The Other Side of the Stone

This week I started reading Angie Smith’s book I Will Carry You. Angie, if you don’t know, is the wife of Todd Smith, who sings in Selah. Two years ago, Todd and Angie’s fourth daughter was born with conditions that made her “incompatible with life.” She lived just a couple of hours, but her life has had quite an impact, first through Angie’s blog and now through her book.

I’ve read Angie’s blog almost since Audrey’s birth and love the way she writes. She finds things in Scripture that I wish I’d thought to see. In fact, her book talks not only about Audrey’s story, but the things she learned about grief and joy as she studied the death and resurrection of Lazarus. Fascinating…the things she found in that passage.

Reading and underlining…reading and underlining…I’ve found much to ponder even though I’ve never lost a child of my own. Pain is still pain – no matter the source. I find Angie’s words to be honest and comforting, and I learn better how to move ahead in my own days of hurt by seeing how she handled hers.

I wanted to share with you this one part that intrigued me so. She mentions the verse, “Jesus wept.” We all know that verse. We learned it as kids when we forgot we were supposed to memorize a verse for Sunday School and two words seemed more manageable than fifty.
But look at Angie’s words:

“He isn’t crying because the situation is hopeless, but because He is an empathetic God.

He knows that in a few moments Lazarus will walk out of the tomb.

He also knows they can’t see that hope.

And neither can we.”

Jesus saw on the other side of the stone. He saw the life and hope waiting to walk forth. All Mary and Martha could see was a rock and the thought of decay on the other side.

I just loved that. Loved it.

Ten years ago today, I stood in a room and witnessed the miracle of childbirth for the first time. Exactly six months later, that baby girl passed from here to Heaven with no warning. We cried because we missed her. And I believe that He cried with us because He knew a hope we couldn’t see.

And in these past ten years, I’ve had a hundred other hurts. Some deep, some manageable. But every time a tear fell over any of them, He saw. And He cared.

Tonight I took a walk, and God had much to say to me during that stroll. I started wishing I’d brought my journal so I could write some of it – all of it – down. But this one part needed no journal to be remembered. As God gave me my assignment, tears came to my eyes. Not tears of despair. Just tears of being overwhelmed that He would still speak when I’m such a poor listener most of the time. Tears of wondering if I have the stamina for this next piece of the journey.

Tears of hope that He’s about to kick that stone out of the way entirely and call forth wholeness.

And in that moment, I knew He wept too. I knew He had that kind of compassion on my heart, even after all these many months of success and failure. He still wept. And in that, He gently prodded me to trust His heart. After all…it can see to the other side of the stone.