It has been two weeks since we learned that our
baby was gone. 14 days doesn’t seem like a long time until you’re on the road
of loss. I told someone the other day that it feels like walking on a road
filled with rocks and shards of glass and you lost your sandals a few miles
back. It feels like walking towards an unknown destination, with no particular
end in sight. Every step hurts and makes you bleed, but then your feet start to
toughen against the sharp pains and so the steps begin to feel less breath-taking,
less raw. And you start to think you’ve gained some leverage and maybe you can
just keep walking, but then one of those rocks finds a place on your foot that
hasn’t toughened yet and it sends you reeling back down and it’s just as
breath-takingly painful as the first step was. It is a hard road because there
are constant ups and downs.
I’ve been a believer for 17 years, but this
experience has made me feel like I’ve been a believer for more like 17 seconds.
It has shaken the very foundations of my soul and made me come face to face
with the reality of my faith in Christ. It’s put my faith up against a
measuring scale to test it, to weigh it, to see if it’s true and accurate, and
to measure how deep it runs. And I wish I could say that it’s been easy, that
no questions surfaced, and that my humanity didn’t interfere with my spiritual certainties
in this life, but I’d just be lying. It’s made me stop and re-examine the
theological truths that I’ve held for years. And it has refined them.
I believe in praying specifically. It’s a large
part of my testimony in Abi Kate’s pregnancy & birth. We prayed
specifically in faith for things and against things, and every one of those
things came to pass. We trusted that He would answer, and while I certainly had
fears during that time, I clung to Matthew 21:22, that faith the size of a
mustard seed was enough. He answered, and He And He was faithful. We approached this pregnancy in the
same manner. Every single night, Tommy and I came together to pray over the
life I carried, to pray for their health and mine. And one of the things I
prayed specifically was that I would not miscarry this baby and that their
little heart would just continue beating. And He answered…. I want to say that
this didn’t throw me for a loop and that it didn’t make my heart fear, but
again, I’d just be lying. It really made me consider what I believe about
faith, the provision of God, and where exactly my faith comes to play in the
perfect will of Christ. I was so grieved in the days that followed that as this
spiritual battle ensued, I really struggled to make sense of things. This is
one of those times that I was incredibly grateful for the gift of my husband
and for the wisdom he offers. I also talked with a friend who has an incredible
heart for the Lord, who possess a deep understanding of the things of Christ,
and who understood my loss because she had walked this road before too. I have
learned that it times like this, it is good to have spiritual truths spoken
over me, even if I already know them and believe them, because they are
reminders that hold my heart steadfast. Some
of the best wisdom I received from her was to be desperately honest with the
Lord in my prayer life, to be honest with Him about my struggles. In the midst
of grief, I was so afraid to be brutally honest because I feared where it might
lead me. That it might take me down the road of resentment or anger towards
God. So I hung on to biblical truths and told them to myself over and over
again because they were healing. But nothing was as healing as being honest
about my confusion to my Creator. It was liberating, and instead of pulling me
towards human emotions, He pulled me in closer to His heart. I can’t say that
I’ve felt angry at God throughout this process at all. I just haven’t. He is
sovereign, so His will is right. I know it, and I believe it. But I felt such
sadness that He hadn’t answered as we’d asked, confused about why He
had penned this into our story, unsure about why He had delivered each request
for Abi Kate’s life but not for the life of this baby, and fearful of praying
in faith in the future. Her words have resonated in my heart- “I think God
longs for us to be intimately involved in the daily ongoings of our lives and
His role in them. But in the end, His will rules over us all.” It was such a
simple truth, truth I’ve believed, but truth that I had lost sight of in the
face of sadness. I’ve learned in these days that nothing will remind you of your
position in reference to His Holy position as quickly as sorrow. It is easy to
accept His will and walk in faith when the road is smooth and filled with
blessings. It is harder to walk in faith when the road is bumpy, where there is
little light, and it is filled with sadness.
