Yesterday, I talked about how helpful prayer is in the weeks and months following a miscarriage. One of the things that has been such a blessing to me since we lost the baby is how much hope other people have had for us. We’ve received emails and cards with hope-filled words. Women who are dear and close to me have hoped in God’s goodness for me when I couldn’t bring myself to hope—or when I couldn’t see far enough ahead to hope.
God is All I Need
In his book Future Grace, John Piper says that “suffering helps us see that God is all we need.” Before we lost the baby I knew that conceptually, but didn’t fully grasp it. I see things differently now. When the life you want so desperately is taken from you, all you are left with is Christ. Before we got pregnant I thought I “needed” this baby. I wouldn’t have admitted it to you. But all of my actions and talk would reveal a heart that was banking all of my joy on whether or not I could get pregnant quickly. I don’t feel that way anymore. I do desperately want to have another baby. But I don’t “need” a baby like I thought I did. Sadly, it took losing our baby for me to realize the idol having a child had become.
Joining the Everlasting Song
The other day I was listening to Together for the Gospel Live by Bob Kauflin. While leading the musical worship he said something that struck me. He said, "we may just be beginning our song this morning, but we are joining a greater song that is already going on." When we sing our praises to God, we are joining with the saints around the throne of King Jesus. That made me weep.
Hope Found in an Old Story
I always forget how much I love reading the Gospels until I begin reading them again. And then I am struck with the richness of the story. God came to earth. Even grander than that, he came as a little, helpless baby. We get to read this story on the other side of history. For the characters partaking, they don’t know how it will all unfold.
One Month Later
In some ways it feels like it has been an eternity since we lost our baby, not one month. It feels even stranger to say that it has been 30 days. But it has. Our hearts are healing. And while we grieved in the immediate aftermath of the miscarriage, there are days where it feels like the grief is just beginning. When it first happened I was in shock. I cried for days. But most of the time I was just floating through life, holding on and barely getting my most basic tasks done.
Comfort in the Storm
"The painful things that come into our lives are not described by God as accidental or as out of his control. This would be no comfort. That God cannot stop a germ or a car or a bullet or a demon is not good news; it is not the news of the Bible. God can. And ten thousand times he does. But when he doesn't, he has his reasons. And in Christ Jesus they are all loving. We are taught this sovereignty so that we will drink it in till it saturates our bones. He is getting us ready to suffer without feeling unloved."
Mother of All Living
When Sorrow Doesn't Feel "Light"
Before the miscarriage I used to hear verses like Romans 8:28 and 1 Corinthians 4:17 and think “of course God works everything for good. Of course afflictions only last for a moment.” Lately when I hear things like “this light, momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory” (2 Cor. 4:17), I have a tendency to want to say “but it doesn’t feel light and momentary!” Because honestly, in these moments, it feels like the sorrow will last forever. It feels like it won’t ever go away. The sting might lessen. But, for us, we will be missing our baby for the rest of our earthly lives—even if God blesses us with more children. And there is nothing that feels light and momentary about that.
There Will Come a Day
I know I have only written about our baby in recent days, but honestly it's what permeates my thoughts most days. I've been able to process more, and I hope to post that soon. Initially I couldn't think about anything. My mind was just a blur and I felt like I was coasting through life, riding on the prayers of other people. And they have been such a blessing. I still feel that way at times, but today I feel okay, so I am writing. I say "today" because I really don't know what each day holds for my emotions. And I'm okay with that.
A Mother Never Forgets
One of the fears that has plagued me since we lost our baby is that I would somehow forget that we had a baby. It’s hard to keep the memory going in your mind when the only piece of remembrance you have is a picture of a positive pregnancy test. Last Wednesday, before I miscarried, the doctor ordered an ultrasound. At that time, the baby was still there (though much smaller than he or she was supposed to be). All we could see was a small image that looked like a pea. But it was the cutest pea I have ever seen, and an image I have tried to burn into my memory. I thought about asking for a copy of the pictures, but I was too emotional and overwhelmed to comprehend much of what was going on.