Pregnancy and Infant Loss Part 2

October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month, and I am writing a three-part series on the topic with the hopes of contributing to the national conversation going on. I believe stories are powerful things, so last week in Part 1, that’s what I shared. You might forget statistics and facts. You might argue beliefs and opinions. But stories stick. They linger and take on a life of their own. So I did that last week. Even though I share my story often, it’s still a difficult thing for me. I do it anyway, though, because I want to encourage others who have been in similar situations. Also, I share my story often because I think it shines a light on Jesus. I’m mostly weak and helpless, but God can do mighty things through my life because of who He is. That is pretty evident in my story, I think.

If you do nothing else this month for PAIL Awareness, tell your story to at least one person. You don’t need to change your profile picture to the pink and blue filter. You don’t need to plant a tree in honor of babies lost. You don’t need to go to a rally with a sandwich board sign and raise awareness. All of these things are good, but all you need to do is open up and tell your story. That will be just as powerful, if not more powerful, than anything else you can do.

But what about when someone else loses a child? What do you do then? I can almost guarantee you know someone who has dealt with this in one form or another. One in four pregnancies end way too soon, and I’ll bet someone you are close to is that one person. How do we deal with that? How many casseroles do we make? Should we send cards? Flowers? When dropping things off, is it better to make a quick exit because she probably doesn’t want company or to stick around and be a shoulder to cry on? Should I watch her kids for an afternoon? Does her laundry need washing? Should I volunteer to do something for her or wait for her to ask for help? Do I ask questions to let her know I’m available to talk or keep quiet so I don’t seem nosy? Does she need a girls’ night out? Would a girls’ night in be better? Does she need chocolate and wine? Will wine make her cry because a week ago, she couldn’t have it for happy reasons?

Let me tell you, after having gone through this twice now, I’ve got some experience under my belt with these sorts of things. I’ve learned a thing or two about grief. And I don’t know the answer to any of those questions. Go ahead, roll your eyes. I am again asking questions without having answers. Well, sorry not sorry. These questions are worth asking even if they can’t be easily resolved.

Truly, every situation, every woman, every moment is different. I could make you a list of 14 Things to Never Say to a Mama Who’s Grieving or 10 Things to Give a Grieving Mom but that doesn’t address the real issue–how to deal with other’s grief. Lists give us something tangible, something measurable. I can do this, that, and this other thing and BOOM! Grief dealt with! Except it’s not. The pain is still there, sitting right next to the casserole, flower vase, and cards. The doctor’s words still echo in the silent moments alone, and no amount of casseroles will make it stop. So what do we do? How do we deal with it?

The truth is you don’t. Only time can ease the heartache that she feels, and all you can do in the meantime is flounder through trying to be there for her. Please bring a casserole. Please write her an encouraging note. Offer to do her dishes or her laundry. Offer to take her kids for the day. Invite her to dinner for a girls’ night out or invite her over for a girls’ night in. Be flexible with your time when you stop by so you can stay and listen or skedaddle. Please, please, please do all of these things. They are important because they (A) meet real needs that she and her family have, (B) tell her you love her and care for her, (C) help her to make it to the next moment, and (D) encourage her that she’s not alone. These things don’t really address the heartache, but they are important. Do them. But also know that you are just doing things and things don’t heal wounds.

So here’s the bottom line:
Pray for her. Pray for peace beyond understanding. Pray for room to grieve. Pray for comfort.
Pray for her husband and family. Pray they have the right words at the right time. Pray for comfort; they’re in pain, too. Pray for abundant grace in the home. 
Pray for yourself. Pray for the wisdom to know when to stay and when to go. Pray for the Lord to speak through you. Pray for a good, delicious recipe.
Pray for her community: her neighbors, her friends, her extended family, her coworkers. Pray they are gentle towards her, whether they are aware of the situation or not.

Above all else, pray for healing. Our Lord is Jehovah-rapha, the God Who Heals. 

Psalm 147:2-5

² The Lord builds up Jerusalem;

    he gathers the exiles of Israel.
³ He heals the brokenhearted
    and binds up their wounds.
⁴ He determines the number of the stars
    and calls them each by name.
⁵ Great is our Lord and mighty in power;
    his understanding has no limit.

