Dear Arabella (April 30, 2015)

My sweet girl. It’s hard to believe that exactly one month ago we sat in the genetic counselor’s office receiving news we did not expect nor wanted to accept. Oh what a day that was! One that will not likely be forgotten the rest of your mommy and daddy’s lives. Tomorrow we’re heading back to that same office. That same waiting room. We’ll probably sit in front of the same fish tank. The fish tank where to pass that hard waiting time your daddy and mommy developed a whole social stratification of fish. There were the jocks, the cheerleaders (always traveling in a pack), the awkward nerd. And then there was the tiny fish minding her own business. We decided that was you. Our little one.

We’ll go back to the same…or a similar…ultrasound room. And there you’ll be featured on the big screen. Oh Bella, this is what I am most excited, and at the same time nervous, about. I can hardly wait to see you again. To not just feel you twist and turn, but to actually watch your acrobatics. Last time you did a mighty good job of hiding your beautiful profile from mommy and daddy. But my one request little one is that you hold that pose for just a little bit tomorrow. Mommy wants a new picture of your sweet face for the fridge. You must understand, mommy loves her photographs and you’re just going to need to learn to cooperate.

Your daddy and I have been hoping and praying that in this past month that little ribcage of yours will have miraculously grown beyond expectations. We’ll be holding our breaths when that measurement comes around. Here’s the thing. We serve an awesome, incredible God who created all things. In fact, He simply spoke them into being. So we know very well that should He so choose, He could command that ribcage of yours to grow…and it would have no choice but to grow. But we also serve a God whose ways and thoughts and plans and purposes are far beyond our imaginings. And we do not know the way in which He is going to choose to heal you. Our pastor Josh talked a couple weeks ago about the importance of planning for the future with both humility and courageous hope. Humility that accepts our limited knowledge, foresight and understanding. Courageous hope that knows the power of the one we serve. Tomorrow we’ll walk into that room trying to hold the tension of those two characteristics in balance.

But even if we go in tomorrow and those numbers are even further behind, seemingly making your diagnosis even more assured… Well my little one, the die has still not been cast with finality. We will pray and ask for healing and breath until your last breath leaves you. And then we will praise the Lord for the eternal healing He has granted you. In the meantime, your mommy is learning a lot about the tension of waiting from a woman named Martha. I first started meditating on this passage after reading another mommy, who had a special daughter with a similar diagnosis as you, reflect on the same story. You see many many years ago Martha’s brother Lazarus was very sick. But Martha, and her sister Mary, and Lazarus were close friends of Jesus. Knowing he could heal Lazarus, they sent for Jesus, who was in another city. And then they waited. I can imagine Martha waiting eagerly in the house that first day or two…waiting for some sign, for some word that Jesus had arrived or was on his way. That healing had arrived or was on its way. And I can imagine the devastation that threatened to grip her as the illness deepened and death clung outside the door. And I can imagine her disappointment and her lack of understanding as she watched the breath leave her brother. Jesus knew Lazarus was sick. Jesus loved Lazarus. And Jesus tarried knowing that meant Lazarus’ death. But he also knew it meant greater glory to God as His power was about to be manifested in an extraordinary way.

Jesus showed up in town four days after Lazarus had been laid in the tomb. Martha’s greeting was one of grief, and questioning, and faith – if you had but been here my brother would have lived. Jesus doesn’t deny her grief. He doesn’t tell her to buck up. He gently calls her to belief – “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die. Do you believe this?” – and then Jesus weeps with her and her sister. And then comes perhaps your Mommy’s favorite part of the story. Jesus has the women take him to the tomb. When Jesus commands its opening, Martha cries out – “Hold up! It’s been four days…can you imagine the stench?” In my mind, I imagine Martha fighting the battle between wanting to believe the impossible was possible, and being too afraid of the disappointment that would come if she did believe the impossible was possible and she was instead greeted with the stench of death.

But Jesus once again calls her to belief. The stone is rolled away. And instead of the stench of death, there is a living and breathing man walking out of that tomb. And this is what your mommy clings to Bella. That death has been defeated. That you will not, whether you are buried after many years or a few brief minutes on this earth, remain in the grave. And it is only with this assurance that your mommy can face that ultrasound tomorrow and whatever measurements it holds.

But like Martha, I will struggle and I will fight to believe. Doubts and fears will surely battle in my mind. I’m going to need my Jesus to gently call me to belief. And to the faith that we will indeed “see the glory of God” written all over your story.

And so, sweet child. Rest well tonight. Get ready to put on a show for mommy and daddy. And remember, hold still for your picture.