I needed a weekend to pull away.
It had been a month since my husband Mac and I received news via a family text from our son Davis. His wife Acacia, 36 weeks pregnant, had just had an ultrasound due to her not feeling the baby move for a little while.
The text read:
"Very sad news
Baby is stllborn
His name is
Brave Rutherford Baxter."
Needless to say, we were stunned. Acacia's pregnancy had been text book perfect. Strong heartbeat throughout for both Mama and baby. The news on October 20, 2024 took us all by complete surprise.
I grieved for Davis and Acacia. I grieved for my other adult kids who were processing it all. And I grieved for us as a family. I was tired in every way. So, with Mac having plans to be out of town for the weekend, I seized the opportunity to grieve on a personal level. I kept saying to myself, "I need to go deep into the heart of God." Thankfully by God's grace, I was not saying "I need to go deep into the pit of despair."
Over these two days, I took to the Lord, the painful memories of the first week that we spent with Davis and Acacia after receiving the tragic news. I asked the Lord to show me where he was in each of these hard places. I did not doubt his presence, but I just needed him to give me more clarity in some way, that even in the dark, his love was there.
I will share one of many places that I brought to the Lord:
My son Brent (Davis' brother) and I drove from Nashville to the hospital in Charlotte on the day Acacia was induced. (Mac would fly in later). My heart broke for her as she labored all day long. Meanwhile, we drove all day, having to take alternate routes due the Helene hurricane damage. My eyes kept burning from the mix of the bright sunshine on our windshield and my intermittent salty tears. My throat stayed tight with a ready sob at any minute. While we drove, Brent and I prayed for LIFE, believing in the Author of it. We hoped against hope that little Brave would "come out crying."
We arrived around 9pm, just before Acacia delivered Brave. I tapped gently on their door, room 8611, and stepped quietly in. A curtain blocked my view, so I, with permission, peeked my head around it to let them see that we had arrived. The sight of these two, Acacia in the bed, and Davis by her side--somber instead of excited, sadness instead of joy, dark instead of light, was a weight of grief that I almost couldn't hold. I tucked it way down inside so it wouldn't buckle me right then and there. I needed to be strong for them. I lovingly waved my hand to Davis, nodded showing support, and stepped out of the room.
It is this memory and others like it that I had to go deep into the heart of God and ask, "Where were you, God? Show me your tender love for these two. Where is your light in this dark place? Show me your glory."
His answer to me was this:
They were under the shadow of my wings. With these words, peace flooded in.
I looked up Scriptures that referenced God's people being underneath his wings, and there are many.
Psalm 57:1-2 is fitting for what was happening on October 21, 2024 in room 8611 with Davis, Acacia, and little Brave:
"Be merciful to me, O God, be merciful to me, for in you my soul takes refuge; in the shadow of your wings I will take refuge, till the storms of destruction pass by."
Yes, a dark storm was in that room. Destruction was present.
But so was God.
And God always has the final word.
I know we are called to walk by faith, not by sight, but when I put the living Word into this scene, my mind's eye is able to see Jesus himself holding Davis and Acacia, with his loving arms wrapped around both of them. They were underneath his protective care. And his presence, his light, overcomes the darkness.
I choose to no longer view this memory without the living Hope being present in the midst of it. Davis and Acacia, in their deepest sorrow, were being tenderly embraced by their loving Savior. And he holds the ultimate victory, life eternal.
Thank you, Lord Jesus, for leading me to your healing words of truth.
