Sitting on our back porch, I copied passages of scripture into my journal. I felt the summer breeze brush across my face, shifting my eyes upward. I knew God was with me. I spent many months there, prayed many prayers there, cried a lot of tears there. It was a sunny refuge from the season of storms and steady rain that went on in my heart. A gift from above. It wasn’t an escape; it was a comfort—a place that drew thankfulness from my lips in a time of much grief.
Recently, I was listening to the best-selling book, “The Nightingale” when the narrator referred to the main character’s fertility struggles as, “the miscarriage years.” No longer sauteing dinner, I listened intently. I wondered if perhaps the author had lost babies in the womb. That’s just speculation. But the words she used felt more than just a simple statement about loss.…
This article was originally published on Gospel-Centered Discipleship.
It was a warm October that year. As the leaves began to boast one last time bearing auburns and oranges before falling to their death, I suspected new life. The first signs of pregnancy found their place in the smell of a far-off unlit candle and the heaviness of my eyes. One pregnancy test later and my suspicions were confirmed. But just as we lost our first baby, this one was gone too soon, as well as our third child.
After nearly two years of walking through devastating grief on grief on grief, I was diagnosed with Recurrent Pregnancy Loss.
It was like walking through a season of storms and steady rain. The storms are like tsunamis, threatening to overtake and drown your life in sorrow. Once the storm is hushed, you’re left with unrelenting rain—the steady undertone of sadness as you learn to live without the babies you’d hoped would be part of your life. …
The pain of watching the ultrasound tech search for that once-obvious baby while contractions pulsed and tears filled my eyes, was one of the most traumatic things I’ve experienced both physically and emotionally.
The anxiety caused my body to shake uncontrollably as three words slipped from my lips.
“There’s nothing there.”
Just one week prior, my baby’s heartbeat was flickering on that screen as my heart overflowed with hope and gratitude. But now, the Lord had chosen to take that life away. And I was left with an empty womb, a head full of theology and a heart still asking, “Why Lord?”
The Answers Won’t Suffice
“Why?” is a silly question for a sovereign God. At times we may ask it from a humble heart, but other times it jumps off our tongue as a demand for answers.…
Two tears fell to the pages of my Bible one after the other as lament sprung from my lips. More tears followed. Words could no longer be spoken with clarity and I took comfort in the fact that the Spirit was interceding the groans of my heart. Groans like, “Lord, why do you keep taking my babies?” and “I’m so weary of this grief.” and “help.”
Three years ago today, we lost our first baby, ushering us into a world of chaos and suffering that went on for some time. It was a season of Psalms. Recurrent miscarriage with a layer of childlessness will cause a woman to sit there awhile, echoing heartfelt prayers of previous suffering saints. It’ll cause a woman to “drench her couch with her weeping” as I did that day (Psalm 6:6). Surely, “my eyes wasted away with grief” (Psalm 6:7).…
It’s my first Mother’s Day with a baby on my hip and we’re in self-isolation. I hadn’t even thought about it until others brought it to my attention. And truly, it makes no difference to me. But many women are saddened by the reality that they can’t attend church on this special day. I’ve been thinking about this holiday in years past and how hard it was at times. I was pondering what I might feel if I was still struggling with childlessness.
While some women might be sad about missing church on Mother’s Day this year, I know some of you are relieved.
This is the first year you don’t have to make the hard decision to either stay home for fear of salt being poured in your wound, or go knowing you’ll have to hide your grief until you’ve found a safe place to cry out, “how long, O Lord?”…
A month ago, my husband dropped off our sweet dog, Ruby, to have surgery to remove her eye and replace it with a prosthetic. We’d tried everything in our power to avoid this surgery, but in the end, it was the best decision to ensure her greatest health and comfort. Had we left it alone, she would continue to live her life burdened by the pain that eye was causing her.
When my husband brought her home from the surgery, it was a heartbreaking sight. She shook uncontrollably from head to paw, her eyelid was swollen shut, blood emerged from her wound, she whimpered at even the slightest move, and with the cone of shame snug around her neck, she was an anxious mess.
My husband and I were in a way “sovereign” over her pain. It was we who made the decision to cause her to endure this. My husband took her to the Veterinarian.…