April 

It always reminds me …that

Some times things just don’t work out how you had hoped or dreamed or planned. 

Some times it’s so devastating you wonder if you will ever hope or dream or plan, or trust, again.

Some times the disappointment can be soul crushing.

Some times the sadness can drape over you like a dark, heavy cloak that you can’t or don’t want to take off.

Some times anger (perhaps particularly at the One who is apparently “in control” and could have made things different) smoulders like a volcano, deep in the inner most parts of your being, ready to erupt at any moment.

Some times, hope to believe for anything good ever again, seems impossible, evolving instead into a make-believe idea, like wishes, that won’t ever come true.

I know.

I've been there. 

Here is an excerpt from Chapter 7 "G is for Grace, Anna Grace" from my first book, "He is Faithful from A to Z."

"My name was called and I covered my intense worry with an amazing smile and friendly chit chat all the way from the waiting room, down the hall and into the consulting room. After answering a few routine questions (including “have you felt baby moving?”) with honesty and hidden anxiety, it was suggested that a portable ultra-sound be brought in and I make my way onto the bed. Immediately I tried to reassure this medical expert that it wasn’t really needed and I was sure that everything was fine and not to bother going to all that trouble, however, she insisted. It was at that point where I really began to panic and my heart began to beat really fast. I lay upon that hospital bed for a few minutes and those few minutes seemed like hours as I awaited the portable ultrasound machine to make its way to my side. I began praying fervently under my breath. Then I began sweating and shaking. Fear had already set in and I hadn’t even got as much as the gel on my tummy.

The next few minutes were undoubtedly the darkest few minutes that I have ever experienced in my entire life. To relay them in words would be the most difficult of tasks ever set before me, but I will try. As the radiographer moved the cold rolling instrument over my belly and together, we stared at the snowy, black and white image on the screen, she smiled and small talked as she went back and forth, back and forth. I on the other hand heard nothing but the sound of my own heartbeat that seemed to desperately want to jump right out of my chest. All I could see was a deathly stillness and though my face had become a still, blank stare, tears had already begun to fall. I’d had enough experience to know what a baby in the wombs heart beat sounds like and looks like during an ultrasound. Here, there was no noise and no movement. There was no heartbeat. There was only stillness, life-less stillness. The radiographer mentioned something about the silly machine and that she would go and get the doctor. She left the room and immediately I felt so incredibly alone. 

So, I cried out to my God albeit softly but with the desperation of a loud, earnest plea. Surely, He was there with me. Tears still fell silently and I began to dart my focus back and forth, between the blank screen, to the ceiling (and Heavens above) praying desperate prayers, and wondering how this miracle might play out. Would the silly machine find the baby’s heartbeat waking her from her still sleep? Would I pray out loud and watch in awe as two non-believers witnessed death turn to life before their very eyes? As I waited for the return of the radiographer and the doctor I just continually asked for God to help me. I’m not even sure what I meant by that.

A few minutes later the two experts entered the room like crashing waves on a tossing sea of turmoil, the taller one of the two quickly taking a turn of the transducer probe. As it became more and more apparent that there was in fact no little heart beating in my womb, the voice of the doctor shattered any hope I had, of the playing out of any miracle in that room. “I’m so sorry” he mouthed, “but…your baby has died.” I expect they were waiting for me to deny their opinion, seek another one or request additional means of finding my baby’s heartbeat but I didn’t do any of those things. I just looked to the ceiling and began to sob. Soon my sobs became intense cries of grief as I came to accept the fact that my little girl had died..."

That day was a very, very sad day in April, that turned into a sad season.

Today I thank God, that seasons change.

Today I thank God that I never have to stay in a sad season, endlessly thinking about when things haven’t worked out like I wanted them to. 

Today I thank God that He heals broken hearts, takes away pain, trades sorrow for joy and somehow takes shattered dreams and paints a different, more beautiful picture with the pieces.

Some times, things may not turn out like we hope or dream or plan, 

but I know, that 

all the time, 

God is good 

and He can be trusted if we give it all, our all, to Him. 

Time and time again,

I’ve experienced this, firsthand. 

April represents just one of them.

Today I thank God that I didn't have to stay in April. 

April is always followed by May.

Winter time is always followed by Summer time.

Sunshine always comes out following a storm.

Joy can be found after sorrow

and Anna's book "The Baby Who Went Straight to Heaven" has birthed life and hope into children, all over the world.

I am eternally thankful.

April May 2023