By: Angela Gillaspie © 1998-2001

Oh God, please no! My child isn't moving and the doctors have told me to pray. I can't pray; I can't think. All I can do is feel and what I feel is pain. I want to trade places with my child. I am the mother and I have failed; I have allowed harm to come to my child. Just moments ago, I held him; he was smiling and I held him close to my chest and felt the warmth of his cheek on mine. Oh God, please no!

I'm transported to his birth. After a couple of hours of pushing, he came into the world screaming. He was immediately swaddled and handed to me and I held him in my shaky arms. Awestruck, I noticed how perfect his fingers and solemn eyes were. On that cold winter morning, a love affair started while most people slept. Each dawn brought more love and affection from me to this child. I love the way he breathes when he sleeps; I loved the way he smiled his toothless smile at me; I love the smell of his hair. Oh God, please no!

His skin has a grayish tint to it, and there is a tube down his throat forcing his tiny chest to rise and fall mechanically. I hold his hand and try to warm it and hot tears spot my blouse. I would do anything to make him better. Anything. I would die for him. Take me God! Take my life instead of his -- please take me. I have never felt pain like this in my life. My world is being ripped apart into tiny bloody shreds. Oh God, please no!

How can You do this to me? How can You take away my main reason for living? It is not fair. This child has more to do. He has his entire life to live, please God. He has soccer balls to kick, he has roller coasters to ride, and he has a graduation to attend. He is so innocent, so hold him Lord.

God, Your will is curious and devastating to me. I don't understand. Help me. "My soul is weary with sorrow; strengthen me according to Your word," Psalms instructs me.

With one hand on my son and the other on my worn Bible, I search for strength. There is no sense in reacting to this tragedy with weakness, so I must lean on You. There isn't a reason for this, this is just Your will, but I still don't understand. In Romans I read, "Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is--His good, pleasing and perfect will." I take a deep breath and grasp at the thought of Your will as being good, pleasing, and perfect. There have been twists and turns in my life that I can't explain nor understand, but they are a part of the many roads that will connect and take me to my journey's end.

There is a shuffling sound behind me and I feel someone's hand on my shoulder. I turn to see my sister-in-law standing awkwardly next to my shell-shocked husband. He gestures for her to move in closer and he leaves to tend to other family members that are beginning to cluster in the hallway. She squeezes my shoulder and whispers to me, "He's in God's hands -- you know this." More tears run down my face, and I nod in agreement.

I look down at the tiny limp hand I'm clinging to and voice the thoughts that I have been having. I ask her, "If my life is at the mercy of God's will, then what choices do I have? On one side, it is comforting to know that my child is in God's loving hands, but on the other hand, I feel as though I am a puppet on a string."

She replied, "If we were but puppets on a string, why would He give us a brain to reason and think in order to make choices? If we were just at His mercy with no free will to choose His only son for salvation, why would He have needed to sacrifice His son on the cross for us? Our lives are not like some big chess game in which God is the only one moving all the pieces. We are involved in the process too. He doesn't want any of us to perish. But, He gives us a choice...we can choose to be in His will or to reject it. He does not force us to choose His son, but He gives us a mind to be able to learn and know about Him and a heart to receive Him."

She lightly strokes my hair, kisses my forehead, and then returns to the hallway.

Oh God, please no.

I lower my gaze to the Bible in my lap. Could I have made the wrong choice earlier in my life and caused this suffering to my child? No, I mustn't place any blame. I turn to Isaiah and read to my motionless child, "Your sun will never set again, and your moon will wane no more; the Lord will be your everlasting light, and your days of sorrow will end."

At this time of pain, I desperately cling to the comforting thought that my child will cross over into heaven at some point and leave his crushed body behind. I am just not ready to let go yet. Please God. Please no.

When he's gone, I won't be able to hold him, to see his dimple, to hear his laughter, or to inhale his scent deeply into my lungs. He's only been on this earth a few short years, please God. Here in this dark valley of death, Your rod and staff comfort me. You tend to all of Your sheep, from the small and weak to the big and strong -- each one is important to You. My little lamb is among Your flock, and his time to come to You may be sooner than later. As the twenty-third Psalm tells me, we will dwell in Your house forever, together.

Storms seem to rage on forever, but they do end and the clouds eventually part to radiant sunshine. The deep dark of night always gives way to the brilliant light of dawn. Trees and plants wither and die in the fall and winter, but in spring and summer, they explode with life. Lord, in my times of need, pain, and sorrow, You have always been there and it is during those times that I feel my closest to You. This is similar to childbirth, the pain is brutal, but the yield is joy in the purest form. You tell me in second Corinthians, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness."

I feel a tingling peace wash over me. Now I know that I will not face the upcoming tragedy or triumph alone.

Oh God, thank you, I know.