Thursday Stories

Today’s brave story is from a fellow blogger named Sera. Her blog, Prone to Wander, Lord, I Feel It is a joy to read. Head on over there and check out some of her amazing posts!

Stories from the Interwebs

For as long as I can remember, I have always been afraid of someone I love dying. I think it started as a fear of no longer being able to see someone and has since become no longer seeing them because they died. My first memory of this fear planting a seed was when I was in grade school. My parents were a little late to pick us up from school one afternoon and as my sisters and I sat waiting for them, I saw a plane fly overhead. All of a sudden, I started silently crying because this bizarre thought popped into my head that my parents were on that flight and I would never see them again. It wasn’t true; my parents came shortly after the plane flew away. I was young. It was an irrational thought.

Nevertheless, even though it was irrational, it has stuck with me throughout my life. While growing up, I feared losing my parents, my siblings, my cousins, my friends, my future children, and my husband. Before my husband and I got married, while we were still dating, I remember some nights when I would wake up in the middle of the night in sweats, panicking, and frantically texting him to make sure he was still alive. In the first few months of our marriage, there were times when I would be hesitant to let him go to work or to the grocery store because I was certain he would die from a freak car accident or a school shooting (he worked at a college). I would lay awake at night, consumed by my fears and in tears while he held me, comforted me, and spoke Truth back into my heart and mind.

Things changed in September 2014 when my fear came true.

My husband Matt and I found out we were pregnant on our wedding anniversary and after the initial shock of “we’re going to be parents?!”, we were thrilled and became instantly head-over-heels in love with our baby who we found out was about the size of a poppy seed. We downloaded several apps to help us keep track of our Little One’s growth and every night, as we got ready for bed, we thanked God for the gift of life and prayed that our baby’s body was growing and developing the way the apps said they should. We planned, started picking out names, and learned as much as we could about pregnancy.

Our worlds came crashing down when we went in for our first ultrasound. As we sat in the waiting room, I knew something was desperately wrong. There should not be that much bleeding this early (or ever) in a pregnancy. My husband and I sat in silence in the waiting room, holding back tears amidst the handful of joyful couples smiling and talking quietly amongst themselves. When our names were finally called, we went to the examination room and they found no heartbeat. Our baby had died two weeks previously.

Matt and I have never felt such crushing pain as we did from finding out we had lost our child. Not only did our baby die, our hopes and dreams for a future with our baby also died. (As I reflect now, I’m discovering that a miscarriage is a strange thing. Before we had our miscarriage, we knew of maybe two people who had had miscarriages. After we told our miscarriage story to the public, we received dozens of messages and emails from people telling us “we’ve been where you’ve been.”)

My heart has always been ministered to through songs and the weeks following our miscarriage, one of the ways I grieved was through songs. I searched out and listened to both Christian and secular songs that had any reference to a miscarriage. I found songs with lyrics that spoke my heart and I played them on repeat until I found the next song that reflected where I stood in my grief.

I remember the first time I realized how my fear of losing a loved one to death had come true with the death of our baby. It was a few days after the ultrasound and I immediately became more afraid, then angry, then devastated. And the fear gripped my heart even more. The days following the miscarriage, I was terrified of leaving Matt’s side. In my warped, exhausted, grieving state of mind, I was convinced that since God let our baby die, there was nothing stopping Him from letting my husband die, also. God was surely against me in that way. I was sure of it. Why else would He take our baby from us? I didn’t want to, but I lived with this extreme fear and twisted mindset for three months after the miscarriage. Every night, in my despair, I prayed that the fear would leave me and that I would not let it reign over my mind.

One day in mid-December, I was sitting at work and streaming Pandora on my phone. A song came on that I did not recognize but a few lyrics caught my attention: For You are for us, You are not against… You make me brave. I looked up the song lyrics and relistened to the song as I read the lyrics. As I listened and read, things started making sense in my brain.

