Leadership Journal

Within a three-month period, Marshall and Susan Shelley saw two of their children die. In November 1991, son Toby succumbed to birth defects after two minutes of life. Then in February 1992, daughter Mandy, almost 2, died of pneumonia. As a companion to the preceding article, Marshall, LEADERSHIP's senior editor, reflects on how these losses have affected his relationship with God.

After losing two children, and after four years of reflection, I see some aspects of God's character in much sharper focus than before, while others are still behind a glass dimly.

I hadn't realized the cost of discipleship. God assigns some people incredibly tough situations.

Since our two children died, I can't help but pause, and wince, each time I read the Bible and see afresh the ordeals children faced, often at the hand of God. Sometimes his ways are severe.

In Genesis, at God's direction, Ishmael and his mother are evicted from their home into the desert. Young Isaac is bound as a human sacrifice (though soon released). In Exodus, all firstborn sons of the Egyptians are slain by the death angel. Job's children (though probably grown children) are killed in Satan's test, sanctioned by God.

And this doesn't include the children killed in God's broader judgments, such as the flood of Noah's day, the destruction of Sodom, or the conquest of Canaan.

In the story of David and Bathsheba, the adultery and the murder of Uriah no longer hold much interest for me-simply more evidence of human sinfulness. Now I fixate on God's treatment of the two sons produced by David and Bathsheba's union-one, a nameless son, died as God's judgment on David's sin; the second, Jedidiah (meaning "loved by God"), became Solomon and enjoyed God's most lavish blessing. I ponder that first son's destiny-dying as punishment for David's sin (even though David apparently didn't grieve the death).

In Matthew, all boys in Bethlehem under age 2 are murdered, in fulfillment of an Old Testament prophecy.

In John 9, in front of a man blind since birth, Jesus is asked if this suffering is due to his own sins or to those of his parents. Jesus explains it is neither but rather "that the work of God might be displayed in his life." A childhood of blindness for God's greater glory? That answer-especially from Jesus, known for his love of children-causes me to tremble.

Ultimately, of course, God's own Son is sent to die upon a cross.

Living for God's glory is not for sissies.

The only way I can gaze upon such severe treatment of children, without becoming catatonic, is trusting that God's purposes require a stiff price. Redemption must be ever so much costlier than I imagine. Earth's contamination by sin must be so severe that equally strong medicine is required.

And even trusting God's purpose, I still occasionally flinch.

Before my children died, I considered the doctrines of resurrection and heaven pleasant but remote, a bit ...