Reaching for God

Seven years ago today, I lost a child.  Seven years ago, my doctor looked at the ultrasound, and then me and said, "there's her heart, and it's not beating," and I knew my life would never be the same.

Seven years ago, I was induced into labor to deliver a baby, my baby, that would never even take her first breath.

We named her Caitlyn Anne.  She was to be known as Cait.  She was tiny, but perfectly formed.  Her fingers were long and lovely; her nose, just like her sister's.  Tiny wisps of light brown hair crowned her head.  She had perfect little rosebud lips.  We committed her features to memory as we held her, we caressed her and we cried, for we knew we had but little time with her on this earth.

Seven years ago, I left the hospital, my arms empty.  No longer pregnant, and no longer expecting anything or anyone except grief, who was to become a companion to me for a time.           

Seven years ago today, with no where else to turn for peace, I began reaching out for God in a way I never had before.  I needed to know, and not just believe, that He knew me, that He loved me, and that He had a plan for my life.  I needed to know that every thing I'd ever learned in Sunday School was true.

I was never mad at God.  I did not believe God was to blame for my baby's premature death.  Could He have prevented it?  Absolutely.  But He didn't and I knew it was not because He didn't love me.  I came to understand that it was because He does love me, that he allowed me to feel grief and be heartbroken. Yes, He could have spared me the grief, the tears, and the heartbreak, but then I would not have reached for Him.

God wants us to reach out for Him.  In reaching for Him, I found Him.  I found Him in the hospital staff who cared for me and my baby with dignity and respect.  I found Him in the photographer friend who came to lovingly take tasteful pictures we could remember our baby by.  I found Him in my angelic sisters, particularly my older sister who lived close and dropped everything in her life to take care of me.  I found Him in the talented friend who carefully and painstakingly handmade a beautiful white, tiny dress I could bury my baby in. I found Him in the meals that were brought to me unfailingly for weeks after I was discharged from the hospital.  I found Him in the intuitive friend who invited me on outings when I needed to get out, and gifted me with a blanket to comfort me when I needed to stay in.  I found Him in the homemade bread left anonymously on my doorstep, the hugs given out by people who did not know how desperately I needed them, and quiet, compassionate eyes of friends who opened their ears, and their hearts to listen to everything I had to say.  I found Him in a thousand ways, most of which were by ordinary people offering small acts of service with great love.  God wants us to reach out for Him and when we do, we find He has been reaching for us all along.  We find Him because He is never far away.    

I am still finding Him.

I am finding Him in the people who still remember this day, and honor my baby's brief appearance in this world.  I am finding Him in the kind deeds done by friends, and the selfless acts I've witnessed of strangers.  I am finding Him in the faces of my children whose love and trust move me to be my best self.  I am finding Him in the scriptures. I am finding that the words I've read all my life in Sunday School, are true.  

Seven years ago today, I lost a baby, but found God. 

Seven years ago today, I found my arms empty and wanting, and I discovered God's arms outstretched, reaching out for me.  And my life has never been the same.