I’m a relatively logical person. I’m also a relatively emotional person. You know those “thinker” vs. “feeler” tests? I think I come out higher as a “feeler,” but I’m definitely quite a “thinker” as well. I like for life to make sense. I like for God to make sense. I like to be able to explain things. Anything. Everything. If you ask me a question, my assumption is that you want me to give you an answer (although I’ve learned that’s not always the case). If you give me a problem, my assumption is that you want me to solve it. So you can understand why one of my favorite AND least favorite passages in the Bible is…

“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,” declares the Lord.
“As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.” Isaiah 55:8-9 (NIV)

I was recently re-introduced to a verse that I’m sure I’ve read before but probably passed over it without catching the deeper meaning behind it…

There are some things the Lord our God has kept secret, but there are some things he has let us know… Deuteronomy 29:29 (NCV)

The basic meaning: Sometimes life makes sense. Sometimes it doesn’t.

A few weeks after our daughter, Reagan, turned one year old, Tim and I got a huge surprise. We found out I was pregnant. We had been planning to wait at least two years between children, but we embraced the new revelation all the same. The experience flooded me with mixed emotions, although ultimately, I was thrilled to have another child on the way. It just seemed so hard to wrap my head around the fact that we were embarking on another 9 months, with all the preparations to make for another new baby…already. I spent about two weeks doing everything I knew to do to make this reality feel like reality to me. I started tracking my pregnancy online, reading articles for the first trimester, looking at baby names… anything I could think of to force this surreal experience to feel real.

Finally, it started sinking in, and whatever trepidation we had felt in the beginning was definitely being won over by joy and anticipation.

Then the blow — which I was not at all ready for — hit. One day I was pregnant, and the next day I wasn’t. The baby was gone. At just 7 weeks along, I lost the pregnancy. I had never felt anything… like this… before.

I believe in miracles. I believe God does miracles today and that He is just as willing and ready to perform them for us now as He was when Jesus walked the earth. I don’t believe that God takes loved ones from us because He needs “flowers” in His garden or another angel in heaven. But in spite of my prayers, my fervency, my urgency, the baby was gone. No matter how I tried to wrap my brain around this new reality, it just didn’t make sense to me.

But there is redemption in the inexplicable.

I struggled emotionally with the impact of having lost that baby. I was very cautious against becoming offended at God; I tried my best not to blame Him or become angry with Him. But there was so much I didn’t understand. My conversations with God went something like this…

“Why did I even have to get pregnant? If I had to get pregnant, why did I have to know I was pregnant? Couldn’t I have lost the baby before I ever even realized I was pregnant? I don’t understand why this has happened. Why is everyone else moving on with life like nothing happened? Am I the only one hurting over this? I don’t understand why the baby didn’t make it… If this is all for me to help someone else down the road, couldn’t I have helped them anyway without going through this? This doesn’t make sense…”

As time went on, God graciously granted me some understanding into the whole situation, which I won’t go into detail about here. After many months had passed, Tim and I decided to name our baby, to give him/her an identity that we could remember that baby by. I know that’s not necessary to every person in my shoes, but for me, preserving an identity for my baby was part of my healing process. Then God used my pastor to minister to me to break the spiritual stronghold that trauma had taken up in my heart. I forgave God. I forgave the people around me who I thought didn’t care. I cried. I released. I received healing.

I think the most redemptive part of the whole process for me happened the following Spring. That baby, who I lost in the Fall of 2009, would have been due on June 5, 2010. In March 2010, I got pregnant with our son, Cole. It’s hard to even fathom now, but if my lost pregnancy had carried through to full-term, Cole could never have been conceived. Mind-boggling, I know. I can’t (and wouldn’t want to) imagine life without our little ball of energy, Cole Judah. Did he replace that baby? No, not at all. It’s not possible for one human being to replace another. We’re all created too individually unique for that to be possible. But for some reason, that baby is in heaven, and Cole Judah is here… full of purpose, full of destiny, full of talents and gifts and callings of God (and full of personality, I might add).

There are some things the Lord our God has kept secret, but there are some things he has let us know.

We don’t always know the reasons behind our sorrows. And while I don’t advocate that God causes our suffering, I do believe that He can work His perfect plan through it, no matter what the situation is, if we’ll let Him. He may even grant us some understanding along the way.

All in all, when life doesn’t make sense and it feels like we’re holding a hand full of losing cards, we have the trump card of Trust that we can play: “I don’t understand it, but God’s ways are higher.” “I can’t make sense of it, but He is strong enough to carry me.”

And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus. Philippians 4:7 (KJV)

I love the paraphrase of that verse that I heard a long time ago:

He gives us “peace that doesn’t make sense.”

I don’t know what you’re dealing with today. Maybe it’s a fresh experience, or maybe you’re carrying inner trauma from a tragedy long ago. I don’t know if you carry guilt with your pain, or perhaps blame and unforgiveness are your daily companions. Maybe somebody wronged you; maybe you wronged them. Maybe you’re holding hurt towards God.

What I do know is there is a peace that doesn’t make sense. And sometimes, if only for a season, our only options are either to bow out of the game or to play the trump card of Trust. I refuse to bow out of the game, and there’s a better option for you than simply bowing out.

Sometimes we don’t have to know why, in spite of how much we want the understanding. We just have to trust (Remember, if it made sense to us, it wouldn’t really be trust, would it?) Against all odds, against circumstances that were designed to destroy our trust, that’s the very thing that will carry us out. Trust.

Don’t be afraid to trust God again. He holds your world in His hands.