There are times in our lives when we experience moments of trauma that are forever stamped in our memories. For me, some of those were when my parents divorced or when my grandfather passed away. And most recently when friends or family have shared with me me that sadly they had miscarried their precious babies.

I remember the email one of my best friends sent our girlfriend group to let us know she lost her baby. I had just delivered my first son a few days before. That made my sadness greater, knowing that my friend’s pregnancy wouldn’t end with the same joy that mine had.

I remember the phone call from my mom telling me that my sister-in-law would have to give birth to my nephew at only 22 weeks. His little body and organs had stopped growing and he wouldn’t survive.

My sister-in-law emailed us, explaining how she and my brother had cried out to the Lord to save their son. And when He didn’t, I remember hearing about them worshiping that same Lord as they held their teeny, tiny son to say goodbye.

Sadly, these are only two of the many miscarriage stories of friends and family in my life. You may have heard the statistics that one in four women suffer a miscarriage at some point in their lives.

If, like me, you haven’t suffered a miscarriage yourself, you can still understand at least some of the grief and sadness that accompanies the loss of a baby. The emptiness of a hollow womb. The silent lack of little kicks. The knowledge that it will take the remainder of your lifetime until you see that sweet baby again.

Miscarriages and rainbow babies

Miscarriages are devastating, confusing, and heart wrenching. We will never know answers this side of eternity as to why things like this happen. Why babies lose their lives before they even get to feel the sun on their faces. Why death should impact the most innocent of all God’s creation.

It can be so hard to trust God, to understand His ways when we experience a devastation so deep. But in His Word, God promises that good will come out of our sorrow. Genesis 50:20 says, “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good…”

He also promises us an eternal glory for all the trials and difficulties we face in this life. “For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal” (2 Corinthians 4:17-18).

For parents who have lost a child, nothing will ever be able to replace that baby. But God promises to always be with us, and that good will still come into our lives. In many circumstances, the good that God brings out of our sorrow is the gift of a “rainbow baby,” the healthy baby who follows a miscarried baby.

Joy from sorrow

One of the first Bible stories young children learn about is Noah and the Ark. At the end of the story, God provides a rainbow to remind His people of His promise to never again allow rain to destroy the whole world. He created a beautiful image to illustrate the end of a devastation. In the same way, a rainbow baby is a beautiful creation, brought out of sorrow. Just like rainbows after a storm, rainbow babies don’t encourage you to forget the sadness, but to see the joy that God can bring from sorrow.

We can rely on God’s promise that His new mercies will come in the morning. (See Lamentations 3:22-23.)

Gordon Ramsay’s rainbow baby

Well-known celebrity Gordon Ramsay recently announced the birth of a rainbow baby. He and his wife, Tana had their fifth baby in early April.  This may come as a shock to many people, since Gordon is in his 50’s. Not to mention that their four other children are 16 years and older.

But this news also comes as a welcome blessing since Gordon announced three years ago that Tana suffered a miscarriage. Their willingness to be open and honest with their heartbreak was an encouragement to so many others. Thousands of people commented about experiencing miscarriages and thanked Gordon and Tana for sharing their pain with the world.

Unfortunately, this is a very common devastation. But if it’s not discussed, it can lead to incredible loneliness. By sharing their pain, Gordon and Tana became relatable and helped take away the stigma of shame that can be associated with miscarriage.

It’s encouraging that even in his “older” age, Gordon and Tana are still celebrating new life with a rainbow baby added to their family.

Congratulations to Gordon and Tana Ramsay on the addition of sweet baby Oscar. We are over the moon for you both. Thanks for being an example of what commitment to family looks like, even in the public eye.

Copyright © 2019 Jenn Grandlienard. All rights reserved.

Jenn Grandlienard grew up an East Coast Philly girl, but now loves calling the Midwest her home. She lives in Xenia, Ohio with her husband, Stuart, two sons, Knox and Zeke, and pup, Stella. Jenn and her husband work with Athletes in Action, a ministry of Cru that teaches college athletes what it means to have a relationship with Jesus. She loves to read, work out, laugh really hard with friends, and spend time with her husband and boys. You can check out her blog about all these things and more at OurGrandLife.com. Find her on Instagram at @mrsjenngrand and on Facebook.

