Unshakeable Faith

Unshakeable Faith

I was thirty weeks pregnant with my youngest when my husband came home with my sister-in-law in tow and said she would watch our daughters. I had just settled in for my afternoon writing session and, being routine-oriented to a fault, did not want to budge.

But then my husband smiled and said he had something to show me.

Intrigue trumped routine, so I hoisted myself up from the kitchen chair and he drove to my in-laws’ house. I thought he must want to show me a puppy, since my in-laws were raising puppies at the time, but when I rounded the kitchen and peered into the living room, I saw nothing on the floor. I didn’t even see anyone in the room.

But then I spotted a tall man in a baseball cap videoing from the stairs. He looked at me, and then he looked at the couch, so I looked at the couch, too, and saw his wife . . . my friend.

She was wearing the same knit poncho she’d worn when we went to the symphony the previous February. But that was in Wisconsin, where they live, and we’d since moved back to Tennessee.

What were they doing here?

I believe, at this point, I said something eloquent like, “You’re crazy! Y’all are crazy!”

But then my friend stood from the couch and rested a hand on her stomach.

I knew that gesture, for I did it every day—a caress of the unseen child in my womb.

A few weeks after the four of us went to that symphony in Wisconsin, I sat outside the birthing clinic with my friends. Another ultrasound. Still no heartbeat. We’d only known each other for a few months before their baby died, but this couple became a brother and sister to us. Witnessing their faith—witnessing their praise of God even in the dry times—pushed our roots deeper.

I wanted such unshakeable faith.

I now waddled/ran across the living room and hugged my friend. One of the sweetest embraces I can remember, as our pregnant bellies touched. I stopped sobbing long enough to ask, “How far along are you?”

She said, “Six months.”

I sobbed harder. She was beyond the point that she’d lost her baby.

Last week, on my daily walk, I opened our mailbox and found a thank-you note from our friends in Wisconsin. The two of them had a perfect baby boy, just like they’d felt in their hearts after they knew they’d conceived. As I stood beside the road with my four-month-old strapped to my chest, my heart swelled as tears pooled in my eyes.

Soon after we moved back to Tennessee, my husband dug a pond on our land. But regardless of how much rain fell, or how high the water rose, the pond refused to stay filled. An unseen sink hole sucked the water down, draining the pond time and time again until the vessel, which should’ve held water, cracked like the desert floor.

That sink hole reminds me of fear. No matter how many times we are filled with faith, fear will drain us unless we daily replenish our spirits through the word of God.

When faced with loss or fear, we are setting a precedent for our children, for our neighbors, for our friends. That does not mean we cannot experience grief or we cannot wring our hands. But we must not stay there. Instead, we must press forward in our faith; we must push our roots deeper, even in the dry times.

Without experiencing loss, gifts would not be received with such joy. Without tasting the desert sands, we would not be so quenched when the rain falls. Without knowing heartache, we would not dance in time of celebration.

I want unshakeable faith, in the oasis and in the desert. Don’t you?