Questioning my faith

I believed in God. I believed with all my heart. Attended church, loved my Jesus, and loved to worship Him.

I was at my midwife’s office. In a half an hour appointment I went from being absolutely ecstatic to hear we were having a girl, to being completely devastated from also hearing the worst news possible, that once again I would lose another child to Potter’s.

The first thing I did when I left the office was to make some phone calls. I first called my family, and then the Pastor of our church. I knew I needed to pray for a miracle. I knew I was going to need my God to get me through this. My Pastor prayed for us over the phone and then over the course of the next few months, prayed several times with the church body. I stood before the church and had several people lay hands upon my baby Grace, safely tucked within me. We prayed for a healing. For His miraculous and divine intervention on my daughter’s broken body and bleak diagnosis. A man spoke in tongue and another older lady interpreted it. I wrote it down word for word and recited those words I believed came from Him, over and over, daily.

I prayed constantly, for the next six months. Baby Grace was part of many prayer chains throughout the United States.

I read my Bible, I read and re-read versus over and over that I felt were speaking to me.

I believed with all my heart, all my soul and completely with all my being that she would be healed (If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye shall say unto this mountain, Remove hence to yonder place; and it shall remove; and nothing shall be impossible unto you).

I believed as much as that. I did. I came to a point of having so much faith and belief that I had NO DOUBT that sweet Grace would survive.  In my 9^th month, I was at the point of completely believing that she was healed and would live.

My midwife showed up at the house. She brought her oxygen tank to support Grace if it was necessary.  She entered the world, crying and breathing. Inga, my midwife said, she’s breathing, she’s supporting herself. My first thought was “of course she is”. She is because I prayed that she would survive this, and that she would be our miracle baby and I believed it with all my heart. I believed GOD’S promises.

I believed faithfully-  “Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours” and “I tell you the truth, my Father will give you whatever you ask in my name”

I stood on those promises… therefore I had no doubts. There is a picture that was taken seconds after Grace was born, my husband and I exchanged a look of pure joy when we knew or thought she was going to live. That “one second” was captured before our world collapsed again.

Grace did support herself but for just a little while. The lung capacity she had was not enough to sustain her. Even with the support of the oxygen, she was slowly leaving us.

This is where my faith started to unravel.

I had to say goodbye to another child. A beautiful baby girl wanted and loved by an entire family slipped away from us. 

I never blamed God. I was never angry at Him because she died. What angered me was that He asks us to trust and to believe, and I did. If He is really there and really listens then He knows I believed. But He instead let me endure another baby’s death.

Nobody has answers for me. Why do we pray? What’s the point? Why do we ask for things like He says we should… “Come to me little children”, but our prayers go unanswered.  Why did He promise us in His word, to believe, to pray and believe that we shall receive, if we don’t?

I didn’t want money. I didn’t want a huge house or a new car, never anything materialistic.  I simply wanted my baby to survive. To live a full and abundant life with her family. I didn’t and couldn't survive another child's death. But most especially, I didn’t want my 5 year old daughter to have to experience the death of her sister whom she wanted more than anything in the world.

Emma didn’t understand death. I was the one who had to tell her. To try and explain to her that her little sister that made her giggle everytime her movements were seen and felt through her mommy's tummy, at each hiccup, that the baby sister whom she loved so dearly and was waiting for wouldn’t breathe after birth. Her tears dropped me to my knees.  

When the funeral home came to take baby Grace away, Emma still didn’t understand that Grace was dead. She thought she was sleeping and laid next to her and said “Mommy take my picture, I’m sleeping with my sister”.  

We handed baby Grace to the “Men” and they carried her away from us.  My little Emma screamed and screamed and cried “Why are they taking my sister, mommy please don’t let them take my sister”.

Those are the moments through all of this that was the worst for me. It was devastating losing my baby girl. But watching my daughter Emma in so much pain was the worst.

Those words she screamed haunt me.

So, how could God allow His children to suffer, so. Yes, I understand things happen. Death happens. But, I went to my God, I begged Him to heal Grace and I had so much faith I believed He would.

I don’t have faith anymore. What am I supposed to believe in? I did once and where did it get me.

That’s where I am and it scares me because its against everything I believed in.