“Bye, Dad. I love you.” “Bye, Kyle. I love you, too.” Little did Rick Taylor know that this normal goodbye to his 5-year-old son, Kyle, would soon become a precious memory. Later that morning, Rick saw their van barreling toward him. In one sweep, his wife, Judy, swung the door open and said, “Kyle’s dead. Eric’s dying. Get in.”

April 7, 1979 was the day “when life was changed forever” for Rick and Judy. Two-year-old Eric had fallen into a pond at the Christian camp where Rick was serving as director, and Kyle drowned trying to save his brother’s life. A high number of married couples end up divorcing in the years following the loss of a child. But in the following interview, adapted from a “FamilyLife Today” radio interview the Taylors tell how they remained committed to the vows they had made to each other.

Rick: I’ve had many dreams over the years that I actually was able to get back there and save Kyle. That’s just the father’s heart, but God’s design was that I couldn’t do that.

Do you wake up from a dream like that feeling like God’s played a dirty trick on you?

Rick: I sure did–for a long time. There was a rage inside of me. It’s one thing to feel; it’s another to understand those feelings. People would say, “Are you angry with God?” and I would say, “Absolutely not.” I was too theologically correct to admit that. But I had those feelings down inside of, “God, why him? Why not me? This just shouldn’t happen to someone who had such a passion for life and God at such a young age.”

What do you mean when you say you were “too theologically correct”?

Rick: It wasn’t proper to be angry at God or to question Him from the background that I had, a theology that kept me from being willing to admit anger. Because if I admitted it, I thought I would not be a mature Christian.

Judy, did you know any of this was going on with Rick?

Judy: Well, all of a sudden, I had a husband who needed to be quiet, and I needed to talk. Each time I tried to talk, he would turn away like I was stabbing him in the back with a knife. I just kept thinking, “How long is this going to go on?” It took about six months for Rick to be willing to talk. I couldn’t help him, and he couldn’t help me. There was nothing left.

At some point you had to wonder if you’d ever make it through this pain.

Judy: That’s true. Sometimes I would go to the park or the cemetery and cry. I had a new baby and two boys who needed a mom, not a cripple. Thank goodness I had some awfully sweet friends who were there for me and gave me some space. That was a great comfort to me.

Eventually, people began to ask, “Are you back to normal yet?” We finally started saying, “What is normal to you?” Because to me normal was getting to raise four children. And then people would say, “Maybe Kyle’s life was saved from something like leukemia or drugs.” And I went, “Or maybe he would have been a great little guy who pleased everybody. Maybe even the President.”

We like to use the illustration of your right arm being cut off and people saying, “Are you back to normal?” You’ll never be normal. You can learn how to live, how to comb your hair and write with your left hand, but you’ll never stop missing your right arm. It was a real part of you, a vital part. You just learn to live a different life, one that honors God also.

Was there ever a moment as you processed the pain that you ever wondered if your marriage was going to make it?

Rick: I can answer that fairly quickly. I never remember entertaining those thoughts. It had to do with the base of our relationship. From the very beginning, I knew this woman that I married and loved very much was committed to me and that she was not married to me for her convenience. We had made a lifetime commitment to this marriage. I knew nothing could separate us. That’s a credit to her.

Judy: Commitment means dedication to making it through the tough times. Knowing that in the end, it will all work out. The scary part is that in the midst of that I got tempted to lose my hope in God. Funny how the very thing I thought I was strongest in was shaken. It was like Satan was saying, “You’re believing in a joke. You’re not going to see this boy again. You’re not going to go to heaven. Heaven isn’t real.”

So, while I am trying to work out this deal with the marriage, I also had to work on myself. I faced a choice-to stand on what I believe or chuck it all. What kind of life am I going to have if I chuck it all? Miserable, full of bitterness. Every day, people who have chosen that road fight God tooth and nail, hating Him and trying to make Him pay. And every day is wasted when you are like that. We are given only so many days on this earth and we get to choose how we live them.

Let’s say there’s a couple who have lost their hope, and possibly even hate God for taking their child. What would you say to them?

