Her body lay motionless; unresponsive as my fingers trailed across the tender flesh of one small foot. There was no rise and fall of shallow breathing and I knew. My baby had died.
Grief and fear spilled onto my sleeping husband as I began shouting. She’s not breathing. She’s not breathing. Oh, God! Dave, you need to breathe for her. Thrusting innocence itself into her father’s hands, I desperately forced uncooperative fingers to dial the stiff buttons of the telephone.
Has the baby swallowed something? The calm, impersonal voice wasn’t listening.
I’d nodded off briefly as I shared a mother’s provision with my nursing infant. Alerted by nothing other than the grace of God, I was clear-headed and alert the moment I noticed my baby’s stillness. There were no sounds of satisfaction as newborn hunger abated. No twisting of small fingers in my hair or the steady tug and gulp of a private moment shared between mother and child.
Heather’s face shifted from the pale color of unblemished cream to a ghastly shade of blue. Releasing one gentle puff of air and then another into Heather’s premature lungs, my husband carefully and methodically followed the commands of the remote woman responding to a young mother’s call.
The minutes stretched toward eternity, thin and distant. Excruciating. Interminable. And we waited. One minute. Two. Three. Still, my husband breathed. Still, the baby lay motionless. Five minutes. And finally, her small chest expelled a haggard breath.
Martha and Mary felt the same despair. Their beloved brother had died–needlessly. Wasn’t Jesus able to save him? Hadn’t he restored sight to the blind and hearing to the deaf? Hadn’t he straightened crooked feet and healed outcasts from the curse of leprosy?

[bbctt tweet="Mary and Martha felt the same despair.Wasn't Jesus able to save him?Why had Jesus ignored their plea?#youareheard#thereishope"]

They knew the messenger had delivered the message. “Master, the one you love so very much is sick.” (John 11:3) But, their hopes had died the moment Lazarus took his final breath. Why had Jesus ignored their pleas?
If you’re at all like me, you’ve probably asked the same question. Why has Jesus ignored my pleas? Turned away from my prayers? Denied me hope in moments of desperation?
But, Christ was intentional in his slow response to Mary and Martha.

When Jesus got the message, he said, “This sickness is not fatal. It will become an occasion to show God’s glory by glorifying God’s Son.” (John 11:4)

After waiting for two long days, he finally set out for Judea–the home of his dear friends. But, death already owned Lazarus. Encased in a tomb and lost to his family for four days, hope seemed impossible.

When Jesus saw her (Mary) weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled. “Where have you laid him?” he asked. (John 11: 33-34)

Then, holiness and grief met when Jesus wept. Not the sort of dramatic, wailing-for-hire of the professional mourners who were present nor the inconsolable cries of family members forever separated from a cherished one. Jesus’ tears burst forth silently, a testimony of love preparing a trail from heaven to the cross; from the holy intersection of I Am to the unmatchable sacrifice of the man of sorrows.

[bbctt tweet="Holiness and grief met when Jesus wept, a testimony of love preparing a trail from heaven to the cross.#thisislove#sacrifice"]

He shed tears because death, sin’s ruthless result, had ruled for too long and indignation swelled from within as wetness expressed the love of the Lamb.
At the shout of Life, Lazarus emerged from the tomb. Resurrected. Renewed. Restored.
In the same way, our prayers and petitions may seem to go unanswered; empty words piled around the heavenly throne. But, He hears even the desperate, silent groaning of our souls. Not one request, despairing cry, or silent tear goes unnoticed.
The disease that plagues you? The depression that haunts you? The death that vexes your heart? Not one circumstance or situation is beyond the reach of Christ, who is the Resurrection.

[bbctt tweet="Lazarus' experience was the first of many; a precursor to the promise of life eternal. Life abundant. Life unexplainable.#theway#thetruth#thelife"]

Friend, He has overcome all of it. Lazarus’ experience was the first of many; a precursor to the promise of life eternal. Life abundant. Life unexplainable. May you cling to this hope today, no matter what today holds.
 
Peace and grace,
Tammy
 
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