[Janalyn Voigt] God Binds the Broken

Guest Post by Janalyn Voigt

Some authors write effervescent books, light as a flowing stream in summer.  I admire them and sometimes wish I could write so easily. Like deep rivers, my own stories well up from an underground spring. They ask tough questions that I’d rather not tackle. Does God hate us when we sin (Hills of Nevermore, Montana Gold, book 1)? Why does a good God allow bad things to happen to innocent people (Cheyenne Sunrise, Montana Gold, book 2)?

I have asked these questions myself. Perhaps attempting to answer them for readers is God’s gift to me, for it drives me to the only reliable resource, the Bible. I can trace the themes of my books to certain points in my life. A convert to Christianity at age eighteen, I knew God had forgiven my sins but struggled to forgive myself. My reaction appears in the mindset of America Reed, the heroine of Hills of Nevermore.

Another incident, one that changed my life forever, informs the theme of Cheyenne Sunrise. I’ll never forget standing in my kitchen as a frightened woman with my hand on my abdomen and a plea on my lips. “Please, God, not my baby.”

The cramps weren’t strong. They could go away. At five-months gestation, my unborn child needed more time in the womb. Surely God wouldn’t take my baby from me.

The hospital confirmed that I should come in right away. My husband, at work with our car, spoke into the phone in a voice that throbbed with concern. He would come home and take me to the emergency room. I hung up with a shaking hand and burst into tears.

After what seemed hours, my husband arrived. Leaving our daughter and son, ages three and one, in the care of a friend and neighbor, we sped toward the hospital. I rode in silence, shivering with fever. Tears slid down my cheeks in a warm stream as my mind spun out of control. I and my baby would die. My other children would grow up without knowing me. My husband would have to raise them alone or else remarry.

Please, God, let us live.

Lying on a hospital gurney in an antiseptic hospital is no place to find comfort. Why then, should it seem as if the nurse’s gentle touch on my shoulder belonged to God?

“Your husband tells me you have two other children.”

“Yes.”

She met my questioning look with a steady gaze. “You’re not going to keep this one much longer, I’m afraid.”

 I nodded, certain all at once that the miracle I’d hoped for was not coming. A feeling of peace settled over me that made no sense, given my circumstances. It was as if God cradled me, His child. My husband came in as the nurse vanished in that queer way that happens in fevers and dreams. The tears lurking in his eyes told me that he knew. Our child would die, and there was nothing we, or anyone else, could do to stop it. Only God could have prevented a tragedy that day.

Sometimes the miracle you pray for doesn’t happen. You hope for a cure, a saved life, an intervention that doesn’t come. Bad things happen to innocent people. I wish it were not so, but we live in a fallen world in need of reclamation.

One day there will be no more sorrow. “He will wipe away from them every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; neither will there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain, any more. The first things have passed away” (Revelation 21:4; World English Bible).

At the cross, Jesus took our sins and sorrows upon Himself. He carried them to the grave, then rose on the third day, leaving them behind.

Janalyn Voigt’s lifelong love of storytelling began in childhood when she dreamed up her own bedtime stories. She grew into a precocious reader, a pastime she credits with teaching her to write. Janalyn trained formally with Christian Writers Guild. Today she is a multi-genre author and is represented by Wordserve Literary. Learn more about Janalyn, read the first chapters of her books, subscribe to her e-letter, and join her reader clubs at http://janalynvoigt.com.