Life Without Mother

Dear Friend,

I think it no accident that my Sunday school class read through the first seven chapters of Job just yesterday.

I needed the reminder of God’s sovereignty and care. He sees Job. He knows Job’s heart. Such that when the Accuser comes to charge Job with fair-weather faith, God allows the test to commence. He is confident in the faith of Job even when human reason cannot justify the suffering that God allows to such a blameless man.

I am no Job when it comes to being blameless. That is, certainly not by my own merits. It is in Christ that I may be counted blameless before God. And I will be the first to readily acknowledge how minuscule the material loss of my own situation compared to this hero of faith.¹

However, one part of Job’s lament in chapter 3 really caught my attention in the last twenty-four hours:

May the day of my birth perish,
    and the night that said, ‘A boy is conceived!’
That day—may it turn to darkness;
    may God above not care about it;
    may no light shine on it.
May gloom and utter darkness claim it once more;
    may a cloud settle over it;
    may blackness overwhelm it.
That night—may thick darkness seize it;
    may it not be included among the days of the year
    nor be entered in any of the months.²

Friend, this sentiment expresses exactly the internal cringe at reminders of my upcoming birthday. Now, I do believe — at least these ten years later — I do grieve as one with hope and not without, not falling into the utterly hopeless expression that rears its head more toward the end of Job’s first words after a week of silent grief.³

However, I wish to express the internal frustration I have over what is supposed to be a great celebration. One that encapsulates what I expressed in my last letter regarding the Lord’s great faithfulness.

In this moment, a mere eight hours from the turning of the clock into my twenty-eighth year, I’m dreading that midnight hour.

My birthday is an annual reminder of the most traumatic day of my life. And while God has been and is faithful through it all — I still suffer uncontrollable sadness. Sadness I wish I could simply dismiss. Trying to navigate sometimes consecutive days of uncontrollable and inescapable mood swings of happy and sad and apathetic and downright giddiness and festering anger. Insomnia and bursts of energy.

I’m sure someone smarter than I would identify this as textbook — well, something. Grief, perhaps?

Forgive the digression, friend. I simply wished to be honest, as I’ve tried to be these ten years now. Yes, tomorrow marks twenty-eight years worth of the days God has numbered for me. And you have read my testimony of His faithfulness in the midst of sorrow. You know I believe it. You know that my hope is in His Life.

Sometimes I just wish April 28th didn’t exist. Because then maybe April 29th wouldn’t. And in the true unreasonableness of human reason, that sentiment makes sense.

Thus, it’s an annual war within me to receive others’ encouragement and intentions to celebrate my life as I fight the sorrow in not getting to do so with my mother who was there from the beginning — until the end of seventeen years. The bittersweet wishing she was here to share the many blessings and testimonies of God’s goodness in my life.

And fighting both memories and frustration over sadness. Friends and family express grace upon grace, patience upon patience with me. I am the one who feels utterly selfish in my grief. While also feeling helpless in the lack of emotional relief.

I appreciated the gentle rebuke of a friend yesterday when I expressed my struggle to believe my prayers (and those of my dear friends) this past week were actually heard. Because I prayed for strength and felt I had none. I prayed for sleep and rest but then had even less than weeks before. I prayed for focus to lead my work team well and found I missed multiple tasks those days. What were the answers to my prayers? Did I pray for the wrong things? But what about the Holy Spirit interceding with wordless groans on my behalf?⁴

Friend, this was — and maybe still is — my wrestling with God.

What good company Job is. Because he wrestled. And God didn’t give him a reason for his suffering or even a direct answer to his questions. But He did give Job an answer:

Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation?
    Tell me, if you understand.
Who marked off its dimensions? Surely you know!

…

Have the gates of death been shown to you?
    Have you seen the gates of the deepest darkness?
Have you comprehended the vast expanses of the earth?
    Tell me, if you know all this.⁵

He is GOD. He is sovereign. He is good. That is the answer of human suffering. Of my suffering. He who hunts the prey for lions and provides for the young ravens crying out for food.⁶

He sees me. He hears me. He saved me and gave me hope that can never be taken. A hope that declares victory over death.⁷

Friend, I cry out to the God who is there when I make my bed in the depths of Sheol. I can never escape His presence.⁸

With tears and a testimony of hope,
Hannah

1. James 5 ↩︎
2. Job 3:3-6 ↩︎
3. 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18, Job 3:24-26 ↩︎
4. Romans 8 ↩︎
5. Job 38:4-5a, 17-18 ↩︎
6. Job 38:39-41 ↩︎
7. 1 Corinthians 15 ↩︎
8. Psalm 139 ↩︎

(P.S. I include a photograph of Mom and me on my sweet sixteen.)