Rick: They are like a man fighting against the wind, against a reality that can’t be defeated. Without God there is no hope whatsoever. I would remind them that if God is only real on our terms, is He really God? Is that a wise way to live life, only willing to accept God if He does what I want when I want? The truth is that God is who the Bible says He is-trustworthy and all wise. For whatever reason He took our son, He knows what He’s doing and He has love behind that.

Judy: I have lots of friends who have lost a child. Those who do not have faith usually base all of their talk about their child on their past. They only refer to the good times. I have challenged that by asking, “Do you think you will see your son or daughter again?” They just say no. Life stops without hope.

If you could tell people the greatest lesson you have learned, what would it be?

Judy: We have learned that our lives are a gift. Each day is given to be used for His service.

Adapted from an interview on FamilyLife Today. Learn more about Rick and Judy’s experience in their book When Life Is Changed Forever.

Andy and Nikki Bray often told their eldest daughter, Natasha, that God was going to use her in mighty ways to impact the world and make a difference. It turns out they were right, but in a way much different from what they’d envisioned.

Natasha Bray, 16, was one of seven individuals from Elim Christian College in New Zealand who were swept down the Mangatepopo River on April 15, 2008. They were caught in a flash flood while exploring the river as part of an outdoor education course. As the eyes of the country are turning to this small Christian community that lost a teacher and six students of incredible character and spiritual maturity, they are seeing how God used these young people to make the world a better place, and how God is working in the lives of their families to increase their faith in this difficult time.

The Bray family

At press conferences and interviews following the tragedy, Andy Bray, director of FamilyLife in New Zealand, boldly shared with the media how he and his family are coping with Natasha’s death.

“Life is full of difficulties,” Andy explained to a room full of reporters and cameras the day after the accident. “I’m just so glad I know how to handle these things and where I can take my grief. I’m thankful that my belief is that Natasha is in a much better place.”

For those who ask if this has been a test to his faith, Andy responds, “It absolutely does test my faith in God. Of course it does. Doubt is a part of faith. Without doubt, you don’t have faith. So sure, we’re saying to God, ‘Why has this happened? Where does this fit into Your plan?’ And I don’t have an answer for that. But I do have a place to go in my heart and I can trust that we’re going to get through this. Not only that, but my other two kids are going to be so much stronger.”

Although this is the most difficult trial the Bray family has gone through together, it’s not the first by any means. Andy lost all kidney function in his early 20s and went on dialysis. At that point, the doctor told him he would never have children. That changed when, 10 years later, Andy was given a kidney transplant. The transplant meant he no longer had to go on the kidney machine every two days for eight hours at a time; and most importantly, it meant he and Nikki could have children.

“From the very beginning, we knew that God had given us a special gift,” says Nikki. “Natasha was our miracle child, born on Father’s Day.”

Andy and Nikki were even able to have two more children after Natasha. But the hard times weren’t over: Andy got cancer, and although he beat it, he lost his transplant in the process, forcing him to go back on dialysis. A few years later, he had a stroke. With his health frequently unstable and the future uncertain, Andy and Nikki have taught their children that life is short, and that they should appreciate every moment they have together.

According to Andy and Nikki, that’s one reason why Natasha placed such a high value on others and on life.  “We think that with Andy having to undergo regular dialysis on a kidney machine at home, each of our children has learned to value the preciousness of life and people,” Nikki says.

Natasha’s legacy

Natasha wrote on her MySpace profile, “I love my family. We have been through so many trials together and have pulled through them because we have God and each other. We will be together forever, no matter what awaits us in the future.”

Natasha lived out her values by frequently telling her parents how much she loved and appreciated them, and by refusing to gossip or speak badly of others. She also wrote notes of encouragement to her friends and siblings.

“I know those things are pretty unusual for a 16-year-old,” Andy says. “So we have lots to hang on to.”

Andy and Nikki are already seeing ways that Natasha’s positive influence changed others.

“One father came up to me after Natasha’s funeral,” Andy says. “He told me, ‘I’m going to hug my kids more often and write more encouraging notes.’ If that seed alone has been planted in the hearts of the 1,700 people who attended, and beyond, then her legacy is already extraordinary.”