“…King of Heaven, in humility, I bow as Your love, in wave after wave crashes over me, crashes over me. For You are for us, You are not against us – Champion of Heaven You made a way for all to enter in. I have heard You calling my name. I have heard the song of love that You sing. So I will let You draw me out beyond the shore into Your grace.
You make me brave, You call me out beyond the shore into the waves.
You make me brave, no fear can hinder now the promises You made.
You make me brave, no fear can hinder now the Love that made a way.”

As I listened to the song on repeat, revelations were being made to me, things I had never really thought of before. God was for me, He was not out to get me. I was so afraid after the miscarriage that I was sure one of God’s goals was to make me as miserable as possible. This song reiterated things I had heard but had not really taken to heart. God is for me. God is on my side.

As I read and heard those lyrics, a flood of other Truths and Promises came flowing back into my heart and mind: I am a conqueror and co-heir with Christ (Romans 8.17); Nothing is able to separate me from God and His love for me (Romans 8.38-39); God was right there with me through all of it – the miscarriage, the grief, the fear (Deut. 31.8); God will be with us in our future, whatever that holds.

Daily, I’m in the process of retraining my brain and my heart to be brave and not to be afraid – of the big things and the little things. Some days it’s more of a battle than others, but my battle cry (which sometimes is boldly proclaimed and other times whispered in despair) has become “He is for me, He is not against me” and “He makes me brave.”

Sera

The Teens

Last Wednesday I was on a panel with two other moms at a Teen MOPS meeting. When I first heard about the opportunity, I jumped at it. I thought, “I can be an encouragement to them. I can give good advice and have all the answers.” That was a little silly but it’s what I thought.
Then the day drew closer, and I started to get nervous. What if I said something stupid? What if I give bad advice and ruin their lives? What if I get there and suddenly realize I put my underpants on the outside my jeans? Okay, that last question was very silly but it’s still what I thought.
The day finally arrived. I changed my outfit about 15 times because I wanted to have a good balance of approachableness and intelligence.  I couldn’t figure out how to look “cool” without looking silly, since I had obviously been thinking silly lately. I finally settled on something to wear, dropped my daughter off with a friend and headed to the alternative school where Teen MOPS meet, Dr. Pepper and Skittles close by for nerves. Once there, I prayed with the other two moms and we settled in to answer questions. There were four teen moms. This was not a room full of ladies with generalized questions that could be answered broadly. This was going to be an intimate discussion between us and them. The knots in my stomach tightened, although I think the other two moms were relieved we wouldn’t be on a stage with mics.
First question was asked. How do you get things done with a toddler underfoot and a growing to-do list? I could answer this one. I listen to relaxing music when I start to feel overwhelmed by all that needs to get done. It slows my heart rate and allows me to relax while cleaning or studying or whatever else I need to do. The other two moms each answered as well, and the Teen MOPS coordinator also made a suggestion. Whew, one question down. This wasn’t so bad. A few questions down the road, though, the dread returned. One of the girls shared a little bit of her story, and it broke my heart so that I had no words. I managed to push something out of my mouth that was almost certainly gibberish, but I saw some of the mentor moms nodding their head in agreement. I must have said something worthwhile. The mom to my left answered next, then the mom to my right, although I couldn’t tell you what they said because I was too busy trying to push little pieces of my heart back into a presentable state to hear them. Then BOOM. Another portion of another girl’s story. My shards that I’d just put back together lay on the floor again. I was absolutely floored by what this young woman was trying to navigate through.  My mouth opened and things started pouring out like a cup that had tumbled over on its side.  I had no idea what I was saying, but I was praying furiously in my mind. By then end of my little spiel, I had a piece of advice that sounded good. So I repeated it a couple of times.  Then once more for good measure. A few others tried to respond, but I think we were all so taken aback that anything we could say was inadequate. This girl needed a hug. I restrained myself from getting up and hugging her, although I wish I hadn’t now. Finally, time had come to close the meeting. We were each asked to share our brave since the MOPS theme for this year is “Be You, Bravely.”  While the mom to my left spoke about her brave, I wracked my brain trying to find something inspirational and wonderful and life-changing, but then everyone was looking at me. It was my turn. I again opened my mouth unsure of what might come out. I told them of how I was trying to be confidant in telling of my heartache about losing Leonard and Sam. I told them that if I can share my heartache with others, then others might be comfortable talking about their pain, too. And if we can do that, we can be real with each other. The mom to my right shared and then it was over.
There are so many things that have come to mind that I could have said that probably would have sounded better. I could have said things differently, and had more impact, and been more intentional. Basically, buzz words bounced around in my head afternoon.
But I’m done second guessing my words. Instead I’m trusting that God spoke to those young ladies somehow through myself and the other two moms with me. God is greater than my insecurities. He makes clear the fumbles that so often cloud my speech. He makes strong my weakness. And I am exceptionally grateful.

