A Manger Without a Baby, By Lilly Green

I posted this last year at Christmas, but am doing it again because it is a wonderful testimony:

The following is the testimony of a very dear lady who, her and her husband, endured what all parents fear - the death of child in the womb. Their courage, faith, and witness is a testimony of those who turn to Jesus in time of sorrow instead of turning away from Him. Never once did there faith fail. Faith in a heavenly Father who gave a Son, so all could live.

Here are Lilly's own words:

"I equipped the big walk-in closet in the living room of our tiny duplex with a green second-hand crib and stocked the built-in drawers with soft little layette items. Long, wispy, white curtains tied back with yellow ribbon made an inviting entrance to a close room. Everyday, my tummy grew larger. Everyday, I fingered and rearranged clothes, blankets, and toys. I felt happy and excited, despite the christening I gave many toilets and gutters. Even with the little white pills, I threw up several times a day for nine months.

The baby squirmed and punched, kicked, and danced. I massaged hands and feet that fluidly traveled across my abdomen, pressing tight under ribs, giving me indigestion. The mountain of head and back rose, fell, and shifted. I had always wanted to be a mother, and now I was.

November’s sun began dipping to the south. The air held a slight chill, even for California. I counted the days—expectation high. With my friend’s stethoscope, I listened to the music—the strong, steady rhythm of life. But two weeks overdue, the rhythm stopped.

Kelly and I met in mid-August 1973. We worked with an over-zealous ministry that concentrated so much on Christ’s soon return that we made many decisions abruptly and unwisely. One of those was to marry quickly with little preparation or counsel. I guess we feared the Lord might come back before we had a chance to have sex. The night Kelly introduced me to his parents for the first time, we calmly announced our engagement. For all they knew, I could have been an ax murderer. Actually, for all I knew, Kelly could have been an ax murderer. After we left, his folks “discussed” our decision long into the night and woke with hangovers in the morning. But they bravely came along side, and we did marry. In this time of “Maranatha madness,” we were encouraged by our pastor not to have children, but to totally commit to the “work of the Lord.” We married in October, and by February, I was violently throwing up—a sure sign I was to be a mother. We figured my pregnancy just had be a miraculous work of God. Of course, as our friend Jo put it, “Those who use faith as birth control are called parents!” And so we were to be.

By the time I was six months pregnant, we moved from the ministry’s communal quarters to a small duplex down the street. For the first time, Kelly and I lived alone. It was a precious and necessary time to actually get to know one another after several months of marriage.

Then the baby died. November was a blur of death, tears, comfort, cremation, and far flung ashes. Thanksgiving came and went. It was hard to feel thankful when my arms ached to hold my little one. As cheery Christmas songs began to filter through radio speakers and shopping mall sound systems, my ache grew to intense pain. One part of my heart leaned in to the Savior, understanding that He too felt pain and loss. I wanted to trust that I was safe in His love and care. Another part of my heart felt cold and brittle, betrayed by life and Lord. A battle raged. Tears seemed never-ending, dreams dashed. Questions went unanswered. Joyful Mary knelt by her beautiful baby Jesus in nativity scenes all over town, but my manger was empty.

Years have added layers of depth and understanding to my loss, but even today there is a raw place—a place of longing for our baby girl Noelle. With a new Christmas season right around the corner, I have been reflecting once again on the incarnation. What does Christ’s birth really mean to me? My thoughts, as they often do at this time of year, are interwoven with thoughts of the death of our first child. Noelle was named for Christmas—a reminder of the miraculous event when God came to earth as a baby. It has crossed my mind, “What would our lives be like if Mary’s manger had been empty. What if Jesus had never come?” My sense of loss is great, but the devastating loss of Christ as God’s gift to the world would be unfathomable. No high priest to intercede for me, no forgiveness, no fellowship, no whispers of comfort in the night, no eternal promise of heaven.

After the funeral home cremated Noelle’s remains, Kelly and I drove to a secluded wooded area near his grandfather’s cabin to spread the ashes. The tiny white box fit in the breast pocket of Kelly’s plaid shirt. He held my hand tightly as he led the way uphill, brushing by scratchy shrubs and tree branches. Weak in body and spirit, I struggled to fix my steps on the narrow rugged path. Tears fell and feet fell. When finally we reached the top, we prayed. We held one another and the remains of a life so little known, then threw her ashes to the wind to become a part of the trees and bushes in that special place.