In fact, all of the students who were killed in the tragedy are leaving behind quite a legacy. “There is nothing but admiration, respect, and fascination at the character and high standards of these children,”

Andy says. “At 16, Natasha wrote tributes to her parents, had never dated and never been kissed—that kind of stuff. Far from being cynical, the media is asking, ‘Does a child like that really exist?’ On their own they would have left a mark, but all seven together—it’s been huge! The world stopped for awhile and got a glimpse of how awesome a child of God can look.”

Natasha and her best friend Portia, another victim of the river tragedy, are also leaving behind a positive phrase that is sweeping the nation: “Jump in puddles.” The morning Natasha was preparing to leave for the outing, Andy asked her how she felt about the heavy rain and storm warning. Natasha replied, “Portia and I have a little saying—we’re going to jump in puddles. What that means is no matter what happens, we’re going to try to have a good time anyway.”

It sums up their perspective of life, and it’s now the philosophy that the Brays and other hurting families are adopting to help cope with their loss.

“Jump in puddles” has reappeared in countless newspapers, online articles, and TV and radio programs since that day. At a memorial service on May 10 at the TelstraClear Events Centre, the thousands of people who attended pinned on badges to proudly display the catchphrase in memory of Natasha and Portia, and as a demonstration that they are all trying to have the same optimism and hope.

The media has been largely impressed by the families’ declaration and strength of faith, lack of bitterness, and incredible sense of community. One prime-time TV journalist, a confessed non-believer, said on live radio, “Whatever it is they’re drinking, I want a sip of it.”

A columnist for the New Zealand Herald wrote in an editorial, “I don’t know how they do it, but surely the burden must be easier to bear if you are certain that your child has gone to a better place.” He went on to say, “The Elim community is a wonderful example of how much a gift of faith can be.”

The gift of sight

Many in New Zealand have been touched by this arduous turn of events. But one person in particular will see something good come of the tragedy—the gift of sight, through the donation of Natasha’s eyes.

In a farewell speech at Natasha’s funeral, Andy said, “When we have kids, we think our job is to teach them. Actually, now I think quite differently. The reason we have children is so they can teach us.”

Then, speaking to Natasha, Andy said, “I know what a difference you’ve made in my life. And even in your death, your life is being used to touch a nation.

“You wanted to give me one of your kidneys—you wanted to be a donor for me so I could live a much fuller life. But I wouldn’t allow it because you were so precious and I didn’t want you to put your life at risk. I know now that your eyes have been donated to give someone sight.

“I just hope they have your vision.”

Copyright © 2008 by FamilyLife. All rights reserved.

Thursday, June 19:  Dawn in Colorado

The sun is coming out here in Colorado, and the Son will soon be welcoming home Rebecca and Jake’s daughter, Molly.  A gift, entrusted to them for seven days, to be ushered home, undoubtedly by a band of the gentlest and mightiest angels dispatched from the throne of God to carry her into the presence of the Savior.

What has been tough is about to get much tougher.

Our days here have been so full of the presence of God.  Honoring Him for Molly Ann.

Friday morning she is born … she doesn’t cry because she is suffering from congestive heart failure.  Her mom holds her only for seconds before she is whisked away to be placed on life support.  We think her problem is a heart murmur.  Oh, how I wish that was all she had.  She is rushed by ambulance to the Children’s Hospital here in Aurora.  We arrive that evening to hear Jake say she is going to need brain surgery.

Saturday is a day of testing, in more ways than one.  She has x-rays, ultra-sounds, and MRIs.  The radiologist makes a copy for Jake and me from her textbook about the Vein of Galen.  I go online and find out that Molly is up against a serious abnormality in the middle of her brain that is very rare and very destructive. Around 4 p.m. we are seated in a private room with a neurologist, cardiologist, neonatologist, and nurse giving us the news that over 50 percent of Molly’s brain is permanently damaged and that the damage affects both halves of the brain.  After 10-15-20 dangerous surgeries, she might be able to have a few functions as a human being.  Later I talk to a friend who has been a neurologist for 30 years and he puts it in perspective: “In cases like Molly where there is so much brain damage, I have never seen a good outcome through surgery.” In other words, it would take a miracle for Molly to live.