Thursday Stories

Today’s brave story is from a friend that I have known a very long time. She has a beautiful and huge family who, though they didn’t know it, partially influenced my desire for a large family.  Cassie and her siblings have been through many trials together and are now on the adult side of life, living for Jesus. I hope you are encouraged by her story!

Stories from Houston

Bravery was not the word that came to mind when I heard that I had melanoma. I was shocked and really unsure of what was going to happen. It was my first trip ever to the dermatologist, but that was my result: melanoma on my chest. I was told that I had to go to a plastic surgeon for surgery the next week.

I went to the consultation not really knowing what to expect, and when I learned that I was going to have a three-inch incision plus all the tissue taken for an inch radius around and under the spot, I was scared. Scared of what it would look like, what the surgery would feel like with only local anesthesia, and what the healing process would be. Looking back it seems like it all happened so quickly, but while I was going through it I felt the emotional side of it all very poignantly.

My sweet then-boyfriend, now-fiancé, Levi, was very supportive and joined me in prayer for peace for my spirit. Several of my close friends and family knew about it and were praying, as were people I did not even know from Levi’s college. God gave me a peace about the whole thing that I never expected, and I walked into the surgery feeling very brave and thankful to God for the support and love He had surrounded me with.

The surgery itself was very stressful, as I could feel the surgeon working on me and… it was bad. I was very glad to be done with it, though I did not feel that I could rest easy just yet. You see, I had another spot in the same area that the surgeon thought I should get biopsied to be sure it was not melanoma as well. So I scheduled another appointment with the dermatologist and sure enough, she saw it and thought it needed to be checked.

I waited for almost a week expecting a call, when finally I received a letter in the mail saying it was a dysplastic nevus. Not a regular spot, but not melanoma either. For now, nothing further is required. I have to go back to the dermatologist every three months for a year to get checked over to make sure it does not show up somewhere else, but for now, I’m cancer-free.

I’m still dealing with the feeling of loss, but I have an amazing fiancé who is quick to assure me of his love for me even with scars and such. God is a good God, and I’m thankful for His unfailing faithfulness to me. Proverbs 31:25 was a focus for me during a time God asked me to be brave, and it’s worth sharing: “She is clothed in strength and dignity, and she laughs without fear of the future.”

Thursday Stories

Hello again! I hope you’re enjoying this series of stories as much as I am! This next story was written by a dear friend of mine who has refused to let me respond to the question “how are you? ” with “okay” or “fine” when I’m actually not. She genuinely wants to know how I am. She celebrates with me when I actually am okay, fine, or better because she knows what I went through to get there.
Her story is hard but thanks to God’s strength she has come out the other side joyful. Her courage has been a huge encouragment to me.

Stories from San Antonio

Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go. Joshua 1:9

“Hey God, it’s me again. I just want to take a minute and remind you that sometimes it is REALLY hard to do the things you ask of me. Sometimes I think it might be impossible. I mean, I know you’re there, and I know it can happen because of You, but I still just want to remind you, it’s not easy. Oh yeah, that is how you want it isn’t it…”

I know I’m not the only one who has conversations like this with God. I know I’m not the only one who looks around and says “but….” However, sometimes I wonder if I’m the only one that thinks Job had it easy, maybe building an ark would be more simple, or parting the Red Sea a bit less of a challenge than what God has set before me. But when I stop, and I really think, and I really study, and I really pray instead of just whining, I realize that no matter what God sets in front of me, I absolutely don’t want to be the one who steps away from the call and retreats to the sidelines.