There
are still many fears that sit near to my heart, but I try to remember my
husband’s wisdom, too. I sat at the kitchen table one night in the middle of
dinner and just cried uncontrollably while I told him my fears. He said, “Katie,
this is faith…. We will just keeping trusting and keep praying earnestly and
keep believing that He will answer those prayers. And we will know that He is
in control and His perfect will will prevail… but we will continue to trust. We
have to. This is faith.” So, as I’ve worked through this and processed it all,
it has been exactly as Philippians 2:12 says, “Continue to work out your own
salvation with fear and trembling.” Nothing will make your heart tremble as
much as grief. Nothing makes a mother’s heart tremble more than loss. But I am
thankful that Christ has brought me to a place in these hard weeks where I can
say, that even in this pregnancy, He didn’t just give us an answer to our
prayers, but He answered and He was faithful. Just like He was in Abi Kate’s.
Different ending, same provision.
In the days after delivery, Tommy and I talked
a lot about the way the Lord had provided for us in this situation, the ways
he’d been faithful. The ways that He had prepared us and was holding us up. I
almost didn’t go for that ultrasound, almost talked myself out of it and told
myself I was simply being paranoid, told myself to wait until my scheduled
appointment with my midwife that was just a few days away. But I woke up that
Wednesday morning with great concern and couldn’t get a peace in my heart about
my pregnancy all day because I just felt that things were “off” with my body.
The years of Natural Family Planning had given me a great awareness about my
body that would’ve been so easily missed otherwise. And miraculously, when I
called the ultrasound tech, he was able to squeeze us in that night just 2
hours later despite his previous appointment. Tommy was able to make it home
just in time for us to make that hour long trek out to his house. And because I
knew ahead of time that our baby was gone, once the process of birth began, I
was not afraid. I cannot imagine the fear I would’ve had when those
contractions started otherwise, if I hadn’t known. I would’ve been in a
hospital ER, having an ultrasound where I’d have to wait to hear the results
from a doctor I didn’t know. And the fear of the unknown would’ve made the pain
worse. That's horrifying for me to consider. Had I been in the
hospital, it is almost certain that I wouldn’t have been offered the choice of
waiting because I was past 10 weeks pregnant, but would have been encouraged to
proceed with surgery with a checklist of reasons about why it was dangerous to
wait. But because of where I was and the
midwife I had, she knew that it was perfectly safe to wait. Controlled risk and
medical liability weren’t on her radar-- my health, my future pregnancies, and
my need to see this journey from beginning to end were. I didn’t know what to
expect in terms of pain, but I knew I had labored & delivered naturally
before with a full-term baby, so I knew my body was capable of doing this, too.
Tommy had the foresight to take off work that day even though we were still
just waiting. My labor started and ended almost entirely during Abi Kate’s nap.
She slept much longer than she normally does. I was incredibly thankful because
I needed Tommy during that time just like I did in my previous labor. It
would’ve been so much harder to have been alone or to have him splitting time
between me & Abi. If I’d never labored & delivered unmedicated before,
I would’ve struggled so much with the pain. I feel like I could keep going on
about all the small things that made this road softer, but even in the
unfolding of such sorrow, Christ provided for us. All those nights when Tommy had prayed
over me, he had said the same thing, “We ask for these things, but we will make
our will submissive to Yours.” We had no clue what depth that would hold weeks
later, but even though God’s will wasn’t what we anticipated, He was still
faithful to give us what we needed.
Loss teaches us a lot about life, but one thing
that it has solidified in my heart without a doubt is that even in those
earliest weeks of pregnancy, there is life. There’s no mistaking it, friends.
We live in a culture of convenience. Sometimes it’s convenient for a woman to
carry a baby, and when a baby is not convenient, it’s a "cluster of cells". It’s
always baffled my mind how people could refer to a baby as a “mass of tissue”
or “cluster of embryonic cells”, and yet that same person can cry and feel such
sorrow if they miscarry a baby. And it is simply because there is life. And
losing life hurts. It’s not the loss of dreams or hopes. I’ve lost those things
before, and they don’t cause this type of pain, the ache that persists. We can
call that life whatever we want to pacify ourselves and our needs and our
“choice,” but I have carried, delivered, and held my baby at 39 weeks in my
arms. I have carried, delivered, and held my baby in the palm of my hand at 11
weeks. And once you have lived that, have seen it with your own eyes, have held
that precious being, there can be no mistake. There is no going back. There IS
life, even in those early weeks. It is not a cluster of cells. It is not a mass
of tissue that will turn into a human. It is a tiny baby, being knit together with
distinguishable body parts just like a full term baby. I’ve seen proof of both
of my babies’ vitality, their movements, and their strong little hearts beating
rapidly on a screen even at the earliest of weeks-- at 6 weeks with Abi Kate
and 8 weeks with this baby. And I have held both of their intricately formed
bodies, tiny toes and little arms--one bursting with life and one that was quiet
and still. I have always believed that
life begins at conception, but after this experience, I don’t just believe it.
