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But I Prayed for Protection

Since the day I became a mother, I prayed a simple prayer, “Lord, please protect my children; please protect their lives, hearts, and minds.”

I can’t tell you how many times since The Accident I have questioned our Lord as to WHY he did not answer this prayer. For the last four months, I have consistently asked:

  • Why did you not protect her from The Accident?
  • Why didn’t you save her?
  • Why, Lord?
  • Why?!

Each time I sit to write, I have continued to try to make sense of my life and the questions that scream for answers. Yet, I have always been left with the deafening silence of loss.

Until last week…

For the first time since The  Accident, God whispered the answer to the questions that were running through my mind. It was, to me, the answer I’ve been waiting for. I still get tears in my eyes, chills up and down my body, and comfort in my heart when I think of the sweet whisper from our Father. Looking back to my journal entry, I wrote:

October 23, 2017

…The verse on the previous page, Matthew 7:7, says, “ask and it will be given to you.” Lord, I ASKED you for protection over my kids, but Sadie wasn’t protected.

Before I could finish my sentence, I immediately heard his voice…

“She doesn’t need to be protected from Heaven. She belongs here.”

WOW! You are SO right, God. Looking back, what I thought my prayer was asking was, Lord, please don’t take my kids away from me.  Yet in reality, it was about my protection from the fallen world. You have told us that, “in this world [we] will have trouble. But take heart! [You] have overcome the world. (1 John 16:33).”

October 23, 2017 changed the way I looked at His protection in regards to The Accident. I no longer question the protection over Sadie. I know if I “ask…it will be given” to me. I did ask for her protection, and He protected her.  Jesus met her in our driveway.  Sadie saw his beautiful face, took His hand, and left her body. He wrapped His arms around her, and took her Home within seconds of being struck; she never cried, she never suffered, and she never felt pain. I am forever grateful for that.

I cannot begin to describe what I’ve seen, heard, and felt as I look up from the darkest pit known as “the loss of a child.” However, what I do know is that I prayed for protection over my children, and the prayer was answered. I know Sadie never needed to be protected from death because “to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord (2 Cor 5:8).”

Who would want to be protected from Heaven?

Not me.

I dream of the day I see her dimples waiting for me at the gate. I await the day she will take me by the hand and show me around the streets of gold as I hear the sweet songs of praise. I have asked Jesus to bring her with him when he comes to get me… Oh, how I hope he does!

This life is nothing, and I mean NOTHING, as I had thought, or planned, or dreamed it would be. Each morning, I wake up longing to hug and kiss her.  Each night, I question how I am going to live this life, again, tomorrow. I have never heard our mighty God speak to me more clearly after the loss of Sadie. I am grateful for the intimate conversations I’ve had with our loving father. I’m grateful for his loving arms that never leave me. I’m grateful for His goodness, and I’m grateful for his promises. I’m grateful for answered prayers… and I am grateful for His protection over my kids.

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Dear Grieving Dad

I’ve written this post many times in my head. Each time I feel like it goes in a different direction. I want to express a guy’s side of grief, but it’s difficult because everyone grieves differently. This post is for dads, like me, who have lost a child. If you know someone who is in our shoes, please share this with them.

Dear Dad,
Welcome to the club that no one wants to join. You didn’t ask to be a part, but now you are a member. I am too. I was welcomed into the club when my three month old daughter Zoe died from SIDS. We didn’t want to be in this, but here we are together. You may feel so alone right now, but you’re not. There are many of us who are in the club. I was fortunate to have several veteran members share with me their experience and what they have learned. While still somewhat of a rookie, I wanted to share with you what I have learned so far, and that you are not alone in this club.

 

Maybe you feel completely alone, I am with you. Maybe you feel like everything is moving slowly, like you are underwater, I am swimming with you.

 

Maybe you feel like things are moving so quickly around you that everything’s a blur, I see that blurred vision too.

 

Maybe you feel like you have to hold things in together so that you can allow others to grieve, I am holding them with you.

 

Maybe you wait for a call to tell you that things aren’t the way they seem, that this is all a mix-up, I am waiting with you.

 

Maybe you feel like you are unsure what the next step looks like in your life, I am with you in the uncertainty.

 

Maybe you wonder if the pain that you are feeling will ever subside, I am with you in the wondering.

 

Maybe you think of all the things you are going to miss, I am missing them with you.

 

Maybe you don’t know what you are feeling right now, I am with you in the unknown.

 

Dad, there are so many things that are going through your head right now, but I am with you. However, I need to let you know, when I say “I am with you.” I really am, but not because I have the strength to be with you in the pain and the sorrow and the confusion. Rather, it is because God is with me that I am able to be with you. Really, it is he, God, who is with you.