On Sunday Jake’s parents, Bill and Pam Mutz, arrive along with some of their family.  Our other children begin to arrive from around the country. Rebecca and Jake want to introduce their new daughter to each family member. Many come and kneel at Rebecca’s feet and just sob.  When a family is being a family it is powerful.  Worshipful.  God-honoring.

Jake and Rebecca spend a good bit of Sunday and Monday praying, talking, seeking second opinions trying to decide what is God’s will for Molly. What is the loving thing to do?  On Monday we surround Molly and have a baby dedication, read Scripture, pray and sing a couple of songs.   More than a dozen of us weep our way through the familiar hymn:

Turn your eyes upon Jesus.
Look full in His wonderful face.
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,
In the light of His glory and grace.

On Monday night, Bill and Pam and Barbara and I witness the unimaginable … we sit in a hospital room as Jake holds Molly … listening for over two hours as Jake and Rebecca process their choices.  God is God, but it’s impossible to not feel, This just shouldn’t be.  What a choice for a young couple to have to make. They decide to not pursue the several very dangerous and complex brain surgeries and remove life support later in the week.

I don’t know what happened to Tuesday.  But I do know that if love could heal, Molly would be well.  Instead, we can all see Molly’s little chest pounding, her heart beating faster and faster, trying to keep up with what she needs to live.

Wednesday is an incredible day.  Videoing, picture taking, making a mold of Molly’s hands, Rebecca and Jake holding Molly, who is still tethered by life support tubes.  Rebecca and the moms giving Molly her first and only bath. This is not what this young mother expected.

Ask me to show you my Bible and I’ll show you her footprints all over Psalm 127 and 128 … and her handprint on my life verse, Psalm 112:1-2, which reads, “Praise the Lord! How blessed is the man who fears the Lord, who greatly delights in His commandments. His descendants will be mighty on earth; the generation of the upright will be blessed.”

Molly’s life may have been short in terms of days, but her life has been mighty.  Mighty Molly Mutz.

Wednesday closes with this email at midnight from Jake, on the close of the last full day that Molly will likely live:

I just got done holding Molly chest-to-chest for the last 3.5  hours!  Heavenly!  I could feel her beating heart on my bare chest!  2569 kisses later I relinquished her to Mom.

She is an angel!!!! Now Rebecca is experiencing this delight!  I just looked over at Bec & she nodded, as if to say, “I WILL be sleeping here with my Sweet Pea for the next 12 hours!”

We love you guys!
Jake & Rebecca

Friday, June 20:   Sunset in Colorado

On Thursday, Miss Molly made her way to her new home in heaven around 6:15 pm.  Her last day with us began with a pretty average sunrise, but the sunset that closed out her coronation day was spectacular.  It was as though the sun was declaring, Magnificent Molly is home!

The Scriptures declare, “This is the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it.”  That verse challenged our faith all day long, but it was nonetheless a day ordered by God’s sovereign hand of love and mercy.

Jake and Rebecca spent nearly all morning with Molly.  As we arrived, Beth (Molly’s nurse and an angel herself) told us that Molly’s vital signs were slipping.  The nurse told us that it was Molly’s way of telling her parents, “It’s time for me to leave you and go home to heaven.”  I am weeping as I write these words; none of us wanted Molly to leave.

Around noon, Rebecca and Jake honored all of us as grandparents by giving us the privilege of holding Molly to say goodbye.  None of us expected we’d get that treat.  We didn’t want to rob them of one moment with their precious daughter.

Barbara got to be first.  It was quite a maneuver to make sure all the wires and tubes that were supporting Molly’s life didn’t get tangled, but finally there she was in her arms.  Barbara kept saying how much of an honor it was to hold this little princess of the King.  She held her close and cooed words of love and admiration over her beautiful face.   Smiles and tears mingled.

When it was Bill’s turn, he stroked her face, tenderly whispered his love for her and shared his favorite Scriptures with her.  Pam beamed as she gently rocked Molly and sang “Jesus Loves Me” to her.  Both Bill and Pam just held her, kissing her face, holding her little hands and weeping as they said goodbye.

As Molly was placed in my arms she felt so warm, just like every other newborn.  I tried to sing to her and I doubt that she recognized “Jesus Loves Me” as I choked out the words through tears.