“Sometimes I wonder about my life. I lead a small life – well, valuable, but small – and sometimes I wonder, do I do it because I like it, or because I haven’t been brave?” Kathleen Kelly ~ You’ve Got Mail

Sometimes I forget, it seems impossible to do, but it’s true. Sometimes I forget what I have been through, what trials and hardships I’ve had to endure. Instead sometimes I look at my life, and I think that it is small, that it is filled with drudgery, and that it is menial in the scope of God’s kingdom. Sometimes I get frustrated because I want to write a book to tell my story, and it just doesn’t happen. Then I get extra frustrated because I have felt for years that God wants me to tell my story, so why can’t I write it? That’s when I realize that telling my story can happen in a number of ways. That’s when I realize that my life isn’t small if I live it for God no matter how menial the tasks may feel. That’s when I realize that God has given me a story not only so that I can tell it, but so that I can live it. So I can walk alongside others in the hard parts of their stories and be a supporting character. Is it hard for me? Yes. Does it bring up my own hurts and open old wounds? Yes. Are we meant to live a life of ease and comfort? No.

I have spent much of my adult life wondering why I was “gifted” with the ability to see through the façade people put up, why I struggle with being overly blunt, and why it’s really hard for me to listen or observe a situation and not immediately say, “Well, duh, this is how you fix it.” Then I walked with Aly for a while.

You see, God sent me down a path, and it was dark and twisted, and full of pain, but He set me there. He blessed me with four precious babies, but He took three of them from me too soon. He took my son at 32 weeks of my pregnancy, and then He gave me a beautiful, rambunctious little girl. But then He took the next baby at only six weeks of pregnancy. And then, again, He took from me a daughter at 21 weeks of pregnancy. And that last time, that last time I should have died. But I didn’t.

“Why God, why?”

“So that you can walk with others, my child.”

So that I can sit and cry with the momma who is so anxious about her growing belly because of the fears she has for the health of that child. So I can look a friend in the eyes when they say they are “OK” just a few short weeks after a miscarriage, and I can say, “Really? Because you’re allowed to still hurt.” So that I can use my words to help others realize they are not alone, they are not the only one ever to walk through something like this, and even though it seems all is blackness, there is light, there is hope, and there can be joy again.

Are my days of bravely facing the unknown in my past? Hardly! It seems like I am again on the precipice of a huge choice – do I jump off the cliff and trust that God is there, or do I turn and walk back down the mountain that He and I have climbed? What is next for my family and me? Well, we spent the whole last year preparing our house to sell, so we could move to the country and start a farm. Then God spoke, and not in the quiet whisper I’m kind of used to, but in the loud booming, you-can’t-ignore-it voice. What did He say? Well, He told us that we weren’t moving, that we were staying right where we are for a few more years. What will we do other than go stir crazy in the house I can’t wait to get out of? Well, we are going to foster some kids, and maybe, if we’re lucky, we’ll get to adopt some, too.

P.S. You’d better believe I’m scared by this. But you know what? There is a part of me, inside somewhere, that can’t stop smiling…

Thursday Stories

Merry Christmas! Today is Thursday which means it’s story time! Today’s writer is Ora Linville. This lady is one of the bravest people I know. I hope you are as encouraged by her story as I am!

Stories from San Antonio

Bravery. This is a word that I have heard so much in the past six months. Before that, it was a word that I never really thought much about. Thanks to the MOPS, International theme for 2014-2015, “Be You, Bravely,” I have had a lot of time to consider the topic of bravery.

Those of you who know and see me on a regular basis know that I have blue hair. Seriously. I decided to put the blue streaks in in early September. I have received a lot of comments from friends and strangers alike. Some of the comments are something like, “wow!! that’s so brave!” I think I have even said, “Oh, you know, just ‘Being me, Bravely!'” However, if I’m being honest, I don’t really think that was an act of bravery for me. Gutsy, maybe, but not really brave. Perhaps letting my gray hair come in without constantly covering it up would be more brave. But, seriously, I’m only 35 – I have plenty of time to bravely embrace my gray hair!

