Lucy Update Day 4-5: Groaning, Double-Guessing, Grace and Gas

June 4-5

Groaning
On June 4, the morning of the day Lucy was predicted to pass, it was very hard to distinguish the groans and cries I heard from Bethany at 3am that morning from the ones I heard on the morning of September 4 2017 when Bethany birthed Lucy. The pain of a mother in this situation is so incredibly unique, heavy, and frankly awe inspiring to witness. Through our groaning I have been given new eyes to see Romans 8:18-27.

Rom. 8:18    For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is going to be revealed to us. ¹⁹ For the creation eagerly waits with anticipation for God’s sons to be revealed. ²⁰ For the creation was subjected to futility—not willingly, but because of him who subjected it—in the hope ²¹ that the creation itself will also be set free from the bondage to decay into the glorious freedom of God’s children. ²² For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together with labor pains until now. ²³ Not only that, but we ourselves who have the Spirit as the firstfruits—we also groan within ourselves, eagerly waiting for adoption, the redemption of our bodies. ²⁴ Now in this hope we were saved, but hope that is seen is not hope, because who hopes for what he sees? ²⁵ Now if we hope for what we do not see, we eagerly wait for it with patience.
Rom. 8:26    In the same way the Spirit also helps us in our weakness, because we do not know what to pray for as we should, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with inexpressible groanings. ²⁷ And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because he intercedes for the saints according to the will of God.

Bethany can feel so deeply and viscerally and unashamedly does so as the Spirit intercedes for her. I am so proud of how she bore this impossible burden these past few days by God’s grace. The only reason we can even still stay sane is the grace he shows to us in brining us this far. We know what he’s done, where he’s brought us, and where he’s bringing us. It’s the path that is unknown and often terrifying. Yet, even though we walk through the valley of the shadow of death, he is with us.

Double-Guessing
That dreaded day of Tuesday, June 4 was an absolute blur. After we had woken up crying in agony we got a few more hours sleep. Lots of serious decisions had to be made that day, and I didn’t want to live with guilt the rest of my life. Two other specialists, a neurosurgeon and a neuroscientist who are doing high level work reached out to me through my family/friends to give second/third opinions. They helped me sift through the vast amount of medical advice I was getting hit with from inside and outside the hospital. I cried out to the Lord for clarity and peace, and he very clearly and graciously gave it. I must also take a second to say, the PICU staff at Maine Medical Center in Portland is incredible and did not push any kind of agenda. The gravity of the situation called for more voices, but wasn’t a reflection on the competency and care of the staff at all. I could write for pages about all the beautiful interactions I had with them. Thankfully there was agreement around the prognosis. Given the initial trauma that brought about the global hypoxic brain injury she endured with the severity of the swelling, it was almost certain that she had endured brain death. After significant thorough testing and even more repeated tests to be certain, brain death was declared 1:32am on June 5, and her heart stopped beating around 4am. Lucy was with Jesus.

Grace
Like gold at the bottom of a deep dark well, there was and is evidence of God’s grace in this utter tragedy, we just had to be willing to plumb the depths to see it. Having even MORE people following the story, commenting, praying and crying with us can never be understated. 2 Corinthians 1 says starting in verse 4, “He comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any kind of affliction, through the comfort we ourselves receive from God.” This was so incredibly real to us. We are NOT strong in and of ourselves, all the comments we’ve received non-withstanding. We honestly confessed to each other when we got home that we each literally felt the desire to run away from God, to push him away, and to deny his goodness and existence. We literally could not. He held us fast. Speaking of that song, Rachael (Bethany’s younger sister), suggested we sing it all together before the family said goodbye around 10pm. Singing all three verses of “He Will Hold Me Fast” in the hospital room was one of the most beautiful, sacred things I’ve ever been a part of.

