“It’s time!” She bolts up in bed and shakes her husband awake. Subconsciously he jumps into action despite the part of him that wonders where he is, what time it is, and what’s going on. He throws on his clothes and rushes to grab the suitcase, packed and already by the door. She is struggling to stand, so he sets the suitcase back down, rushing to her side. He helps her with her shoes and gently pulls her up toward him. He is not the hero here, she is; but he will do whatever it takes to be the strength that carries her through the coming promise of pain.
What lies ahead, he wonders? Life will never be the same after today. Excitement and fear dance in a queasy, uncertain hope. He picks the suitcase up again, steadies her with his other arm, and they walk together into the future.
To the woman God said, “I will greatly multiply Your pain in childbirth, In pain you will bring forth children; Yet your desire will be for your husband.
— Genesis 3:16
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Standing beside him, she faces forward, looking but not seeing. It feels like a ton of cement just buried every last hope and dream, and she fears it will crush her too.
She forces herself to focus, searching for something recognizable. The fire took it all it seems, and she can only wonder why. How could this have happened so quickly? Wasn’t it just yesterday they were talking about adding on a deck to their lovely mountain home?
She steadies herself, takes his hand, and takes a step to the right. He follows. One step by one step they walk through and over debris toward what was once the kitchen. Fallen on its side with the door open, they see the charred refrigerator, nothing visible inside but ash. Everything covered in ash. No cupboard left to open, no stove to stand over and stir. No table to sit at talking over the events of the day.
How in heaven’s name can they begin again? Life as they know it has ended. And they wonder about the purpose for this tragedy.
To all who mourn in Israel, he will give a crown of beauty for ashes, a joyous blessing instead of mourning, festive praise instead of despair. In their righteousness, they will be like great oaks that the LORD has planted for his own glory. — Isaiah 41:10
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She chatters all the way to the hospital, barking out orders: who to call, what to do and how to do it. He smiles, thankful for her planning, amused by her uncharacteristic directness. Yes, dear is his response. I will, dear. Of course, dear.
He wonders at her excitement. She must know that great pain lies ahead. All those classes made it clear there would be pain. Pangs of childbirth, they called it. Why isn’t she as worried as he is? He wonders. He wonders how long it will last. He wonders how much she will scream and cry. He wonders if he can be strong enough to help her through it.
He looks over at her and finally sees the angst in her face. She IS afraid. She does know what’s coming; but courageously, she is smiling.
She breathes in deeply to stay calm and reaches over for his hand. The car finds its way to the spot designated “childbirth and maternity”. An attendant is waiting with a wheelchair, and it is, indeed, time. No turning back now.
But all these things are merely the beginning of birth pangs. — Matthew 24:8
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Back in the pickup, they head toward the shelter at the local high school. After spending last night in the truck, they know they need to sleep tonight. Like an uninvited guest, silence squeezes in to fill the space and there is no escape from the flow of fearful thoughts. This fire was ruthless, drowning the land for miles in every direction. It came over the hill like a tsunami, and they were lucky to get away. As they drive, her eyes span the vast devastation…so much black and grey…so much smoke and soot. Will they ever feel clean again? Will they ever have a home again?
People are milling around in the high school, but she only sees ghost faces: souls as lost as they are. There is pain to feel, she knows, but right now only numbness. Blank stares, knowing looks, crinkled brows, minimal eye contact — all are looking down — down to the depths of their common tragedy.
They are assigned two cots along the south wall of the gymnasium. There are so many people to pass by as they walk toward their beds. This won’t be pleasant, but hopefully better than sleeping in the truck. Buck up, she tells herself. These folks don’t want to be here anymore than we do. Once again, one step by one step, they make their way, learning the importance of moving forward.
Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial, for when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life, which God has promised to those who love him. — James 1:12
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As the first contractions begin to hit, she winces, then forces a smile, “Oh, that was a bad one”, she bravely reports. Her expression betrays her fear. As the pangs increase, her resolve is gone, and the cries and screams take over.
His eyes are as big as saucers as he looks from nurse to doctor to his wife whose pain he cannot take away. Oh, Lord, please help her, he prays again.
