Trust and Rest
March 29, 2025 — Laura House
The word “trust” denotes a significant theme of my nine years on this journey of child loss.
As I started to write a blog post today about trust, I seemed to remember that I had broached this same topic on the blog sometime ago. After searching through the archived posts, I discovered an entry from four years ago that expresses what I wanted to communicate, so I’m repurposing it today.
However, there is one significant change in me from my grief journey at the five year mark versus nine years. For me, discovering this change is profoundly encouraging, and I hope that you too will discover this in your own grief journey.
As the years have gone by, my trust has deepened. It’s become easier, in a sense, to simply rest in the love of my Savior… to trust Him.
In the post below, you will see that I slipped into the all-too-familiar “rabbit hole” of trying to put myself in Nathan’s “shoes.” To feel his pain. Perhaps you do this with your child too?
That is now a rare and nearly non-existent experience. As the years have gone by, my ability to trust in the only One who can truly comfort our broken hearts has continued to grow. Yours can too. As you watch God work in your life, bring you comfort, carry you, encourage you, and love you in a way you’ve never known before, your ability to trust will grow.
The struggle will diminish and His peace will flood your soul.
Help Me Trust You
February 26, 2021 — Laura House
If you are a bereaved mom, then you’ll relate to my words today. If you aren’t, then I hope they will help you be a better comforter to a grieving friend.
You see, when someone loses a child, the resulting pain comes from multiple sources.
The forced, unnatural, separation from the sweet child we love is brutal. It’s not the “natural order of things” for our child to die before we do. Knowing that years will go by without the opportunity to feel their hugs, enjoy a conversation, and hear the sound of their laughter is painful.
The loss of the future is another aspect of a parent’s grief. All of our hopes and dreams depart with them. Depending on the age of the child who dies, there are some differences with this aspect of grief. For us, Nathan was 25 years old when he went on ahead of us. We will never see him meet the girl of his dreams and marry, flourish in the role of daddy, be a doting uncle to Ryan and Megan’s children, build his business into what he worked so hard to create or watch him grow in his walk with the Lord.
But as I contemplate my individual road of grief, those aren’t what really hurt me the most. Regarding those aspects of grief, I’ve come to realize that because of the “fall”, heartache and suffering are an expected part of earthly life. Of course, when Jesus returns, everything will be different, but until then, there will be pain. Understanding that my earthly life is short and that I can choose to allow God to use my pain and suffering to mold and shape me has made all the difference in my experience of the grief described above. And Nathan certainly isn’t “missing” those things that I listed. He is where I can’t wait to be — with Jesus!
But lately, I’ve realized that my greatest pain comes from another aspect of grief.
As moms, we are the “nurses” for our children — the ones who fix things. Whether it’s the boo-boos when they are little, or the painful moments of childhood, adolescence, and adulthood, it is a privilege to guide them through. We grieve with them when they grieve and desperately try to “make it all better.” We are always there to pick them up, help mend a broken heart, cheer them on, challenge them to be all that they can be, strive to instill character, and defend them whenever needed (aka “Mama Bear”).
I’ll admit that I was/am a “fixer” to the hilt; perhaps to a fault. I love to see my children happy, joyful, flourishing, and not in pain. Determinedly, I tried to flood their childhoods with joyful moments to create happy memories and to soften the harsh blows that earthly life affords.
But Nathan became ill and I couldn’t fix it.
Today I allowed my mind to wander back through the years of pain that Nathan suffered, and what he “must have felt”, and the grief was excruciating. Undoubtedly, the carefully placed sutures in my wounded heart all broke free. Do you ever go there? Did your child suffer treatments for their illness, pain from the accident, horrible consequences from someone else’s actions, or some other type of pain? Do you let yourself contemplate what they may have felt and thought?
As I tried to put myself in Nathan’s shoes, a not-so-subtle voice chided me and I knew I was wrong.
Didn’t you constantly pray that I would comfort Nathan? That I would hold him?
Laura, I did! And not only that, but He is with Me, and fully healed. You need to trust Me.
Once again I was reminded that as deeply as I love Nathan, his Creator loves him infinitely more. When the “fix-it mom” emerges and I begin to question and doubt, I know what I’m supposed to do. And in His strength, I can.
When the phone rang on that Saturday morning in March five years ago, and I knew that Nathan was gone, I cried out to the Lord; Jesus, help me trust You!
That has often been my prayer and will continue to be. Would you join me today in making that your prayer too? It’s powerful because when we trust Him, our souls are comforted, our minds are strengthened, and we can experience an intimacy with God as never before.
Psalm 62:8 — “Trust in Him at all times, O people; Pour out your heart before Him; God is a refuge for us.”
Revelation 21:4 “He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”
