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Kim had quit crying, and it was almost like she had no curiosity where he was taking her, because she didn’t ask where they were going. Maybe she read the door, saw the windows, but she had no reaction.
She just sniffed, her shoulders shaking in silent sobs, and she wiped at her eyes, then put her hand back down to continue to twist it in her hospital gown.
The hospital was built on a hill overlooking the lake, and big picture windows at the front of the chapel showed a gorgeous view of blue, blue water and even more blue sky, puffy white clouds, and at the very bottom there was a sandy white beach.
Beautiful place to sit and contemplate.
He pushed the wheelchair to the front of the room, praying the entire time he did so that he would have the words to say. To comfort her. To encourage her. To ease her mind, to give her whatever she needed.
Of course, she didn’t really need anything from him, just maybe the reassurance that she could look toward Jesus.
Sometimes when a person got upset, scared, or devastated, it was hard to remember that there was a God who still loved and cared for them.
He parked her chair in front of the vast picture window, the pews and altar behind them. Then, he walked around, kneeling beside her, taking her cold hand into both of his, holding it gently, carefully, warming, and cradling.
“I appreciate you being here so much. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
“Of course. There should be two of us, right?” He meant that there had been two of them the night Kathleen was conceived. Why shouldn’t there be two of them here now? It was not fair for her to have to go through it all by herself. Plus, his heart was breaking too. Not just because of their baby, but it was so hard to see Kim like this. She deserved to be happy, smiling and carefree, laughing and loving and giving love. So much of her life had been about enduring, taking the pain, and trying to put a smile on it anyway.
“I keep wanting to ask God why? Why me? Why Kathleen? So many babies are born healthy. Why does it have to be my baby that’s not?” Her voice broke a little on the last question, and she started crying again. “I want to know that she’s going to be okay. I kept wanting to demand the nurses and doctors tell me that they were going to save her life, but I knew they couldn’t. I just... I wanted to hear that.”
He didn’t say anything, just held her hand, and brought it to his lips. Wishing he could do more.
Suddenly, he decided that the wheelchair put too much distance between them, so he stood, putting his hands under her legs and behind her back and lifting her out, turning and stepping up the one step to the bottom pew where they had just as good of a view out the expansive windows, and he sat down with her on his lap.
“I’m too big for this,” she protested in a watery voice, like a child protesting that they were too big to be treated like a baby anymore, but she still snuggled down against his chest, her head tucked into his chest, her arms going around him. Her sobs growing in intensity.
He didn’t know what to say, so he let her cry it out. Words didn’t seem like enough anyway.
He stared at the beautiful view, feeling the calm that looking at the lake always brought, thinking about how big God was. Lake Michigan was just a tiny drop in the bucket, literally, of what He had done and what He had made. What He controlled on a daily basis. Creating something as big as Lake Michigan was child’s play to Him, He just spoke, and it happened. Nature obeyed Him so easily, and Davis knew Kim was right. God could keep them from going through this. He could speak and heal Kathleen that very second.
But He wasn’t choosing to do that.
“Do you remember the story of David and Bathsheba in the Bible? Ever since the first pain, when I realized what was happening, when I knew that I might lose my baby, that story has been in my head.”
“I remember.”
“Bathsheba lost the baby.”
David had lain on the floor for seven days begging God to save the baby. Maybe that’s where he should be now. Rather than holding her.
“Do you remember what David said after he found out that the baby was gone?” he asked.
She sat for a minute, still, thinking.
“I don’t remember. Didn’t he mourn in sackcloth and ashes or something?” she said, uncertainly, her voice hoarse from crying.
“Actually, I believe he was in sackcloth and ashes before the baby died. Once he lost the baby, he got up and said that he would see him again. So there was no point in mourning. Basically, he knew his baby was in heaven with the Lord, and there was nothing to mourn about at that point in time.”
She sat still, and then she turned to him, and to his surprise, there was anger in her eyes. “Are you telling me that I should be happy if Kathleen doesn’t make it?”
He shook his head immediately. “No. I was just telling you what David said. I guess, if we want the very best for our child, and we do,” he said, his brows raised like he was asking her.
She nodded.
“The very best thing for them would be to grow up in Heaven with God?”
It was more of a statement, but he still looked at her like he was expecting a response. After all, if they looked at it that way, it was selfish for them to want Kathleen to live. It was better for God to take her, raise her in heaven, where she would never feel the stain of sin, never cry, never be sad or lonely, never die again.
