians 13:9 says, ‘Now our knowledge is partial and incomplete...’ but one day we shall know in full.
What I do know right now is that in those moments when I have taken steps towards God, whether that’s in simple prayers of lament or in studying His word, He has often met me there. James 4:7 tells us ‘Draw close to God, and He will draw close to you’ and I’ve found that to be so true.
The Bible says in Psalm 34:18 that ‘The Lord is close to the broken-hearted’ and in Matthew 5:4 Jesus even calls those who mourn ‘blessed’ because they get to experience the deep comfort of God. Well, I don’t know if I’m at a point where I could see my experiences of loss and grief as a blessing, but nonetheless I have at times felt the living God drawing so close to us in our pain as a family, which feels like a kind of miracle right here in the middle.
And on a more experiential level, there’s been those moments when He’s pulled back the veil of mystery just long enough for me to catch small glimpses of how He’s been at work behind the scenes in some the details of my battle with infertility, providing that reassurance that He’s intimately involved and I haven’t been walking this path alone.
If you’re interested in reading more about the specifics of some of these experiences, I’ve previously written a whole blog about it here.
3. Because I don’t have a better option
I don’t say this lightly, or mean it to sound flippant or passive at all - but what other option do I (or any of us) really have?
I mean, can anyone point to a better option than to keep trusting that God is who He says He is - even after sickness, death and loss decimates our lives, our plans, our hopes and dreams?
Because even though life does not always pan out the way we hope it will, walking away from the eternal hope that we are offered in Jesus doesn’t seem like a good option to me…
In the Gospel of John 6:68, the twelve disciples who walked alongside Jesus seem to concur. When some of those following Jesus begin wander away as Jesus’ teachings get challenging, He asks them ‘Will you go too?’.
It can feel tempting to consider walking away from Jesus, when continuing to follow Him feels too costly and hard. But in that moment, Simon Peter replies ‘Lord, to whom would we go? You hold the words of life.’
And I have often felt that same way too. ‘Lord, what other option do I have? Where else can I go? I’ve followed you this far. Who else offers what you do?’
Loss is a hard reality which we all have to live with with (here on earth) - no one gets a choice. But we do get to choose whether we face loss with or without the hope of heaven in sight.
As christians, we choose to trust in Jesus’ promise that death is not the end - and as a bereaved parent, I don’t know how I could ever throw that kind of eternal hope I have away.
Which brings me neatly onto my final point…
4. Because I know it’s not the end of the story
Whenever I’ve taken a step towards God, and begun to fix my eyes back onto Him and who He is, rather than just on my own situation, I find myself remembering all the ways that He is at work in this broken world, and how I don’t see the full story yet.
This last period of my life has been unexpected and certainly not a story I would have chosen to pen for myself, but despite all the loss and disappointment and heartbreak, I am still trusting the author of life to pen the very best version of my story; far better than any version I could ever dream of writing for myself.
What He is outworking through each of our lives over the days, years, decades, and future generations that will follow - who can really say? Because how small our perspectives are in comparison to His.
But even though I still don’t know the ending of my own story just yet, I do know the ultimate ending of the larger narrative that He is writing throughout all of our lives - love wins, death is conquered, and all that remains broken will be made whole. ‘He will swallow up death forever, and the Lord God will wipe away tears from every face’ writes the prophet in Isaiah 25:8.
So even on the days when my present reality is hard to accept, I continue to live my life with my eyes firmly fixed on that heavenly ending, knowing that the story is not over yet…
And that’s kind of the the end of this post, and most probably the end of my fertility journey too.
But almost certainly not the end of my story.