As a cancer patient I’ve witnessed this diagnosis constantly whirling me from indescribable Joy to inevitable sorrow. One Tuesday, I left my doctor’s office more discouraged than I ever thought possible. To this day, I still beg God to spare anyone from experiencing the pain of hoping for a child who may never come.
Anxiety and fear ruled the sleepless nights before my hysterectomy. That Sunday following my surgery, I forced a smile on my face. Through tears I applied my makeup and played my part. A loving pastors wife, with everything under control. I waddled, yes waddled into church hungover on pain. Adding insult to injury, a women carrying in her womb the same life I so recently lost, smiled at the touch of her abdomen. While I groaned at the touch of mine. I was shattered by the sheer force of the moment.
I suspect that you too have stumbled through these rhythms of pain and glory. The question is, How do we steady ourselves when suffering is fixed to throw off our balance? Every time I’ve asked this question, God comforts me with Psalm 30:11 (NIV):
You turned my wailing into dancing; you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy.
This Psalm was breathed to life only after having evidenced deep sorrow. From laying in darkness, to standing in light, David was now comforted and peace surrounded him. It was only natural that he celebrated the goodness of the Lord with joyful dancing. However, Gods mercy and genuine love is furthermore shown with David’s new garments. Lunging forth hope in my life, of the removal of my hospital gown, and the placement of proper attire, for my dancing with Christ.
I join with each of you who are facing the pain of infertility, to boldly remember that grief is not terminal. That despair is not our master and that hope is never wasted. Even if your womb remains empty, your heart will never be. At your darkest, loneliest moments you can stake your hope in the all knowing, all powerful and supremely good Father. He who understands your pain, and promises it won’t last. So weep over your broken bassinets. Ache over your scars, physical and emotional. Hold the children you have and long in prayer for those you haven’t met. You may not be a parent to the degree you wish you could be, but the Father who loves you is. He cares More than you could imagine. He steps out onto the dance floor of your life and whispers, “take my hand.”
Therefore, dance in the rhythms that life sends you, remembering who you dance with. He who balances out every step. The same steps that led to the cross on Calvary where His blood was spilt for you. Only to be walked out of the grave to save you three days later. Dear friend, no matter what rhythms your life is facing, know that because of Christ, we will surely, confidently, wholly dance again.