COUNT IT ALL JOY
“Jesus is moved with compassion by the suffering of His children,” the preacher continued. He spoke of the Canaanite woman, the two blind men, and the leper—all of whom boldly approached Jesus with unwavering faith in His power, a deep understanding of His character, and the humility embodied in their plea: Have mercy on me.
He looks on me with compassion, I scribbled into my journal. A laugh bubbled at the base of my throat as my heart swelled a little more, toying nervously with the thought—like the hem of a sweater—of just how much God cares about me. I’ve heard it a million times: He is the same God, unchanging, without favoritism. He cares about what I care about. Rehearsing moments and declarations from myself and others, the only sensible thing to do was to believe Him. By the end of the service, the pastor asked those who were suffering to raise their hands—to boldly approach Jesus with unwavering faith in His power, a deep understanding of His character, and the humility to lay everything at His feet, so I did.
As Credo and I walked back to the car, we marveled at the sovereignty of God. This message, a perfect foundation, for our attitude as we faced our 12-week appointment and the third inconclusive ultrasound the next day.
the compassion of the lord is not bASED ON our BEHAVIOR
In our human nature, we often approach God the same way we approach one another—our empathy sways depending on our mood or mental state. Compassion, for us, must often be coaxed out by the right action or the right words. But God is not like us. The tears we let fall, or even the ones we hide behind our eyes, are seen by Him. The smile we force over the suffering that has stolen joy from our lips is discerned by Him. He knows the difference between a real laugh and a fake one. He sees how your shoulders droop under the weight of feeling overwhelmed. He is a Father who knows, who sees, and who pays attention to the suffering of His children. He is moved, without our emotional priming, in a way that produces action in Him as seen by the story of the widow in Luke.
Luke 7:12-13 “As he approached the town gate, a dead person was being carried out—the only son of his mother, and she was a widow. And a large crowd from the town was with her. When the Lord saw her, his heart went out to her and he said, “Don’t cry.”
He knows who you are, the depth of your loss, and the extent of your pain. This wasn’t just a woman who lost someone. She was a widowed mother who lost her only son and Jesus knows that.
Emphasis on ‘His heart went out to her’—His heart goes out to those who are hurting. He isn’t a savior that runs from our pain. His heart goes out to us while we are in the middle of it.
Luke 7:14-16 “Then he went up and touched the bier they were carrying him on, and the bearers stood still. He said, “Young man, I say to you, get up! The dead man sat up and began to talk and Jesus gave him back to his mother. They were filled with awe and praised God. “A great prophet has appeared among us,” they said. “God has come to help his people.”
This miracle was not done to solely alleviate the suffering of this widow or to reconcile her back to her son.
Surrounding people were filled with awe, praised God, and were affirmed in their hope.
Miracles are not always guaranteed in the way we want. But, the compassion of our Lord and Savior during suffering and trials will always be guaranteed to us.
“you keep track of all my sorrows. you have collected all my tears in your bottle. you have recorded each one in your book.” Psalms 56:8
“You’ll need to prepare your mind for what you’ll have to do.” The doctor said plainly. “We’ll have to do a procedure to evacuate the uterus.”
"Molar pregnancies just aren’t viable, you know? A baby just didn’t form. There is nothing left to be done," her words settled uncomfortably alongside the pastor’s message from the day before: He looks on His children with compassion. The leper’s plea echoed like bells in my ears: If you are willing, you can make me clean.
“How long can we wait?” I asked.
“We can’t just let it sit in your uterus. The procedure has to be done. You could bleed—there could be complications. Leaving it isn’t an option,” she urged gently. “Take a week or so and make an appointment.”
Call it delusion or optimism, but there’s a strange excitement that stirs when I hear impossible news. I cannot save my baby, but the One who knit me together in my mother’s womb can surely finish knitting him together in mine. There’s an instinctual hope, a steady faith, that my spirit clings to in the face of bitter news—though in the past, it’s been smothered by the blaring noise of my own flesh. But, God and I were in a different place this time. Through His intentional and purposeful love for me, He has placed songs in my heart recently that speak of His trustworthiness, sermons week after week that have been daring me to find joy in trials and deepening my faith. And just yesterday, He orchestrated an entire sermon dedicated to biblical evidence of His compassion for me and His knack for healing. Further proving that He is a God who knows, who sees, and who pays attention to the suffering of His children.
Rushing from her office to the bathroom, I considered the heart of the Canaanite woman and leper again before praying, Have mercy on me, Son of David. You are the Lord of my life. The author and finisher of all things created. If you are willing, please let him live. But, not my will, as you will, in Jesus name I pray, Amen.
“AND WE KNOW THAT ALL THINGS WORK TOGETHER FOR GOOD TO THOSE WHO LOVE GOD, TO THOSE WHO ARE CALLED ACCORDING TO HIS PURPOSE” Romans 8:28
It’s hard to predict how the prayers we offer to God will manifest in our daily lives. We ask for deeper understanding of our purpose or new revelations of His character, often without a framework for the circumstances that will bring about what we seek. Yet, we know we are called to count it all joy when we face various trials (James 1:2). We know that enduring hardship is evidence of God's love and our identity as His children (Hebrews 12:7-8). And we know that God is not like man—He doesn’t just assume what is best for us; He knows and faithfully does what is best for us (Hebrews 12:10-11).
So, who am I, really? To tell Him something is too heavy or He’s given me too much? To question if He truly loves or cares for me? To instruct Him on what He needs to do to manifest what He buried in me when He created me?
I thought I wanted a straightforward pregnancy—one filled with TikToks, bump updates, and weird cravings. Instead, I’ve been blessed with a pregnancy that has deepened my reliance and trust in God. It has planted me firmly in His promises and fostered an intimacy in both my marriage and my relationship with God that would have taken years for me to cultivate on my own. We set plans in our hearts and hope to orchestrate the hand of God in our lives, but who are you, and who am I, to tell God what to do with the life He has given? In your suffering and trials, choose to remember the compassionate heart and loving nature of a God who only does what is best for you.
