Everything went quiet, and darkness hung thick around the edges of my vision. Unable to sit up any longer, I leaned down on my side. The voices of my mom and nurse faded quickly away as my lips uselessly fumbled for words. “I’m scared” were the only words that I could get out: the sum of my inability to control the darkness that was sweeping over my weak body and mind.
Time passed. An unfamiliar, strongly accented female voice rang out into my darkness, “You’re going to be OK, just breathe. Breathe in, breathe out. Keep breathing.” I latched onto her instructions, vaguely aware of the flurry of beeping machines, needle pokes, and movement around my bed. In. Out. In. Out.
Eventually the world started coming back from the shadowy periphery. Bright light was above me, and icy cold wracked me: both painful signs of life. A doctor with clear blue eyes was saying something to me now, and I looked at him. Finger stick one, finger stick two, finger stick three, not enough blood. Jab in the arm, deep, deeper, dig, not enough blood. I turned my head, and there, sitting and watching from across the wave of rapid responders, was my husband, our new baby boy sleeping peacefully in his arms.
As I lingered on the edge of what felt like a silent, deadly sea, I thought of them. My husband, and my baby, and my three children waiting with Nana to meet their new sibling. Again and again I saw Justin and that sweet, tiny baby who we hadn’t even named yet. My mind kept whispering “if I enter into this darkness, he and baby will go home without me.” And there was nothing I could do but breathe. In. Out. In. Out.
There in the shadows, a Presence rested near my thoughts. He listened to my prayers and my fears. The very Spirit of Him who entered the darkness for us, waited there with me in darkness while organized chaos frenzied about my body in the light.
Everything in that hospital room could’ve gone differently. I could’ve gone all the way down and still been brought back up, or I could’ve gone down and not come back at all. I don’t know. This Easter, as I lie here at home cradling my sweet baby Sam and listening to my kids play with their dad, it blows my mind that Jesus would choose the darkness for me. Now when I think about the garden of Gethsemane, the payers and tears urgently offered to the Father there, it resonates differently. There, on the verge of darkness, Jesus chose to enter in. And he followed through. On the cross, pierced for our transgressions, Lamb without blemish, the God of light and King of life left light and life and entered the deep shadows of death. For us.
I believe that we will all one day enter the land of shadows. The time will come, sooner or later, when I will pass through those waters instead of resting at their edge. It may be that you are the mother who faces this journey sooner than you had wished, or that you are the husband who just watched your wife pass into that unknown place. It may be that you are the parent whose child made that journey too soon, or you may be the child who lost a parent through that door way too early, or are watching your parents draw near to it now. Ultimately, we can’t prevent death. Not for ourselves, or for those we love. Making it through that unexpected ordeal last week didn’t save me or my children, even if it means I get to be their mother for longer. On this side of life, we will all at some point have to walk through the dark waters of dying.
Remember this Easter, and every day: Jesus passed through and came out on the other side. Have peace and let your strength be renewed, because we have sure hope that He who chose death for himself chose life for us. God is present and faithful, and I am confident that He will meet you there in the darkest place and will bring you through to the light. Jesus’ passing through death into life doesn’t mean that we have escaped dying, but that we will come out on the other side, healed and whole.
“Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in me.(2) In my Father's house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? (3) And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also.” John 14:1-3
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