An entrepreneurial homeschooling mother of eight earthly children and five sainted ones. She has no idea how she got here.
She lives to serve Christ first and accomplishes her mission field through her family and her role directing The ITE Project.
You can learn more about her by finding her on Facebook or just ask her next time you see her.
And then there was that one time I went in for the first doctor’s appointment to confirm my pregnancy and the sky was idyllic blue and my heart was supernaturally happy. This child was our fifth, our final. Everything according to my plan.
And then the ultrasound showed no heartbeat. And my house of cards came crashing down.
Pregnancy loss is a twisting rabbit hole through which one cannot navigate. It crests and plunges and banks itself without warning and the opinions of others contribute to the ride.
“Well, at least you have your other children to console you.”
“You’ll get over it. Anne can’t even have kids so imagine what she feels like.”
“The baby wasn’t meant to live.”
And you grieve– mostly behind the backs of those you love most. You read obsessively about first trimester miscarriages and wonder what you could have done differently. If progesterone would’ve helped. If you drank too much coffee. Wondering what you did wrong or could have done differently.
So when my husband and I conceived again, I suddenly found myself grieving my previous loss through heightened anxiety. Watching days, agonizing; watching signs, wondering. Holding my breath until that fateful nine week mark and the ultrasound showed a strong heartbeat.
And you put it a little bit behind you. You try to focus on the child within you. You nurture. You hope. You begin to plan. The second trimester begins and you slowly learn to love again.
Until the next ultrasound shows no signs of life. And you begin to fathom how deep the well of grief can be dug.
And grief nearly engulfs you.
Pregnancy loss is never the same trip twice nor could it ever be summarized.
There are an infinite number of ways to grieve and I am not sure I have ever done it correctly. So when the name of my very pregnant friend appears on my phone, and I know she shouldn’t be calling and I know why she is calling and it hurts to say, “Hello,” it is nearly the end of me to hear her ask, “How do you do this?”. Her eyes are on me, looking for comfort, for wisdom, for a chance of peace. And all I can say to this beautiful, faultless creature is– “I am sorry for your pain.”
And why would God allow this? Why would He allow ‘good’ people to suffer needlessly? Why would He create life to end it so abruptly? And where on earth is He when suffering becomes unbearable?
Through the pain of my miscarriages, the only answer I have ever surmised is:
God is good. His faithfulness is buckler and shield. (Psalm 91)
God is not wasteful. The birds are fed, the flowers are clothed, the hairs on my head are counted. (Luke 12)
God’s ways are not my ways. As far as the heavens are from the earth and the east is from the west, His ways are above mine. (Isaiah 55)
I do not understand why the Lord would create a life within me, only to end that life before its earthly fruition. But I have to trust Him and believe He is not wasteful and has a purpose for that life and for my suffering. He would not do this without meaning. And He has chosen me, five times, to harbor a life so precious to Him and to trust His ways.
The Father who watched His only Son be crucified by the creatures He created. He understands my pain. He asks me to enter into it with Him. And suddenly I realize I am Chosen, Cherished, and Redeemed.
I am the handmaid of the Lord. Let it be done unto me according to [His Will.] Luke 1:38
If you have suffered a miscarriage, still birth, or early infant loss and are in need of support, click here to learn more about our
infant loss program, Heart of My Heart .
Cornerstone of Hope invites all who have experienced a pregnancy loss or infant loss to honor the baby in your heart on October 15th. On this day around the world, bereaved parents light a candle at 7pm to create a wave of light in remembrance. Click here to register.