separated him and Catherine. Did she miscarry the baby? I raced through the next nine months. Nothing unusual occurred. A perfectly healthy pregnancy. The child was born. Another gorgeous girl, with those same features as her mother. The baby grew strong and healthy. Her nearly three-year-old sister, Catherine, adored her baby sister. They had named her Lily.
I read on, dreading every page, knowing that something was going to happen to sweet, little Lily. Then I finally came to it.
Lily was nine months old, and just beginning to crawl. Angela had gone out shopping with a friend—a rare treat for her. Jack chanced to have the Saturday off and volunteered to babysit while Angela went off to have fun that afternoon. Jack seldom watched the children alone, partly because he worked so much, and partly because Angela fretted over leaving her baby. But feeling like she needed a much deserved break, she decided it would be OK.
Before leaving, Angela left a detailed list of instructions for Jack to follow. Of particular importance was the children’s nap schedule and routine. (If the children’s schedules were messed up, everything was messed up.) Jack assured her the children would be fine, and off she went.
Angela returned several hours later, having enjoyed her outing, but missing her children. Jack greeted her with a kiss and she hugged him and thanked him for watching the kids. Catherine ran up and hugged Angela’s legs. Angela picked up her three-year-old and gave her a big hug. Angela asked Jack about Lily.
“I put her down right at two, just like you said,” he responded, feeling pleased with himself.
“And she’s still asleep?”
“I haven’t heard her make any noise.”
“She never sleeps this long. I’ll go check on her.”
The moment Angela opened Lily’s door she knew something was wrong. She rushed over to the crib and saw Lily’s face. It was pale and her lips were blue. Angela quickly picked her up. Lily’s body felt cold and lifeless. Frantically, Angela tried to revive her, to wake her up. She shook her gently, patted her back, breathed in her mouth, called to her. It was too late, though. Lily was gone.
The authorities who investigated Lily’s death called it a case of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome (SIDS). That was hardly a sufficient explanation for Angela. They also said that no one was at fault for the death. Sometimes babies simply die in their sleep, inexplicably. In her heart, though, Angela refused to accept that. She convinced herself that Jack had done something wrong. Over and over, she replayed an imaginary scene where she stayed home and put the baby down for a nap. If only she had stayed home, Lily would still be alive.
She thought about this so often during the weeks after Lily’s death that she became obsessed with it. Though she never openly accused or blamed Jack for Lily’s death, her treatment of him after that said it all. For a long time afterward she was cold and short-tempered with Jack. Seldom did they talk or display any sort of affection. They grew further and further apart until their marriage bore little resemblance to the blossoming flower it once was.
Angela resisted any comfort God had to offer. She blamed Him more than Jack for Lily’s death. How could God take her Lily from her? Why? What had she done? Such questions gnawed relentlessly at her soul.
She listened with frustration as books and preachers taught her about trials and the necessity to bare all things well. They spoke of the limitations of human understanding and ability to comprehend God’s doings. They spoke of His love. Love? Was it love which tore her baby from her? If that was God’s love she didn’t want anything to do with it.
Still, she yearned for answers, for some solace. She had believed once all that she had been taught about trials and opposition. Trust in God did have a place in her heart before Lily’s death. But now her faith was rocked. She demanded answers—as if answers
I read on, dreading every page, knowing that something was going to happen to sweet, little Lily. Then I finally came to it.
Lily was nine months old, and just beginning to crawl. Angela had gone out shopping with a friend—a rare treat for her. Jack chanced to have the Saturday off and volunteered to babysit while Angela went off to have fun that afternoon. Jack seldom watched the children alone, partly because he worked so much, and partly because Angela fretted over leaving her baby. But feeling like she needed a much deserved break, she decided it would be OK.
Before leaving, Angela left a detailed list of instructions for Jack to follow. Of particular importance was the children’s nap schedule and routine. (If the children’s schedules were messed up, everything was messed up.) Jack assured her the children would be fine, and off she went.
Angela returned several hours later, having enjoyed her outing, but missing her children. Jack greeted her with a kiss and she hugged him and thanked him for watching the kids. Catherine ran up and hugged Angela’s legs. Angela picked up her three-year-old and gave her a big hug. Angela asked Jack about Lily.
“I put her down right at two, just like you said,” he responded, feeling pleased with himself.
“And she’s still asleep?”
“I haven’t heard her make any noise.”
“She never sleeps this long. I’ll go check on her.”
The moment Angela opened Lily’s door she knew something was wrong. She rushed over to the crib and saw Lily’s face. It was pale and her lips were blue. Angela quickly picked her up. Lily’s body felt cold and lifeless. Frantically, Angela tried to revive her, to wake her up. She shook her gently, patted her back, breathed in her mouth, called to her. It was too late, though. Lily was gone.
The authorities who investigated Lily’s death called it a case of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome (SIDS). That was hardly a sufficient explanation for Angela. They also said that no one was at fault for the death. Sometimes babies simply die in their sleep, inexplicably. In her heart, though, Angela refused to accept that. She convinced herself that Jack had done something wrong. Over and over, she replayed an imaginary scene where she stayed home and put the baby down for a nap. If only she had stayed home, Lily would still be alive.
She thought about this so often during the weeks after Lily’s death that she became obsessed with it. Though she never openly accused or blamed Jack for Lily’s death, her treatment of him after that said it all. For a long time afterward she was cold and short-tempered with Jack. Seldom did they talk or display any sort of affection. They grew further and further apart until their marriage bore little resemblance to the blossoming flower it once was.
Angela resisted any comfort God had to offer. She blamed Him more than Jack for Lily’s death. How could God take her Lily from her? Why? What had she done? Such questions gnawed relentlessly at her soul.
She listened with frustration as books and preachers taught her about trials and the necessity to bare all things well. They spoke of the limitations of human understanding and ability to comprehend God’s doings. They spoke of His love. Love? Was it love which tore her baby from her? If that was God’s love she didn’t want anything to do with it.
Still, she yearned for answers, for some solace. She had believed once all that she had been taught about trials and opposition. Trust in God did have a place in her heart before Lily’s death. But now her faith was rocked. She demanded answers—as if answers
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