Some would define bravery as an absence of fear. When we think of bravery, we often think of the super heroes that we grew up watching. Not only do I think this is a wrong idea of what bravery is, I think it is dangerous. The truth is that we all face fear – the types and levels of fear are different for each of us, but it is something we all deal with in this life. Fear is often a good thing, and not usually something that we need to rid ourselves of in order to be brave.

As I have been thinking more about what bravery means for me, I’m coming to the conclusion that bravery can be seen in graciously living the life God has entrusted to me regardless of whether or not it has turned out the way I had envisioned it.

As all girls do, I spent much of my childhood dreaming of what my adult life would look like: A big house that cleaned itself (those would be invented by the time I was an adult, I was sure of it), a gorgeous husband who practically worshiped me, and two perfectly behaved children who never got dirty. No financial issues, no pain, no fears. In my mind, life was going to be perfect. I won’t say that I went into marriage with the same delusions of perfection, but I did have certain expectations as I buttoned up the white dress and slipped into my beaded white shoes. I was about to walk down the aisle and commit myself to one man for the rest of my life. We would exchange vows with the promise to love, honor and cherish each other until death do us part.

Little did I realize that my soon-to-be husband had expectations of what I would be as his wife, expectations that he did not share with me until after we started settling in to life together. I moved from Texas to North Carolina right after the wedding – away from my family, my friends, my church, and really my whole life. I didn’t question it. I was a wife, and this is what a wife does for her husband. As I settled in, I noticed some little things here and there that seemed odd – he did not like me having friends outside his sphere of influence, he would not let me join Bible Study Fellowship or any other study that wasn’t done at his church, he expected me to call his mother “Mom” because “she’s your mom now.” I also noticed that any time I brought up a theological concern, he would halt conversation with, “I’m your husband and the head of this house, so this is what we will believe.” This was in stark contrast to the many theological discussions we had before marriage. He went from my sweet, caring fiance to a hard and calloused husband almost overnight. Over the course of a few short months, I learned to not open my mouth and to just internalize every hateful thing that was said about me, my faith, or my family back in Texas.

About one year into our marriage, we traveled back to Texas to visit family. My family and friends did not recognize the person I had become. Before marriage, I was happy – I smiled, I laughed, and I had a sparkle in my eye. The woman that came back to visit was extremely quiet, looked down constantly, made an innocent joke and then quickly apologized to her husband for making it, and had little life in her at all. I will forever be thankful to my family and dear friends who pulled me aside, shared their concerns with me, and asked me what was really going on. They helped me see that I was being broken down through the hateful words and unreasonable restrictions.

I went back to North Carolina with many people praying for me. . I prayed that God would soften the heart of my husband. I truly believed that God’s will would include the healing of my broken marriage. I knew that I didn’t go into the marriage lightly. I was in this for life. Things didn’t get easier. Having had my eyes opened to the emotional and spiritual abuse that I was dealing with, I was able to resist the arrows of hate that were constantly launched at me. This resistance was met with more anger from my husband and his family. On June 4th, 2007, my husband came home from work particularly angry. He ate his dinner in silence and then started letting me know all the ways I had disappointed him that day. I remember standing up and telling him that I would not take the abuse any longer. He then started throwing anything he could get his hands on. Knowing that physical abuse would likely follow if I remained in the house, I packed a few things I would need overnight and walked out.

I. Walked. Out. This wasn’t what I wanted. This wasn’t what I had prayed for. This wasn’t how my life was suppose to go. I didn’t know what was going to happen next. However, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was the right thing to do, and I stand behind that decision to this day. By March 2008, I was divorced. Divorced! As a young girl and even a newly-wed, I never could have imagined myself divorced.

I was scared out of my mind and I still did the brave thing when I walked out. God didn’t plan for me to stay married to my first husband – God had much bigger plans for me. I am so thankful that God’s ways are not always our ways! If things had gone my way, I would not be married to Michael today and I would not have my two precious children. I wish I could tell you that I have this brave thing all figured out and if you do x, y, and z, you’ll master it too. I still struggle with trust and bravery on a daily basis. Things rarely go the way I expect them to. Being brave is a process and the biggest step I can take is to give God the reigns every day and let Him drive. Maybe, just maybe I’m on my way to accepting my gray hair after all.

