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Children of Promise

Updated: Nov 16, 2022

As I reflect on the past few days and think about how incredible Ruby is, and how strong Brittany is, and how lovely Sophiana is, I can’t help but remember my other two children.


There’s a page in a journal somewhere with only one thing written: “Where is my child of promise?” It was just after our second miscarriage in 2018 and I was pounding on the doors of Heaven, ready to come up there and reason with the Lord. I was not happy with Him. More than just questioning His ways, I was angry with Him. I was disappointed with Him. And worst still, I didn’t know how to handle this one thought: “God, you let me down.”


I was serving Him with my very best. I was giving faithfully to the church and putting my family first and even ministering and giving to His children in Israel. There was nothing I would not give to Him and nothing I would not do for Him.

And there I was. Desolate.

It’s true that many women cannot have children and that many more have multiple miscarriages (I think it’s 1 in 4 pregnancies), but that didn’t matter to me. Suffering is not softened by the knowledge of the suffering of others. It’s also true that normally miscarriages affect mothers far more than fathers, but I didn’t care. The pain was a ravenous creature in my belly, devouring all of my last ounces of hope.

The Lord never lost faith in me.


And He was never angry or upset with me for being angry at Him. He isn’t like that. He’s not like our earthly fathers. It’s almost like I had to do my part before He would do His. My part in this great argument was to lose. My part was to be completely and totally honest and naked before Him. My part was to lay at His feet, defeated.


And He did all the rest.

Recovery from grief is, at least in my experience, never an event but rather a process. I think what makes this process even more difficult in Christians is that we are encouraged to be dishonest. We are told to be dishonest with ourselves and even more dishonest with our fellow Christians. We are told this by every fake friend and pastor and leader and family member that smiles a big toothy smile at us every week as they exclaim, “God is good, all the time.” Who are you to question it?


God is good, but life isn’t always. Life is not pretty, and it doesn’t wrap up neatly after season seven. Life can be cold and vile and cruel and disgusting and hard. It’s messy and dirty and ugly and beautiful and charming and wonderful.

For me, in those moments, life was anything but good.


But there’s something about new life.

Ruby’s middle name is Noelle, and while that certainly does have something to do with Christmas, it also means “birthday” or “day of birth.” I’d like to think that in a small way, Ruby’s day of birth also birthed something in me. New life and new passion, new joy and new wonder, new awe and a new fragrance, a new peace and a new adventure.

I still don’t have all the answers. I’m not any closer to discovering why my two children of promise were taken from me. But the difference now is that I no longer have this aching need to know why anymore.


He is Good. And that is enough.


Blessings,


-Marco A. Ramos


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