In a brief moment in-between the pangs, she smiles over at him and then laughs when she notices his look of helplessness. Just as she begins to try to reassure him, another pang comes, and she grabs his hand tightly, letting endurance take the lead.
This goes on for what seems like forever. It is not a short labor. They decide to administer an epidural to help with the pain. In a moment of weakness, she whispers to him, “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“You can, honey, I know you can. You’re doing great.” There is nothing else he can do to help.
There is nothing else she can do but endure the pain.
More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us. — Romans 5: 3-5
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Navigating through the paths of cots, she hears a familiar voice call her name. She really doesn’t want to talk to anyone right now, but she turns to see her neighbor, Sandy.
“Oh, Lucy,” Sandy cries, and without permission, grabs and hugs her tightly. “It’s so awful. I can’t believe it. How could this happen to us? What did we do to deserve this?”
Gently pulling back, she composes herself to keep from breaking down and asks about the horse. Instantly, she sees the answer in Sandy’s eyes. Trigger didn’t make it. The barn was the first to burn and they couldn’t get Trigger out in time. Sandy then asks about her dog, Lady. Tears well up in her eyes as she tells Sandy that they were trying to get Lady into the truck when she just took off running. They can only hope Lady is okay, but it is likely she is also lost.
The conversation continues, as her man talks with Sandy’s man for a while. There is some comfort in the sharing, but hope remains out of reach. In a strange way, it is nice to know they are not alone. Still, they would never wish this hardship on anyone.
They find their beds and lay down for the first time in hours. Rest. Rest will help. But rest is illusive, so they finally turn to talk to each other. The depths of their pain rises and they end up crying in each other’s arms. They begin with the how and what questions. How are we going to start over? What are we going to do? They don’t waste time trying to find the answers, and they purposefully avoid the unbearable why questions.
“God help us”, he utters the only prayer he can think of.
After the outpouring of emotions, rest finally comes and they escape into sleep for a few hours.
Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ. — Galatians 6:2
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The baby’s cry is the sweetest, most powerful sound she’s ever heard. Dripping with sweat, she raises herself up in bed, and like a reflex, her arms stretch forward in the strongest yearning she has ever experienced.
He is allowed to carry the babe to her, giving her the ultimate satisfaction. His once saucer-sized eyes are now sparkling with tenderness. Gone is the fear, gone is the helplessness. There is only love, love like he has never felt before. With one glance their eyes meet and a unified pride fills their hearts.
After those sweetest moments of holding, he asks her how she is feeling. He tells her how sorry he was that she had to endure so much pain.
It’s true, she tells him. You don’t remember the pain, really. It is all in the past, and you realize what lies ahead is what matters. Perhaps, she ponders, the joy is even stronger because of having to endure the pain.
Whenever a woman is in labor she has pain, because her hour has come; but when she gives birth to the child, she no longer remembers the anguish because of the joy that a child has been born into the world. — John 16:21
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Once again they find themselves standing over the rubble and destruction that was once their home. With the new light of morning, she feels stronger and able to face this tragedy head-on. Moving forward one step by one step again, they dig through the debris, determined to find something of value.
Out of the corner of her eye, she notices movement at the far end of their property. Something is coming toward them. She yells at him to look, and then hears him cry out, “Lady! It’s Lady! She’s okay! She’s alive!” Covered in soot, the timid dog begins to wag, then shake, then run toward them. The family hug is a reunion she never thought would happen.
Sitting in the filth of sooty debris, they smile at each other for the first time in forever. Hope has wiped away the tears for now, and one step by one step they will move forward.
So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal. — 2 Corinthians 4:16-18
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NOTE: The question of why tragedies happen to innocent people is not easily answered. Why does God allow such horrible events to occur is the cry of our hearts all too often as we live out our days in this fallen and fallible earthly realm. It rarely makes sense, and the pain is often unbearable.
But like the pangs of childbirth bring new life into being, the pain of hardship is always met by God’s offer of hope to the afflicted.
God has instilled in humanity the power to move forward, one step by one step. There is always light in the darkness. New life is birthed through pain.
God is Sovereign and sees and knows the realms of existence that we cannot see and know. But God’s Sovereignty is strictly defined by God’s goodness. God’s nature is righteous and pure; and evil will not be tolerated. God always brings redemption and new life; God always brings beauty out of ashes.
