Holding on to Hope

Hello friends! This is an Easter skit I wrote two years ago for church. Yup, hard to do but worth it. This year I will do it again for both services, but I think it will be even harder. For this year I find myself in a familiar scenario; with an empty room, waiting for a baby girl. There is a crib on one side and ironically on the other side is a desk. I'm waiting on a system full of needy children while my file sits on a desk somewhere, and my e-mails are unanswered, my crib and my arms sit empty. As time goes by it is harder and harder to trust that my plan will work out, but nothing slaps me in the face harder than my own words written two years ago. I hope you enjoy Easter with your loved ones, those of you with new babies will squeeze them tighter, those of you on couches will find peace and health, and those of you waiting on God or having a hard time believing will just give it their all. He did.

The Empty Room
(Chair in center, box marked “baby’s room”, pink things laying about. Darbi folds baby items and places them in box as she talks to God.)
This isn’t supposed to be my life. It’s not supposed to be anyone’s. After you go through a pregnancy and experience all of the excitement and the miracle of it all you’re supposed to spend a few days in the hospital and come home with a baby.
Why this God? Why me? Why did our little girl have to die? And without a reason? I just don’t understand! I’ve waited my whole life to become a mom and now just weeks away from taking her home with me, she dies. I’ve followed you forever. I’ve read my Bible, I’ve gone to church, I’ve even helped old ladies find what they’re looking for in the grocery store when other people don’t have time to help. You’d think I’d get some kind of extra credit for that or something. And then this happens. I just don’t know where you are. (Sit down)
I mean, I know you’re with me, I know I wouldn’t be able to be standing here if you weren’t. But since you have the power to perform miracles, why couldn’t you save baby Hope? Maybe you’re just too busy. Maybe you’re too far away. Maybe you just don’t understand. (Pause)
You have a Son. What if He…well he also died. A terrible, brutal, pre-planned death that you could have stopped. (Pause) But you didn’t. And you allowed your son to die so that I could live. I guess when I think about it that way it’s hard to expect you to have done something for me that you didn’t even do for yourself. You went through the worst of the worst…watching your son suffer and die WITH THE POWER TO STOP IT…for…me.
Until now I thought becoming a Christian meant signing up for the easy life, but clearly it’s not. I just have so many questions and wish so badly I could get you a cel phone that nobody else could use (and of course it would be Verizon so we’d have unlimited minutes and free texting). But after making it through these last few weeks holding our daughter, saying goodbye, having her funeral, and now packing up her nursery, through the pain I also feel a sense of strength. If you helped me get through this, you can help me get through anything, and I never want to know what life without you is like.
God, I’m sitting in this empty room that was so full of expectation for the life of baby Hope. The sleepless nights, the diaper changes, the lullabies, the books we’d read in this very chair, and for now it’s all on hold. What I want you to know is I’m not giving up on you. If this room is filled with 10 babies some day or a desk with a whole different plan all together down the road, I trust you- but you know I’ll throw another tantrum if you go with the desk option, right? We can do this. I mean, I planned for the room to be filled with baby Hope, but now it’s just full of another kind of hope. And for today, that’s okay. (Sing “It is well with my soul” & put animals & toys in box). AND SCENE =-)