Christ carries my death next to his heart. He came to set me free from the spiritual consequences of my sin. I am free, but the way is often rugged; and through my tears, I don’t always see too clearly. I have no idea what’s up ahead. But He is in the lead. He holds my hand, and all I need do is stick to the path and match Him step for step.

I met that tearful Christmas many years ago with empty arms, but because of the babe in Mary’s manger, because her manger was not empty, I continue to have hope."

Luke 17:17: "So Jesus answered and said, 'Were there not ten cleansed? But where are the nine?'"

In this story, Jesus heals ten lepers, but only one returns to thank Him. This passage shows us that He misses our thankfulness; He has done so much for us and so often we remain un-thankful.

Today we celebrate Thanksgiving here in America. Yet for the believer, giving of thanks should be everyday, and even several times a day.

Thank you Father, for sending Your Son. Thank you Jesus for saving me.

Chuck Swindol on Suffering

* Nothing touches me that has not passed through the hands of my heavenly Father. Nothing. Whatever occurs, God has sovereignly surveyed and approved. We may not know why, but we do know our pain is no accident to Him who guides our lives.
* Everything I endure is designed to prepare me for serving others more effectively. Everything. Since my Heavenly Father is committed to shaping me into the image of His Son, He knows the ultimate value of this painful experience. It is being used to empty our hands of our own resources, our own sufficiency, and turn us back to Him---the faithful Provider. And God knows what will get through to us.

Things may not be logical or fair, but when God is directing the events of our lives, they are right.

Be united with other Christians. A wall with loose bricks is not good. The bricks must be cemented together.

Corrie Ten Boom

A Picture of the Modern Evangelical Movement?

DARK HELMET
What am I looking at? When does this happen in the movie?
COL SANDERS
Now. You’re looking at now, sir. Everything that happens now, is happening now.
DARK HELMET
What happened to then?
COL SANDERS
We passed then?
DARK HELMET
When?
COL SANDERS
Just now. We’re at now, now.
DARK HELMET
Go back to then.
COL SANDERS
When?
DARK HELMET
Now.
COL SANDERS
Now?
DARK HELMET
Now.
COL SANDERS
I can’t.
DARK HELMET
Why?
COL SANDERS
We missed it.
DARK HELMET
When?
COL SANDERS
Just now.
DARK HELMET
When will then be now?
COL SANDERS
Soon.

Faith, John Charles Ryle

Faith is that poor trembling woman who came behind Jesus in the press and touched His garment. (Mark 5:27) Assurance is Stephen standing calmly in the midst of his murderers, and saying, “I see the heavens opened, and the Son of man standing on the right hand of God.” (Acts 7:5-6)

Faith is the penitent thief, crying, “Lord, remember me.” (Luke 23:42) Assurance is Job, sitting in the dust, covered with sores, and saying, “I know that my Redeemer liveth.” (Job 19:25) “Though He slay me, yet I will trust in Him.” (Job 13:15)

Faith is Peter’s drowning cry as he began to sink, “Lord, save me.” (Matthew 14:30) Assurance is that same Peter declaring before the Council in after-times, “This is the stone which was set at nought of you builders, which is become the head of the corner. Neither is there salvation in any other: for there is none other name under heaven given among men, whereby we must be saved.” (Acts 4:11-12)

Faith is the anxious, trembling voice, “Lord, I believe: help Thou mine unbelief.” (Mark 9:24) Assurance is the confident challenge, “Who shall lay anything to the charge of God’s elect? Who is he that condemeth?” (Romans 8:33-34)

Faith is Saul praying in the house of Judas at Damascus, sorrowful, blind, and alone. (Acts 9:11) Assurance is Paul, the aged prisoner, looking calmly into the grave, and saying, “I know whom I have believed. There is a crown laid up for me.” (2 Timothy 1:12, 4:8)

One day a group of scientists got together and decided that man had come a long way and no longer needed God. So they picked one scientist to go and tell Him that they were done with Him.

The scientist walked up to God and said, "God, we've decided that we no longer need you; We're to the point that we can clone people and do many miraculous things, so why don't you just go on and get lost."

God listened very patiently and kindly to the man. After the scientist was done talking, God said, "Very well, how about this? Let's say we have a man-making contest." To which the scientist replied, "Okay, great!"

But, God added, "now, we're going to do this just like I did back in the old days with Adam."

The scientist said, "Sure, no problem" and bent down and grabbed himself a handful of dirt.

God looked at him and said, "No, no, no. You go get your own dirt."