I was sixteen years old the first time I remember hearing God called El Roi, “The God Who Sees Me.” It felt like such a profound and personal name for a God that I loved but didn’t truly know or understand at the time. And it was a name that stuck with me, that kept pulling at the corners of my mind, though I didn’t then know why. Now I do.
Of course the death of my precious boy did result in suffering “grief in all kinds of trials,”and in light of all of eternity, my sorrow—though it last all of my days on earth—is but for a little while, but was this verse really suggesting that my son died simply to make my faith more genuine?
About 2 months after Max’s death, I found myself at a dear friend’s wedding. She had just danced her father/daughter dance as her husband walked out onto the floor with his mom. I felt my chest tighten and a lump form in my throat.
This is the story of a big brother, a prophetic dream, an emotionally fraught pregnancy, and a redemptive morning. While that may be just a little dramatic, there is no doubt that this boy’s story has been intricately woven by a loving God who is intimately concerned with the details of his creation.
I started to wonder whether people believed our good news was proof that they were true. I found myself dwelling on the fact that those things have always been true. They were true before this pregnancy, and would continue to be true even if I had never become pregnant…