Sitting on the couch in the cold, sterile delivery room I felt overwhelmingly alone. Brianna was there on the hospital bed connected to a host of machines tracking her vital signs and flooding her with pitocin and narcotics. Nurses came and went checking on us and her progress. I sat intermittently texting my friend and pastor. Then we received the Hope Box.
The Hope Box warmed us and that room a little, made it more bearable as we continued to wait. It had a bible, some literature, knick-knacks to bring some comfort – and most importantly, a letter from another mom who had been through similar circumstances. It provided connection and hope where none was to be found. Brianna’s spirits lifted a little and we found God’s joy in the hurting.
Unfortunately, I still felt alone. The card was for my wife. The box was flowery. There was soap, tea, lotion, and a devotional for women. But that was it. I was just a dad on the sideline.
Don’t get me wrong – the pain and sorrow my wife felt carrying and “birthing” our son is something I will never understand. But she wasn’t the only one to lose a child that day. I was also robbed of hopes and dreams of what could be. There would be no cradling and singing to my little boy. No first steps. No giggles that can brighten any day. And there was no help.
The card for my wife reassured me that she would be ok, that she could be comforted. But I had nothing. My pastor friend had no books or studies to help guide me, a father through this sorrow. There was no letter for me. No one to coach me other than God. I had to turn inwards to listen to that dangerous concoction that is inner voice and God. Thankfully it was God in those moments in the hospital, helping me to be strong and supporting for my wife in her crisis of faith.
It was in the days and months after we left the hospital after accompanying our sons casket as far as we could in the hospital that we decided to share this ministry in the Central Valley. It was then that I decided that any box we handed out would include a card for the dads. They wouldn’t have to feel as forgotten as I did.
I’ve handwritten every note just like Brianna and the note she received. Each one has my heart in it and what meager advice I can share. I hope that any father receiving a box we’ve put together can have a little pressure taken off and feel the rest that only God can give because I reached out with the hand of Jesus.
Zechariah’s Dad – Jeff
Finding Peace after the Storm 