Jake, who was videotaping, asked me, “Papa, why don’t you tell Molly a story…one of your ‘Speck People’ stories?”  These are adventure stories of tiny little people and equally tiny little creatures who live in a make-believe, microscopic world, facing any number of challenges that demand courage and faith.   Our kids were enthralled with these tiny people stories and now I am telling them to my grandkids.

So Rebecca and Barbara surrounded me as I held little Molly, looked into her face, and began my story: “A Speck grandfather and his Speck granddaughter went fishing for tiny Speck fish … ”  My story was less than 60 seconds long and I looked up into Rebecca’s face and she had the biggest grin, dimples and all.  She was loving the moment.

Rebecca’s laughter has always been contagious and I too began to really laugh.  One other detail of importance is that all of us had been gingerly holding Molly, afraid that the stress of handling her might be more than her little body could handle.  Jake and I looked at the heart and oxygen monitor to see if our hearty laughter had stressed her system, but the opposite was happening—they were going up!   Her oxygen saturation which had been at 80 shot up to 92, then 94, 97, 98, 99 … we just kept laughing and her oxygen level went to 100 percent, which it hadn’t been in 24 hours.

All four of us cheered with raised arms like at a football game.  It was a moment of sheer delight and mystery.  A small thing, perhaps?  Yes, no doubt.  But in the valley of the shadow of death, God gave us laughter.

Christians are the only people who can laugh in the midst of such a crisis without despair—we know where we are headed.  Heaven is certain because of what Jesus Christ did for us through His death for our sins.  Because He lives, we who believe have the hope of life after death.   If a person places faith in Christ for forgiveness of his sins, surrenders his life to Him, then he can be certain of heaven too.  It’s the ultimate reason why death is different for a true follower of Christ.  And it’s why we could laugh as our beloved Molly was about to leave us.

Laughter stopped and the tears flowed again as I was told it was time for me to say goodbye.  Rebecca was now holding Molly. Barbara and I knelt beside her as I read her my goodbye letter:

Mighty Molly,

I just met you—I feel cheated.

I don’t want to say goodbye.

I know I’ll likely see you in a couple of decades or so—in light of eternity, it won’t be long, really. Still I don’t want to say goodbye.

You will always be my Molly, my granddaughter. I’m really sad that I won’t be getting to spoil you with a doll, or go sneak chocolate, or take you on ice cream dates, and eat chocolate pie and pudding. Laughing all the time at what your mommy and daddy would say if they knew what we were doing. I don’t want to say goodbye.

Your seven days sure brought a lot of joy to your mom and dad’s face—I’ve watched them drink you in with their eyes, kiss you from head to foot, stroke and caress you.

Your parents loved you well—God couldn’t have given you better parents.  Courageous parents. They have loved you with a sacrificial love that only a very few little girls like you ever get to experience.  Because it hurts their hearts so much, oh, how I really don’t want to say goodbye.

And so, Sweet Molly, until that day in heaven when we will celebrate the Greatness of our God together (then we will go sneak chocolate and go on an ice cream date) I must say goodbye.

Goodbye, Molly Ann.

I love you,

Papa

Molly Ann Mutz
June 13, 2008—June 19, 2008

We cannot, Lord, Thy purpose see,
But all is well that’s done by Thee.

A Simple Sweetness

by Rebecca Rainey Mutz

Such a beautiful day. We didn’t think of the ticking clock or how the time was ebbing away. We focused all we had on Molly.

This was the day we got to give her a bath. A bath may seem like such a small, insignificant thing, but for us it became like a treasured jewel. The memory of this is so dear to my husband, Jacob, and me, something we hold close to our hearts.

It had been bothering me all week that Molly still had tiny bits of dried blood from birth in her hair. In those first few minutes after birth, when it became clear that things weren’t quite right, the nurses stopped working on cleaning her up. They whisked her away to get her on oxygen.

I had tried, every chance I got, to get out as much of the blood in her hair as I could, but there was only so much I could do. I knew warm water and soap would do the trick. We laid her on several soft towels, still on her bed, and gently washed her from head to toe. I wanted her hair to be clean and smooth so that we might brush it and see more of its beauty.

