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Faith After Loss

 Could God have saved him?


     I know He could have. I’ve heard countless stories of miracles—babies born too soon who somehow made it, doctors shocked at impossible recoveries. If I had been somewhere else, if I had reached a different hospital if different hands had held him first, would he have lived? I know in my heart that God could have healed my son, that He could have breathed life back into his tiny body, mended his too-small lungs, and let him stay with us. And yet, He didn’t.

For so long, that truth was unbearable.

It left me in an agonizing space between faith and doubt, where I pleaded with God to make sense of it all. Why didn’t You?

I was angry. I grieved not just my first child but also the loss of unanswered prayers. I had done what I thought I was supposed to—I prayed fervently, I cried out, I trusted. And still, my son died in my arms as I watched him take his final, rapid breaths, his heart coming to a stop.

But the truth—the one that is just as difficult as it is profound—is that if my son had lived, I wouldn’t have the child who came after him. The timing of it all would not have worked. There is no way to have them both. That realization does not erase the ache, but it does give me a glimpse into a bigger picture; one I am still learning to trust.

Isaiah 55:8-9 says, “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith Jehovah. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.”

My husband has always said that some things are simply beyond our understanding—that faith is not about getting all the answers, but trusting in God, even when we don’t understand His ways.

But in the deepest pit of my grief, as I left the hospital with empty arms and an empty womb, that truth felt impossible to grasp. My heart shattered—but He was still there.

I cried until my eyes burned, overcome with the PTSD of no longer feeling him move inside me. My throat was raw from sobbing, my chest aching with the weight of loss. Yet, in time, I came to see that God’s goodness was not in taking my son away but in giving me the strength to endure it. His goodness was in the moments I did have—the warmth of my first baby boy in my arms. The sound of his small cries and the overwhelming love I got to pour into him in the too-short of time we were given. His goodness was in the unexpected gift of another child, one who came so soon after that I know, without a doubt, was part of God’s plan.

Psalm 34:18 says, “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”

Faith isn’t about understanding everything—it’s about
trusting through the unknown.

I still don’t have all the answers. I still wrestle with the pain and the “what ifs.” But I have also come to know that even in my deepest sorrow, I was never alone. God was there, grieving with me, holding me up when I could not stand, and guiding me toward healing.

If you are in this place—if you are doubting and/or angry—know that you are not alone. Let the waves crash over you repeatedly. Feel it all. You are allowed to grieve as openly and as long as you need to, regardless of how others feel about it. Don't believe the lie that God has abandoned you. Even in the darkness, He is there. Even in the unanswered prayers, He is working. It takes time—so much time. But you will make it through this. You are not alone.

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Location: North Dakota, USA

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