This week, I am torn. Torn between praising God and drowning in worry, despair. Torn between excitement and fear. Torn between blessing and dreading the curse. It’s appropriate, then, that I’m finding comfort in one of the most bipolar books in the Bible: Psalms.
In fact, I’m finding the words I need in one particular Psalm. Psalm 139.
There’s the wonder and the awe that God knows us, that He knows our rising up and our lying down. That He is familiar with all of our ways. That He knows the words we speak before we speak them, the thoughts before we recognize them. He is familiar with all of our ways. Even if we were to sleep in the depths of Sheol (the Old Testament version of Hell that’s really more of a purgatory), He would be there with us. If we were to fly on the wings of the dawn or dwell in the farthest part of the sea, even there His hand would lead us.
Yes, my husband and I have felt left for dead in Sheol, forgotten by God and abandoned. But He has never left us, has never stopped providing for us, and now, praise Him!, my husband has found a full time position working maintenance with our landlord!! Is it ideal? No, but we feel confident that this job is from God and that He is working us into people that He can use.
There’s also the sighs in my heart, the deadening of my heart along with the reawakening of some long-forgotten feelings. See, when this post goes live, I will have just over a day before my first doctor’s appointment during this pregnancy. And I’m terrified. I’m terrified that when they look for a heartbeat, it won’t be there. That instead of seeing a little squishy, there will be a dead baby. Part of this fear comes from personal experience. I had two miscarriages before Abby was born. Part of it comes from the experiences of others in the past year. Stillbirths after otherwise healthy pregnancies. And I’m terrified that lightning will strike again, that the 1 in 3 pregnancies will again be mine.
But I read in Psalm 139 that He has formed this baby’s inward parts and is weaving this babe together in my womb. That this baby is fearfully and wonderfully made. That this baby’s frame is not hidden from Him though it is hidden from me while it being made in secret. And most precious of all, “Your eyes have seen my unformed substance;/ And in Your book were all written/ The days that were ordained for me,/ When as yet there was not one of them” (Psalm 139:16). Every one of this baby’s days are written, the ones before now and the ones yet to come. Or, if I have miscarried, then this baby’s days have been numbered and fulfilled. No matter what I find out tomorrow, God already knows. No, this doesn’t take away all of the fear, the doubts, or the hurt. But it does give me something greater: hope. Hope that even if this baby’s life is over, it isn’t the end. “But now he has died; why should I fast? Can I bring him back again?I will go to him, but he will not return to me” (2 Samuel 12:23).