There are countless other experiences of God’s grace: seemingly endless Chick-Fil-A, my kids drawing even closer to their aunts and uncles and grandparents and pastors, hospital staff connecting with us relationally and hearing the gospel (by my four year old mostly), the beautiful and incredibly painful opportunity they gave us to lay with her for hours as she passed, a recording by a sweet little girl in Lucy’s class at church singing “He Will Hold Me Fast”, a very good friend coming at the 11th hour to bless us deeply and pray…but where we really needed God’s grace was in going back home. My co-laborer in the gospel Josh and his wife Jamie followed us all the way home from Maine. Every time I looked into the rear view mirror, wishing I saw Lucy munching on some chicken nuggets after we stopped at Wendy’s and only ordered for 5, I saw that car behind me and saw Jesus supporting us through his church. It’s a metaphor for our future as a family. A gaping hole ripped into the fabric of our lives will slowly be mended and healed by the body of Christ, until Christ himself returns to make all things new.

When we got home we arrived to flowers lining our steps and a fridge stocked with food. But entering was the hardest thing. AJ said that this house is “the worst place on earth” and “I want to go back to the hospital with Lucy”. Silas and Shiloh asked how we could ever be happy again. We just sat on the front steps for a while crying until I finally mustered up the courage to open the door. We again collapsed in a pile on the kitchen floor crying harder as a family than we ever have. In that darkness, prompted I believe by the Spirit, I finally asked, “What do you guys think Lucy would want us to be doing?” They thought about it, and said that she’d ask me to play a game on the Apple TV called “Oceanhorn 2”. I pointed out that she’d say it a certain way because of her mispronunciation of “R” as “Oceanhawwwwrn” and they started to laugh. Then AJ suggested she was in heaven asking God to play it and we all had a good laugh at how she used to pronounce her “R” sound. Of course, the most famous of Lucy’s words that feature the letter “R” is the word “fart”. We then commenced a theological discussion about what Lucy’s farts would smell like in heaven. God’s goodness and mercy were following us, even there on the kitchen floor as our pressure cooker of deep grief burst out the release valve into hilarity and joy.

Which leads to the last, probably most important gold nugget of grace found deep in the well of sorrow. I had not been present when Lucy had asked how to “be saved” 2 to 4 weeks ago. Bethany had explained the gospel to her again, but now was doubting and torturing herself since Lucy had confessed it privately in her room. Despite my conviction that she is still young and possibly can’t understand, and that she had the faith of a mustard seed, Bethany still couldn’t shake the fear and doubt. It was then when we opened her backpack and found her prayer journal that Bethany had given her a month ago to the day of her passing (First page is pictured at the top). Here is the first entry. Only read it if you want to cry because you will be wreaked afterwards.

God and Lucy.

It’s almost as if God was writing with her, drawing her to himself. How a six year old journals like this is beyond me. After that, she seemed to get writer’s block and just draw beautiful pictures of Bible stories and hearts. Here are a few of them…

This last picture takes the cake. Shiloh believes it is Mary and Martha crying over Lazarus when he died. The significance of it being the very last thing she drew in the journal cannot be understated. It’s hard to put into words how deeply I feel about it.

One of the elders at our church was reminded of this passage from Matthew 21:15 upon viewing these pictures. “When the chief priests and the scribes saw the wonders that he did and the children shouting in the temple, “Hosanna to the Son of David! ” they were indignant and said to him, “Do you hear what these children are saying? ” Jesus replied, “Yes, have you never read: You have prepared praise from the mouths of infants and nursing babies? ” This was one of the biggest gifts of grace and mercy God has given us. To see her heart, to know her love for her Savior, and to rejoice in her mustard seed of faith that had begun to bloom was what we needed.

There is so much more to say, scripture to unravel, people to thank, and tears to be cried. Besides possibly posting my wife’s thoughts here after her memorial service (June 15, 11am at Green Pond Bible Chapel. Livestream available at http://www.greenpondbible.org/livestream ), I’m not sure when I will revisit this story in this space. The time will come again, but I want to thank you if you have stuck with me to this point. I pray ultimately that you were encouraged in your faith, that you maybe identified some grief you need to look at, and most importantly that you hug your kids more and talk to them about Jesus. We have received so much comfort and support from close loved ones and random people pouring out love. We never asked for this immense trial, but the reports of other children coming to Christ, about neighbors having gospel conversations, and grief being shared helps us continue to walk by faith in this profound pain. Bless you on your journey. He will hold you fast.