Thursday Stories

Hello all! It’s time for Thursday Stories again! We missed last week but the next couple of months are being prepped as you read this! Today’s brave story made a couple of tears leak out of my eyes. It is still very painful to recall my recent miscarriages. Thank you, Christy for sharing bravely! You can read her blog at butterbeesandbumbleflies.com

Stories from San Antonio

Being brave in Christ isn’t the easiest task I’ve ever been faced with. But what I have learned through being brave in Christ is that speaking (and writing) what I’m going through is incredibly healing. And that it brings life to those around me who may not have realized something vitally important – we are not alone. No man (or woman!) is an island. We CAN be found. God IS for us. And if He is for us, WHO can be against us?

 

Aly has taught me more about speaking up and sharing than she probably knows. Because just a couple of short months after I had Grayson, she had her first, and then second miscarriages. Though she carried each for a different amount of time than I carried our two angels, we have that pain in common.

 

Miscarriage is NOT something people speak boldly and bravely about. Women don’t typically come out and say, “hi, my name is Christy, I have had four pregnancies and two of my children are in Heaven.” No, miscarriage is something you don’t usually hear about until you go through it, and share with close friends. And then you start finding out how many people have been there before.

 

I really struggled emotionally. I leaned HEAVILY on my Bible study group, and on God. I questioned Him. I screamed at Him – both inside and out. I raved like a lunatic. And then, I learned to hope again. And then He took my third baby. I questioned Him. I screamed at Him – both inside and out. I raved like a lunatic – HOW ON EARTH could he take TWO babies away from me? Wasn’t it surely part of His plan to give us more than one earthly child? Hadn’t HE been the one to place this desire for multiple children in our hearts? WHY was He taking them away?

 

And then, I finally dared to hope again. We began to live our lives. And one day I very timidly took a test. And then we saw the flashing light of a beating heart on the monitor. And then we made it to 12 weeks. And then to 16. And it was a boy!! And then we made it the agonizingly long wait to 36 and he was kicking and growing and moving like a crazy man. We saw that all of his organs were perfect, and we breathed a sigh of relief. And then he arrived. Now, he’s six months old. It’s been a year and a month since our second baby would have been born. It’s been almost eleven months since our third baby would have been born.

 

And God has given me perspective. He has told me that He has great plans for Grayson’s life. THIS is the child we were meant to have on Earth. And THOSE are the children we lost for a purpose. Their short little microscopic lives HAVE PURPOSE. And meaning. They are not meant to be hidden away in the confines of a Mother and Father’s hearts. No, they are meant to be shared. I am meant to speak bravely and boldly. I’m supposed to tell them about my babies, and to give them the strength to be bold and share about theirs.

 

My grandmother lost three babies before she had my mom. But she didn’t give up. And I’m so very glad. Because if she had let one or two, or even all three miscarriages scare her away from trying desperately to have another healthy child, my mom, and subsequently me, and my children, would never have been born. Miscarriage is tough. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever been through in my life – twice. But it is NOT the end. And I’m so very glad every time I snuggle of my precious little boy, that we didn’t give up.

 

It’s my job to be a light and an encouragement to others. Miscarriage is NOT easy. The scars on a mother’s heart NEVER go away. But time can heal the pain, and provide perspective. I pray I’m always brave enough and bold enough to help others see His love – even through the tears that fall.

 

God, make me brave. Give me the words. And help me to always use them for Your Glory, and to encourage others.

The Baby

It has been a long time since I’ve posted on here. I didn’t know what to say to you. I still don’t, but I’m going to try. I am striving to be brave, so here’s my messy, ugly story that I’m going to share with you, bravely.

