As the last beam of sunlight faintly kisses the red-orange sky, you know the strike can come at any moment. Anticipation is high as you anxiously await the attack.
Strategies and plans have been drawn up. Trenches have been dug. Troops have been set. Every angle and avenue have been thoroughly examined.
You know you have something they want. You know you’re in a vulnerable position. And you know they know. But you have protection, and maybe even the upper hand. Your position is secured at every point.
Guards are posted. Eyes are focused. Weapons are “locked and loaded.”
Now you wait …
But that’s not always how it goes down. Reconnaissance isn’t always exact. Sometimes—maybe more often than not—you’re ambushed. You don’t see it coming.
Everything feels normal. You’re out on maneuvers, moving from one position to another, not even in enemy territory. And BAM! Explosions! Blasts of gunfire. Bullets flying. No chance to grab your weapon. No time to retreat. Just screaming and commotion and chaos …
As quickly as it began, the skirmish is over.
In both battles your losses are severe and irreparable. Defeat is demoralizing and detrimental to your objective. But after the ambush you’re left asking yourself questions. What did I do wrong? What could I have done differently? Should I have done more? Did I ignore the warning signs?
You blame yourself. You blame the circumstances. You even blame God.
Have you ever been ambushed? Attacked suddenly? Someone came out of a dark corner, struck a sudden blow, and ran away? Like a wave in the ocean you didn’t see? a breakup? a sudden loss? a friend’s betrayal? Divorce? Death?
I’ve been ambushed. No doubt you and I could share stories long into the night. But for me, one story stands out more than the others. Let me share it with you.
A Routine Checkup
He was friendly and welcoming. Sometimes it’s awkward meeting people for the first time, especially when you feel like you have to trust them implicitly. But you could tell he had done this a thousand times, like a morning-cup-of-coffee routine.
I guess the first checkup is always the easiest. And the most exciting. Up on the screen a tiny, precious life appears.
Then the words come tumbling out of his mouth.
“This.”
You close your eyes and tilt your head.
“Is.”
Your face tightens and you stop breathing.
“Worrisome.”
Everything is still.
You look around. You look at each other. You look at him.
What did he say?
Then his words start echoing in your head: “This is worrisome.”
At that moment you realize you won’t be celebrating a new birthday.
The doctor sent us home to wait a week and see what happened. Our marriage had a rocky start. Actually, our entire relationship had a shaky foundation. But we were proud of our first daughter and thrilled to have her in our lives. I’m certain neither one of us thought we would ever have another child. No, we weren’t trying to prevent it, yet it was still a shock.
We were excited about our growing family and our future together. I don’t know how well Kristen—she was two years old at the time—remembers, but during the week, as we waited for our follow-up visit, she would pray with Lee Ann every night: “Dear God, be with baby and help him or her to be alright.”
Her prayer was answered because our little baby was already with God in heaven. That first day at the doctor’s office, during our first checkup, the doctor didn’t hear a heartbeat. A week later there was still no heartbeat.
No explanation. No apparent reason. No new little baby in our family.
Ambushed. The questions fire like bullets: Did we do something wrong? Should we have done something different? Could we have done more? Why did this happen? Was it my fault?
A barrage of artillery. But no answers.
A little more than a year later God gave us baby Lauren. Tears did turn to joy, but the loss is just as sharp today as it was fourteen years ago.
After the Ambush
An ambush does that. It hits without warning and lands a quick, decisive blow, but the memory is permanently carved into your mind.
You see the empty car seat. You remember when he ran into the screen door. Her favorite song comes on. Little secrets you shared together flash into your mind. All at once you’re in his favorite spot.
How do you keep from crumbling and collapsing? How do you trudge on?
Maybe someone tells you God understands and cares. After all, didn’t I hear somewhere that God sends His Holy Spirit to comfort us?
The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.
Psalm 34:18
Really? If God is so close to me why do I feel this way?
You have put me in the lowest pit, in the darkest depths…my eyes are dim with grief.
Psalm 88:6,9
Is there anyone who understands?
Yes, my soul, find rest in God; my hope comes from him.
Psalm 62:5
So why spout off scripture when I’m wrestling with a real loss? Because God has the answers.
You don’t understand why? God does.
You don’t have the strength to press on? God does.
You need someone to listen? God will.
You need someone who cares? Someone who’s been there before? Someone who agonized through the death of a Son? Someone who always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres? Someone who never fails?
That Someone is God.
Listen to His promise:
Even if the mountains heave up from their anchors, and the hills quiver and shake, I will not desert you. You can rely on My enduring love. So says the Lord, who has compassion on you.
Isaiah 54:10
God loves you. The ambush is going to come. You may never understand why. Doubt and fear and loneliness and regret will skulk around trying to steal your joy and peace. Hold on to the only Truth you need. Hold on to your Rock and Refuge. Hold on to God.
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