As our parents and [Jake’s sisters] Lori and Kelli watched from behind the lenses of cameras or over our shoulders, we gently washed Molly’s skin and gave her a clean look. She didn’t care too much for having her hair washed, but once we gently rolled her on her stomach she quieted down and fell into a deep sleep. For some reason, Molly’s back smelled like peppermint to me. No one else got the scent, but I did, sweet and fresh.

Giving Molly a bath was so fulfilling, so memorable. As a mom, I wanted to take care of our little girl. For most of the week I felt helpless to give our baby what she needed. There was always a nurse to change her diaper or move her from side to side or change her feeding drip. It was so wonderful, such a cherished moment, that we, her parents, were able to care for her. When she didn’t like some of it, I would whisper in her ear and speak loving words that calmed her little heart. Jacob even loved brushing her dark brown hair. Neither of us will ever forget those moments of bathing our daughter, as we dressed her for her meeting with her King.

That night after everyone left, Jacob and I snuggled up with our little Molly girl and held her close once more. Jacob would have held her longer had I not protested that it was my turn.

Oh, what a joy it was to hold her so near. As most newborns do, she slept a lot but I think she slept better when she was in our arms and close to our hearts. It’s where she belonged, no matter what was wrong with her. She was safe with us. It was heavenly having her in our arms, lying against our chests, feeling her heart beating. Her little hands brushed against my skin as she slept soundly and comfortably.

We held her like that until well after midnight, finally relinquishing her to her own bed so that we could get some rest. That night, we slept on the couch in her room, not caring about the beeps or nurses coming and going, just that we were close to our Molly girl.

Why Every Life Matters

by Barbara Rainey

A tiny helpless babe. One unable to make a sound, to give a smile, to even take a breath on her own.

Newborns are dependent on others for the sustenance of life. Someone else must feed, clothe, and clean them. Newborns can do none of these life tasks on their own, but most have the potential to develop to independence.

Molly is different.

She has no potential for an independent life. The news from the doctors makes it clear that her brain damage renders her unable to be a normal child or for her body systems to sustain life. So what is her life worth? What meaning does her little life have?

In this era of genetic testing and technology, expectant parents face choices unheard of in previous generations. For centuries, pregnancy has been a time of mystery, surprise, and sometimes apprehension and fear—especially in generations past when many infants and mothers died at birth. Medical advances have brought both life-saving discoveries and life-ending detections.

If Jacob and Rebecca had known about Molly’s condition before her birth, would that have made it easier?

Some might wonder. But it’s doubtful. The mourning would have only begun sooner. Would they have been less attached? Impossible. The mother-child attachment is part of the relationship inherent in God’s design for babies growing inside a mother’s womb. God asks the rhetorical question in Isaiah 49:15: “Can a woman forget her nursing child, that she should have no compassion on the son of her womb?”

Molly’s life began at conception, and her parents have had the privilege of enjoying her for nine months and one week in utero. Because there was no suspicion of anything wrong, no testing was offered and none was done. Rebecca and Jacob enjoyed the journey of pregnancy.

We have always believed, and still do, that life is a gift given by God. He is the Creator, the Author, the Originator—“Thus says the Lord, your Redeemer, who formed you from the womb: I am the Lord, who made all things” (Isaiah 44:24a). We also believe that God says human life has value because we are created in His image, in His likeness. Everything about us is a reflection of Him, the Trinity, the Three in One.

Molly is God’s little image bearer, and her life has been carefully crafted by Him for His glory. It does not matter to God that Molly’s body is not whole. He made her that way; her life is not an accident. To say that her malformations were a fluke or a random mutation is to say that her development was outside of God’s control. He forms and fashions His living image bearers with heavenly and eternal purposes in mind. And He loves each one passionately.

The purpose of Molly’s life is no less important than that of David, king of Israel, of whom it was said, “After he had served the purpose of God in his own generation, fell asleep” (Acts 13:36). We do not know the purposes God conceived when He made Molly, but we can guess at what some of them might be. We know that her life has invited us to give thanks and praise to God. She has focused our attention on Heaven, reminding us of the eternal and that none of us knows how much time we have on earth. In the small bounds of her fragile life an entire world of meaning and dignity has been revealed to those who have come near—a glimpse of eternity, a touch of the holy, a melodious chorus of Heaven.