I know it.
I’ve learned that things don’t have to “be back
to normal” and probably never will. I’ve received much encouragement in recent
days, particularly from women who have experienced such a loss. For many of
them, even though years have passed, they still cried when they talked with me
about their babies. And they assured me that even all these years later, when
they have all their children in their lap or in the same room with them, they
still feel like there’s one that is missing. And that has helped me in so many
ways. To know that they have carried those little lives with them all these
years. They haven’t been forgotten or replaced as their families have grown.
And even years later, these mothers still miss that tiny life that they carried,
so much so that the tears flow when they talk about it. It is still difficult
for me to be around other people because it all feels like pretense for me. I
tend to wind up crying for several hours after being “fine” just for one hour out
in public. And I still can’t talk about it in person. Writing is incredibly
helpful, but speaking about it is just too much. There is a phrase I’ve heard
used for years, and one that I wasn’t sure that would apply to me in this
situation, but after talking with a friend she assured me that this would
simply be a “new normal” for me. And I think she’s right. One day, it won’t be
pretense to be around others. And one
day I will be able to speak about this. It will get easier. But there will
always be a sadness when I look back, and that’s ok.
I’ve learned that even if one of your biggest
fears comes to fruition, God is still present when you’re shattered. I was
afraid that if I lost a baby I’d never be ok again. And while things will
always be different from here on out, He has been faithful to begin mending
that which is broken. And life keeps going. There may be dark and sad times,
but I am not alone in my grief.
I’ve learned that this is why God designed us
for other people, why in Genesis 2 He said, “It is not good for man to be
alone.” And I believe this reaches beyond just a marital relationship. People
need people. I know people who think they only need their spouse, their
immediate family, and that’s it. An idea based around selfishness, fear, or
just plain foolishness. I am social by nature, so my new longing for seclusion has
been a harder part of this process for me to embrace. While I haven’t been able
to be around others during this time, they have made themselves available to
me, and that has made such a difference. I can’t count the number of emails,
Facebook messages, texts, calls, letters in the mail that we’ve received. People who have just checked in, weeks later, to let us know we aren't forgotten & that they are there. And
every single one has served to encourage my heart in some way (and if I haven’t
responded to yours, please know it’s just gotten lost in the shuffle, but I
promise I’ve read it. And I guarantee I cried when I read it). It is good to not grieve alone, to have others
share in your burden. It truly makes the load lighter. It was a blessing to
share in the joy of this new life with others and it has been a blessing to grieve
this loss with others.
I wish this were an easy process. That I could
say I’d never doubt again or fear again. But that’s not true. I feel strong at
moments in my faith and equally weak at other times of the day. I’ve shared the
verse that was placed on my heart throughout pregnancy-- Joshua 1:9… And I have
learned that I don’t have to feel strong and courageous. Scripture simply says
to be strong and courageous. And never in scripture have I seen it referenced
to be strong within myself, but instead to be strong in “Him and His mighty
power.” So even though my pregnancy with this baby is over, the scripture that
Christ placed on my heart so many weeks ago is still relevant weeks later. And
the same God that was strong when I heard our baby’s heart beating remains
strong weeks after it has stopped beating. So even though I am weak, I can be strong in Him.
I’ve learned that even though the circumstances
of this life can shake you to your core, so deep that you aren’t sure the
quaking will ever stop, that God is present in those moments. And the foundation
that He lays remains firm and unmovable. I have prayed that this truth will
overtake my present thoughts and my fears. That its truth will pour over me in
excess, and I will soak up every drop.
And I have remembered, just like Christ
revealed through Abi Kate’s birth, that He does make good on His promises, even
in the face of death. A friend who has lost babies messaged me and assured me
that one day I will laugh out loud again and that I would smile instead of
wiping tears. And oh, how I needed that reminder. So desperately. Because I
remembered that “weeping may endure for the night, but joy comes in the
morning.” So we wait in anticipation for the day where we rejoice for this
sweet, short life more than we grieve for their loss. We miss our baby every
day, cry every day. But we wait in anticipation for the morning, because we
know it is coming….
