What if It’s Wonderful?Sýnishorn

Jesus in the Pain and the Joy

I lay on the exam bed in my doctor’s office, my right hand resting on my taut belly, waiting. Waiting for the doctor to enter and read the monitor and waiting eagerly for our son to make his entrance, earthside. Until now, my prayers and efforts had been spent hemming my baby in, safe and growing. Now, I just wanted him out—not because I was particularly uncomfortable physically. I wasn’t. But emotionally, I just needed him to be okay. I wanted to meet my baby, and I was so close that I was sure it was all going to fall apart.

Yet, I sensed that my son was not only a gift but also an invitation. I’d learned to trust God in my pain—to accept Him as my answer in ambiguity, to let hope heal my heart with or without my circumstances changing, and to allow faith to keep me afloat in stormy waters. I wanted to believe, to trust God enough to put my full weight on joy. But doubt had a loud voice, and I’d spent years letting it shout at me.

In the hospital, as my labor reached its peak, Jimmy caught sight of our son, and I watched Jimmy’s face transform into an expression I immediately recognized to be wonder and profound love. James was here—safe and loved. Relief blossomed in my bones and the shaking receded like a tide. There are moments in this life that words can’t reach. This was one of them. A joy that is both contented and celebratory. “I’ve been waiting for you!” was all I could say, over and over again through my tears.

There are moments in life that slice our stories into “before and after.” One might assume that the sting of loss and longing that Jimmy and I had endured prior to James’ birth was the “before” and the joy of his arrival was the “after.” But if my story has taught me one thing it’s this: our hope is not in the gift itself—even the best gifts—but in the Giver. James is a prize, lovable and treasured. He was not the beginning of my hope. But as I held James, delighted by the weight of him in my arms, I wondered if I was beginning to release my fear, finding the courage to slacken my grip on control and be brave enough to hold onto joy just a little longer than I had before.

The heartache Jimmy and I had experienced together over the last several years is not the story I would have selected if given the choice. But it was the journey that kept me tethered to the hope of Christ—the season that introduced me to more of God’s character than I knew before. The pain had forged a different relationship between me and God—a gift I found and treasured in the wake of what had been broken and lost.

I wasn’t quite sure how to place God in my joy and celebration. I cherished the relationship I shared with God in the dark and struggled to picture what this would look like in the light. But now, I was beginning to understand that maybe celebration is also an avenue of God’s grace. What if joy, in addition to pain, has something to teach us too? I knew Christ to be tenderly close in my longing. Now, basking in joy, I could see for myself that He did not move from that position.

Respond

How have painful experiences affected your faith in God?

How have moments of joy affected your faith in God? In what ways are pain and joy invitations to trust God?

What do you want pain and joy to teach you about Christ in the days ahead?