I held a brand new baby in my arms the other night. A new life, one that God chose to give. How perfectly crafted he was – and rightly so, for his mother is beautiful. All her years, all her hard work, the nine other children she gave birth to, none of these had decreased the beauty God gave her when he created her. Her husband clearly had taste, for his other wife was similarly tall and beautiful. She spent the whole night with her “sister wife”, and I’ll never forget the look of wonder in her eyes as she watched me wash the tiny form of her stepson (stepson? Is that right?). A valuable experience for her, because in her womb another life was growing, and in a few months, it is her child that I will carefully wash.

We named him Zebulun, after Jacob’s 10^th son. I say “we”, but I didn’t really have any part in the naming. The team did – nine people who came on a short-term mission trip from the Rancho del Rey church in California. Their coming brought new life as well… new life to them, many of whom had never left their comfort behind. It brings a fresh spirit to you, to see more of the world that God has made, and more of the people for whom He died. You know this, if you’ve ever done it. Their coming brought new life to us, who begin to grow weary in doing good; their joy, their wide-eyed innocence, their sweetness, their willingness to do whatever the Lord says; they ministered to me, for I know that a month ago I was in their shoes, and I hope I brought a freshness to those who were here before.

Each member of the team gave his or her testimony in staff devotions as the week went by. And one by one the messages the Holy Spirit had lain on their hearts, the experiences through which He had brought them, ministered to the men and women who work in this ministry. And one morning, they gave an invitation, and for the three people who responded, new life began. I praise God! I want to dance, and caper, and laugh, and sing; for in heaven, the angels are doing so, and I want to join them. For three new siblings, who would not do the same?

Psalm 104:30 says that when God breathes, life is created, and He renews the face of the earth. The previous verse talks about the other end of the cycle, for when He takes away their breath, they die and return to dust. The team left, their time here came to an end. One day I will leave, and I’ll have to face what they’re facing now, a return to the normal life; to the temptation to care for comfort, to resist the call to prayer, to worry about what I will eat and drink and wear, to desire to accumulate things and ignore people. I pray this experience will never die, but will keep bearing fruit, bringing life.

I held a baby in my hands the other day, but this one was not brand new. “Macerated stillbirth” is the technical term; she died before she ever came into the world. She was almost perfect, but not quite, though her mother, Gongich, is beautiful. So beautiful, in fact, that as Kate examined her earlier that day, I was just staring at her face; I sketched her profile in an idle moment, while Kate searched for a heartbeat she would never find. All the platitudes, all the spiritual band-aids come to mind; the Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away. They filled my head as I wrapped her still, soft body in a blanket and put it aside to give to Gongich’s family to bury later. I would never put a live baby aside like that.

Ecclesiastes 7:13: Consider what the Lord has done; who can straighten what He has made crooked? I certainly can’t; there was nothing I could have done to save that child. But I couldn’t have made her either, couldn’t have crafted those pink toes or that soft hair. And I trust the God who made her, who made Zebulun, the One who orders life and death. I remind myself of the truth: that He is good, that He is just, that He is loving. And then I look around, and there is evidence all around me: in the family that rallied to Gongich’s side; in Sabet, who prayed for her in a language I don’t understand; in her ability to continue to smile.

 I don’t fear my own death; my family knows that when I die, I want my funeral to be a party; rejoice  for me, because I’ll be in heaven. So I rejoice for Gongich’s daughter, that she got to skip the burdens of this life and go straight into the Father’s arms. Sometimes I’m tempted to be jealous of her. But no, life isn’t all burden. Though she never had to battle with sin, neither did she feel the wonder of learning that her sins are already paid for. So I’ll just carry on, hoping that I can continue to help in the Father’s work, that I can see others come to know that wonder: God loves me, and died for me! Wow! His death has brought so much life. For every stillborn child I hold in my hands, I’ll also get to hold a live, crying Zebulun. And everyone I see come to new life in Christ will never lose that life. And best of all: in heaven, there will be no more death.