Hope for the Christian who miscarried

Around the second week of December, I miscarried. Of course, my husband and I both cried and grieved, but then we kept moving on because there was still life to live, work to do, bills to pay, and holidays to attend. By April, I was feeling so anxious, and fearful about things that I'm usually not afraid of. One day, I sat down with the Lord and poured out all of my fears and worries. Then, I remembered that I was still sad about my baby. I was still broken about the loss of hope for that particular future. I was still sensitive to the thoughts (lies) about my body not being safe, not being good enough, not having what it takes, etc. 

I cried again and confessed that all of this has also made me really scared of trying again. I was fearful of losing more children. I was fearful of the days we live in. Do I honestly even want to bring children into a world like ours? I knew how faithless it all sounded, which then made me afraid of my own state... am I still right with God? I was totally overwhelmed by fear.  

I remember asking God if my baby was a girl. I felt like it was, but I wasn't sure if I was just projecting my own wishes. I felt God wrap his arms around me. I tangibly felt an embrace as I sat weeping on my couch. I felt him kiss my forehead and say, "I WILL make all things new." And then, I saw my daughter, just a still image of her in her glorified body. She wasn't a baby, twenties maybe, in her prime. Perfection. She had strawberry blonde hair and cute freckles across her face. 

He DOES make all things new. And just in that fraction of time, he made her new. He made my memory and thoughts of her new. She's no longer this faceless, nameless clump of cells drowning in the bottom of my toilet (that I have discarded in a way that felt so cold and heartless).  She is a beautiful girl, in a glorified body. She is in perfection. She is in the presence of God. She has now become a part of that great cloud of witnesses cheering me on, waiting for me in paradise. She is safe. NOTHING bad can EVER happen to her again. She gets to SEE God. She gets to know him better than me! Her name is Neri. It means candle of Yahweh or light of God.

After this encounter, my eyes caught a book in my living room that I felt God pressing me to read. The book is called, "The Significance of Singleness" by Dr. Christina Hitchcock. I randomly opened to a page and found that I had highlighted a place where the author quoted the scripture where Jesus does say, "I make all things new." I kept reading through and towards the end, the author quotes Stanley Hauwerwas, a theologian and ethicist, who says something to the effect that: as Christians, we do not have children just because we want them, but we have children BECAUSE we trust God.

Too many individuals' want of a child is rooted in an insecurity whereby what they actually want is to be needed and loved. A child will need you. A child will love you. But a child isn't meant to bear that load. We are here to minister to their needs, not the other way. No doubt that God can, and certainly does, use children, but if our desire for children is to produce our own cure for loneliness, rejection, or significance, then it's the children themselves who will suffer the most.

Instead, we have children BECAUSE we trust God and BECAUSE we believe in the resurrection. We don't get pregnant, have babies, and then say, "Well, now I have to trust God (to protect, to provide, etc.)!" No, we trust in God already, and so then we have children. Why else would we even dare to bring children into this world where miscarriage is possible, where SIDS is possible, where, frankly, death is inevitable - if we do not trust God and are not fully convinced of the resurrection? To have children without this hope is quite dismal. Our children are the living testimony of our absolute trust in God and belief in the resurrection. There is no greater area where a person must learn to trust God the most than as a parent with their children, and the contending and intercession for such children never ends. 

Soon after, we learned that we were expecting again! We waited a few weeks and cheerfully shared the news with family for Mother's Day. It was about four weeks later we learned that there was no heartbeat.

I laid on the table, my eyes fixed on the black screen.

"Where's my baby?" My mind whispered to myself, "Why can't I see it?"

I held my breath as the technician maneuvered the probe to a different position. Then, in perhaps the most profound demonstration of taking my thoughts captive, I relaxed my body, "God... you are still good." I HAD to say it. I HAD to hear my own voice say those words within myself at this very moment.

"I'm sorry, but I don't see a viable pregnancy. The baby has begun to shrink," the technician winced at her own words.

In the ultrasound office, another couple came out all smiles, staring at their photo roll. Good for them, truly.

I felt my throat tightening as we exited. I raced to the car, tears welling up to the brim, but not falling.

"God... you are still good," I continued to repeat this to myself as we drove home in silence.

What do you say?

There are no words.

Even now, I can't seem to properly articulate the knowing and the feeling of being full and then being empty. Or the knowing and feeling of growing a life, and then the knowing and feeling of something literally dying inside of you.

It is an emptiness that is unmatched.

A lump swells in your chest as you realize that you already told people you were pregnant, and now you must tell them that you are not. Now you must speak the words that repeatedly scrape scabs. Or, someone who wasn't aware will make mention of congratulations, and you have to sink the joy in their voice with the truth they didn't know.

And then it's just awkward.

That creeping shadow of failure seems to take a while to leave.

Even though everyone tells you that it wasn't your fault, that you didn't do anything wrong, it still feels so very wrong.

I was created for this. I'm supposed to generate life. My children are supposed to be safe with me. I couldn't keep them safe.

We parked the car and Jon reached for my hand, "I'd still pick you," he began, his expression dampened with tears, "Even if we never have children of our own, and I don't believe that, but even if we don't... I'd still choose you. I'd still marry you. You are enough for me."

The walk of a Christian is not one where we ponder the 'what if's'. The walk of a Christian is when we resolve to say 'even if'. Even if we miscarry again or even if we never have children, God is still good. Even if there is pain, even if this child someday turns away, even if this child makes horrible decisions... I WILL still praise the Lord.

So, yes, I've lost children... but my children are not LOST.

They are SAFE with the Lord.

Yes, it has hurt.

But, my children will never know the meaning of that word.

I can only be grateful for that.

They will never know the meaning of grief, suffering, pain, loss, depression, rejection, peer pressure, neglect, abuse, addiction, fear, or any other worldly consequence.

Just as in the garden, they will neither know good nor evil, they will only know God.

How can I mourn such a thing indefinitely?

Indeed, I mustn't.

These children, however long they have been loaned to me, they are my gift from God - but these children are not my god. 

My God caused a virgin to birth a healthy child.

My God caused barren Hannah to birth a healthy child.

My God caused menopausal Sarah and Elizabeth to brith healthy children.

My God healed the woman with the issue of blood.

My God raised the widow's son and Jiarus' daughter.

Is there anything too difficult for Him?

Is He partial?

Is He a respecter of persons?

Does He pick favorites?

Certainly not. What He has done for these women, He can do for me!

Faith is not just cognitively knowing that God can.

It is the believing substance, the expecting evidence that God WILL.

Will He today?

Will He tomorrow?

His thoughts are not ours and neither are His ways.

So WHEN I am pregnant again, I can't let fear win. The next child in my womb will not be the same as the children who were in my womb before. I cannot live with the anxiety of the same thing happening to a completely different person. I believe it to be too easy for the enemy to try to steal, kill, and destroy the very early relationships between mothers and their children. I certainly do not wish for this tiny being to carry, feel, or sense my stress in utero. Far too often, our feelings of rejection began in the womb. May it never be so with my children. I want them to know they are wanted, loved, and welcomed with joy and hope from the very beginning. So we must be excited. We must be joyful. We must continue to dream and imagine a life with them. We cannot miss the living because we fear the dead. God IS the God of the living!