I am also convinced there are purposes for Molly’s life that we will not know until Heaven. God will continue using her life even after she is gone from here. There are deep mysteries in the mind of God that are too wonderful for us to know, too high for us to grasp.

My son, Samuel, said it well in an e-mail he sent to family and friends:

Truly her life has been extraordinary. If there was a symbol that gives you a picture of her life, it is the exclamation point! She came, she changed, and now she is going. Molly’s work here on earth is done, and what an amazing work she has done. In seven days, she has accomplished more than most 77-year-olds. I pray that you experience the ripple, nay, the waves of change that her life has caused.

Molly herself was made for worship, as it says in Psalm 8:2 (NIV), “From the lips of children and infants you have ordained praise,” and she was given to her parents that they might worship the King. May you also feel the touch of the Master’s hand, hear the song of the Creator’s call, and give praise to God for all He does.

Excerpted from A Symphony in the Dark by Barbara Rainey and Rebecca Rainey Mutz. Copyright © 2009 Barbara Rainey and Rebecca Rainey Mutz. All rights reserved. Used with permission. Published by FamilyLife Publishing, Little Rock, AR.

On December 4, 1999, my oldest son, Jaden, died in an automobile accident. He was 22.

I felt like I had been slammed into a brick wall. More than a decade later, I can now say that God can turn any situation to good.

In the years since Jaden died, I have come into contact with a multitude of grieving parents. Many tell wonderful stories of how friends and family supported them. But others share sad and painful experiences of people dropping out of their lives, just because they didn’t know how to respond to their loss.

Today it gives me joy to help others be there for those who lose a loved one. The following are 10 ways that could help you comfort a parent with a grieving heart:

1. Be there. One mom put it so well. She said, “It’s not the words you spoke; it’s the tear you left on my cheek.” Commit to walk with me through the valley no matter how long it takes. It may take awhile. Statistics show that a parent is considered newly bereaved for five years. I may tell you I want to be alone. Yes, you should honor that. But know that I don’t mean forever, just maybe right now. What I really want is for you to be there.

2. Pray for me. Don’t stop, although I may even tell you to. My faith has been shaken and I feel as though I have been betrayed. I question how God could have allowed this to happen. I may even be angry with Him for a time. I need your prayers. I am too wounded and weak to pray for myself.

3. Don’t expect very much from me, especially those first few months. It is a challenge for me to get out of bed and on a good day I might remember to brush my teeth. Even though my world has stopped, life continues. I have to cook, clean, take care of my remaining family, and often go back to work. Help me. Bring over a meal. Take my children to the park or to a movie. Do my laundry. Run to the grocery store for me. Don’t wait until I ask you; I probably won’t.

4.Remember special events–not just that first year, but every year. I will always be a mother who misses her child. Transfer those dates from one calendar to the next and send a card, drop a note, make a phone call. Be there!

5.Don’t offer advice or give me clichés. I don’t need a sermon on how best to grieve. Don’t offer me clichés such as, “Time heals all wounds,” “He’s in a better place,” or, “It was God’s will.”  Don’t assume that you know how I feel. Even other bereaved parents don’t truly know my grief. We are each unique, so don’t lecture me. Just walk with me and be there.

6.Say the name of my child. I love to hear it! Remember a story about him and share it with me. Let me talk about him; don’t change the subject. I may tell you the same things over and over and over, but please just be there.

7. Accept that I am different now. I will never be the person I was before. A mom told me the other day that she was watching old videos and as she saw herself laughing and having fun with her daughter, she missed her. She also said, “I missed me.” We have lost our innocence. We have lost a portion of ourselves, and we are different now.

8. Don’t judge me. I may wear a T-shirt with his picture and visit his grave every day, sometimes twice a day. It may make you uncomfortable if my office cubicle looks like a shrine to the one I lost. Please give me some time.

9. Visit the cemetery. And when you do, leave a note, a flower, or maybe just tell me that you stopped by his grave. It means so much.

10. Watch for the signs. Be alert to behavior that may be dangerous. There are those who cannot move beyond their pain; encourage them to talk to someone in the professional field. Search out a support group for them, and offer to go to it with them.