 

I have learned that there are so many different directions that I can go with the loss of my daughter. I can spend time wishing that I had done things differently, from as little as spending more time at home, to as big has having taken the day off to be with her. However, wishing for the past to be different doesn’t help. I can spend time feeling like I let my family down because I was unable to protect my daughter. But the reality is there is nothing I can do right now. I can spend time withdrawn from my family and wife because I don’t know how to share what I’m feeling. Truthfully, I know that withdrawing from them is the worst thing that I can do right now. There are so many different things that I can do, but they won’t help me move on, but it is my choice.

 

That is the most important thing that I’ve learned is that I have to choose to move forward. They are simple choices, like taking a shower and shaving the day after Zoe passed away. They are simple like forcing myself to eat, even though I wasn’t hungry, or making the bed, even though no one would fault me if I didn’t. I had to make those choices, they weren’t going to just happen by themselves. The great thing about these choices, is that it’s never too late to start making them, but you have to choose, remember I am with you in those choices. God is with you.

 

Fellow club member, there is no way around this, life is tough right now. That being said, you are not alone. My faith in God has allowed me to walk through this tough time with hope, and there will be more things that will be tough in the future. I am confident that God will be with me. But maybe you don’t believe in God, can I share my faith in him with you? Can I walk with you through this journey? Seriously, I want to walk through the hard times with you, you are not alone. Let me walk with you through this journey. Maybe the first choice you need to make is to talk to me. I am with you in that choice. Will you email me? We can walk together, I guarantee you that the walk is better with someone by your side. I am here for you. 

 

Empathetically

Jeff

If you want to share your story with someone, or you feel like you can’t talk to anyone, please contact me. If you know someone who needs to talk, please share this with them, I would love to listen. You can email me at jrollins@hopefamilycareministries.org.

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Walk Into The Pain

This post was originally written on June 7, 2014 on our family blog; one month after we lost our daughter Zoe. As true as these words were then, they still ring true today. 

One month later.

Still a family of five.

We’ve learned so much this past month and are still processing even more.

This past week I’ve been really praying and listening, asking God what He wants me to learn from this past month. Again and again, I hear Him reminding me to continue to walk into the pain

One of the first things I remember telling Jeff the evening Zoe passed away, was how much my heart hurt. I had never felt that type of pain before; it was different.

Because of the pain, there were so many things I found myself scared to do that first evening, one of them was to be alone. I needed Jeff to be with me whatever I did; I just couldn’t be alone. Maybe it was the loneliness that comes with loosing someone so close to you; I’m not sure.

That night we both laid in bed, but neither of us could sleep. In the early morning hours, we decided to get up, and that was when Jeff wrote this. As we talked through writing that first post, and shared our very raw story through tears, we began to feel comfort. After we pressed ‘publish’, I was able to get up and go back to bed without Jeff, as he was still wide awake. That was the first moment I began to realize that as allowed myself to walk into the pain, the more comfort and healing I was able to find.


(Our last picture of Zoe; just hours before she woke up in His arms.) 

The next day, was filled with hard things- waking up and realizing I wouldn’t hear her cries, continuing to pump milk (as I had still been nursing), going into Zoe’s room for the first time, looking at the pictures of Zoe that I had taken of her just hours before she passed away, the list could go on and on. However, because of what God had shown me early that morning, I walked into each of those moments with a new perspective- the more I allow myself and or sometimes force myself to walk into the pain, each time I was able to come out better and healthier than before.

Those next few days leading up to Zoe’s Celebration, were filled with very hard moments and decisions. One of my most healing moments was also one of the hardest, and it came the morning of Zoe’s Celebration. Jeff and I had decided that it would best for our family if he and I went alone to spend time with and see her, the morning before her celebration. We were both sick to our stomachs and nervous beyond belief to see her. However, after the initial crying, we were able to sit and hold her one last time. I was not sure I would be able to do that and had been fearing that moment since we first talked about it. However, we both sat silently, each holding her, staring at her until we were ready to kiss her goodbye. Jeff said it best, that during that time, we both realized that one’s soul does change their appearance, and even though she looked like our Zoe, she looked different. Her soul was gone. That was just the assurance we needed to bring a tremendous peace and comfort that only the Lord could give. The hard things didn’t subside, but my pain and fear did, each time I walked into the pain.

Today walking into the pain looks different than it did a month ago-

maybe it’s not turning the radio off when a song that stirs my emotions comes on but allowing myself to cry through it,

maybe it’s sitting and watching videos or looking at pictures of Zoe that bring tears of joy,

maybe it’s allowing myself to picture her with our family today and what she might be doing,

maybe it’s allowing myself to stare at another baby I see and remember Zoe’s tiny little fingers or sweet little nose,

or maybe it’s sitting down and writing out my feelings and what I’m learning.

Because I do have the hope of knowing I will see and hold my precious girl again in heaven one day, I have been able to commit to walking into the pain but then existing on the other side healthier than before.

I will walk into the pain, and I will walk THROUGH the pain, but I will not live in the pain.