On resurrection and the sacredness of grief

Unless you've been hibernating away from all social media, you've likely heard about Olive Heiligenthal, the two-year-old daughter of Bethel worship musician Kalley Heiligenthal and her husband Andrew. If not, just google her name and lots of articles will pop up. I hesitate to post one here because they are plentiful and written from all sides of the story. But the gist is that Olive died in her sleep on Saturday. She was taken to a hospital, pronounced dead by doctors, and taken to the coroner's office in their county in California. Kalley then posted that they were praying for a resurrection, and Bethel Church has been holding daily prayer and worship services, standing with Kalley and Andrew in their proclamation of life for their daughter.

Pause. That's a lot to take in. Perhaps like me, you originally thought that Olive was on life support after some sort of accident or illness and they were praying for her to wake up. But no. They are praying for something seemingly impossible.

And so started the myriad of thoughts from my little brain:

First, I was shocked to learn the extent of what they were asking for. Who believes that their dead child can actually rise from the dead?

Then I was ashamed that my faith seemed too small to believe in miracles. Do I believe God can do whatever He wants, including raising the dead? Of course. He's literally done it.

Then I was sad for those who should be grieving the incomprehensible loss of this sweet girl.

Then I was inspired by the faith of those who are truly expecting a miracle.

Then I was put off by the GoFundMe page set up for Heiligenthals that has raised over $43,000 of its $100,000 goal. (And I've gotta say--while I rotate through the above feelings, this one isn't going away. God bless the people who have been led to give, but it just feels a little off).

Then I was angry at what their boldness suggested to me (and others). That I did something wrong in not expecting my own miracle. That when the ultrasound tech said, "I'm sorry, your baby isn't alive anymore," I should have said, "Well, that's not up to you. God's got this," and refused induction, believing that God would breathe life into Hannah's body again.

Losing a child is completely devastating. It's shocking and terrifying and awful. But if there's anything we know about God and life and His plan, it's that death on this earth is not the end. And in our grief, that was the one thing that brought comfort. Hannah and Charlie didn't get to be a part of our family here, but what they're experiencing is so much better! Beyond what we can even imagine.

And the mourning can be crippling. It seems impossible that life will go on. But there's something sacred there too. Some place that only God can touch. Where He meets us and holds us and gives us life where there seems to be only death.

So, my thoughts about Olive will continue to whirl around. But I hold fast to the things I know to be true: That the God who is big enough to raise little girls from the dead is also big enough to hold my confusion and unsettledness and wondering. And that all will be made clear and right and whole one day.