During worship on Wednesday night, a song played that I couldn’t sing: “You Never Let Go” by Matt Redman. I felt like God had let go of me and let go of my baby and I just… I couldn’t sing. I left instead. See, this song says that even in the trials, even in the depths of despair, the Lord is right beside me, which is absolutely true and absolutely based on Scripture. The song is actually dripping with truth, but in that tender, vulnerable, broken moment, I couldn’t believe one word of the song. I knew all these things to be true in my head, but my heart and my vocal chords could not honestly say, “still I will praise you.” I was angry with God and definitely not in a worshipful place. I couldn’t sing.

I had a miscarriage. Second one this year. I have two babies, Leonard and Sam, that I will not get to see this side of Heaven. I cry every single day because my heart is broken into a million gazillion pieces. I lost Sam a week ago, and I don’t know what to do with myself. I am more sad than I ever thought possible. Trying to move through the grieving process feels like I’ve fallen into quicksand and there is no way out.

So here’s what I’m going to do: I’m going to unsheathe my sword and fight back against all the lies that are bombarding me. Because God really never lets go, and I need to believe that again. All of my swords today are from Isaiah 40.

LIE: I’m not important enough, good enough, faithful enough to have a
big family like I’ve always dreamed about.
TRUTH: He is gently leading me, and I am close to the Lord’s heart.

¹¹ He tends his flock like a shepherd:
He gathers the lambs in his arms
and carries them close to his heart;
he gently leads those that have young.

LIE: My heart will never heal.
TRUTH: The Lord will renew my strength. My strength must
come from Him because alone, I will grow weary.

²⁹ He gives strength to the weary
and increases the power of the weak.
³⁰ Even youths grow tired and weary,
and young men stumble and fall;
³¹ but those who hope in the Lord
will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
they will run and not grow weary,
they will walk and not be faint.

LIE: God didn’t protect Leonard or Sam.
TRUTH: God has the whole world in His hands and that includes my children.

¹² Who has measured the waters in the hollow of his hand,
or with the breadth of his hand marked off the heavens?
Who has held the dust of the earth in a basket,
or weighed the mountains on the scales
and the hills in a balance?

LIE: Miscarriages happen because God
is not fully in control of this life.
TRUTH: God is the Creator, and His ways are
beyond my wildest imaginations.

²⁸ Do you not know?
Have you not heard?
The Lord is the everlasting God,
the Creator of the ends of the earth.
He will not grow tired or weary,
and his understanding no one can fathom.

Isaiah 40 is now posted next to my mirror in my bathroom. When I cry, I go to the bathroom to wash my face and get a tissue, so I figure this is the best place for it. Next time I cry, I will need to read these words again.

On to Madagascar things! After we found out we were pregnant with Sam, we prayed about when the trip should be and came to the conclusion that it would wait until after the baby was born and after I was done nursing. That put us in the summer of 2016. Several factors went into this decision. First, I prayed and prayed and was certain that was what God was telling me. Second, my hubby wasn’t comfortable with me flying around the world pregnant, and if he’s not behind me on any ministry I want to be a part of, I don’t do it. Third, Domoina preferred later rather than earlier. Her daughter is taking a major exam around the same time I was planning to travel, and she would like that time to spend with her daughter preparing for that test. Finally, the funds just weren’t there. Going sooner meant I needed the money  yesterday. So we settled on later rather than sooner with the clause that if God abundantly and clearly provided a way to go in the spring, I would leap at it and go.

But now we’re not pregnant. So, when will I be going to the ends of the earth? Well, I don’t know but here’s my current plan. When God provides the funds, I will go. I’m not going to pick a date. I’m not going to plan a thing. I will wait on the Lord. I will wait until God provides another baby for us, if that’s His will. I have three babies, and I’ve only had the opportunity to hold one of them. I am so incredibly grateful to snuggle with Amelia daily. She is amazing, and I am blessed. I will wait until God provides the funds for Madagascar. I cannot go unless God sends the money, maybe through you! If you would like to see God use your resources in Madagascar, you can donate to my Indigogo campaign. I will wait until God provides because the Lord is the Provider.

Ends of the earth, here I come! (When God provides)

P.S. I’ve been listening to You Never Let Go on repeat while writing this. I can sing it honestly, now. I will still praise Him even though I am in the valley.