The Pain I am Facing

Well, this post may take a while. Not that I'm going to edit it. I want it to be completely raw, which in turn means you're probably going to have some typos and grammatical errors. Just sayin'. But I'm just not sure how to put everything in to words. But I'm not sure that I'll ever completely know how to put it into words.

So over the past couple of weeks I know I've mentioned I've been having a rough time. (You can read those posts here, here, and here.) And though some of it has been going on for a while due to familial situations that have arisen, all of that hasn't even been on my plate lately. Though what has been going on did feel like the straw that broke the camel's back. Because it was piled on top of an already very full plate.

Anyway, I guess I should clue you in what I'm talking about:

Just a few short weeks ago, Ben and I found out we were expecting baby #2. SURPRISE! (God loves to throw those into our picture. No we weren't trying.) Funny enough, God really gave me a peace about where we were and all the financial questions that began to toss around in my mind, and probably Ben's mind as well considering he is our sole provider. Though I wasn't sure what it would look like to grow our family by one and I definitely was wondering if I was fully capable of loving two children, knowing that I would want to and probably love this child just as much as I love Zoë, in his or her own unique way but none less than I love  her, I wasn't all that scared about upcoming arrival of a second child. I hadn't reached the "excited" phase, but I just felt completely at peace.

God had cared for us with bringing Zoë into our lives. Though it wasn't how I would have pictured it (Ben having two jobs, budget being stretched to the nth degree, etc, etc), we were never in need. Zoë was healthy aside from acid reflux, which medicine took care of. We had two cars, health insurance, a roof over our head, food on the table. We were good. Cared for. Completely.

And so God gave me that reminder to hang tight to. As well as parts of Psalm 127 that were stuck in my head. "Children are a gift from the Lord...blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them" were on repeat.  It was His word holding me steady. I might not have felt ready, but I knew that God's timing is always better than mine. His plans are better for me and are definitely not done my way (see Jeremiah 55:8).

And so I released it all to Him. I remember constantly praying, "God, this life is yours. A gift to me. Use it as you see fit. If that means a healthy child, then do so. If that means taking this life earlier than I would desire, then do so. If that means allowing this life to live with any type of disability or health issue, then do so. Whatever will bring you the most glory, that is what I want." It wasn't easy saying those words, because even though I knew I had no control over the outcome, whether or not I said them, I wasn't saying it wishing for my child to die or to be born with a disability or health issue. And in my heart of hearts, I hoped that He would allow the baby to be healthy and join us in mid-November. But more than that, I wanted whatever would bring Him the most glory.

And because I know the drill: find an OB, tell the family, continue PNVs (I was still on them because Zoë wasn't completely weaned yet), high protein-low (straight) carb diet (for me anyway, because straight carbs make me put on the pounds when I'm pregnant), I began the process. I made a phone call to my insurance to see if some recommended OBs were in network. I went out to purchase a "Big Sister" tee so we could have Zoë open it at her birthday party as the announcement. (We kept Zoë's party extremely small to a few close friends and Ben's and my parents.) And of course I made all the at home changes I could go ahead and work on to ensure I was taking care of myself and the baby as much as I could. I fully embraced the pregnancy and everything that meant for me in that time.

I even started to dream.

But shortly after I had found out and began readying myself, I began bleeding. And I knew. I knew that the little life residing inside of me was meant to only be with me for a few short weeks and long before it ever knew life outside the womb. I knew that God had allowed this to happen, though I still do not and may never know the why.

I was only able to deny it for a few short hours. I denied it because I called my OB back home, as I hadn't found one in Houston yet, who said bleeding could be normal, take it easy, and if severe cramping and/or bleeding became heavier then and only then did I need to go to the ER. I denied it because even when I drove to the ER in the pouring rain, I didn't have a diagnoses. I denied it because the doctor in the ER told me my hCG levels didn't really tell them whether or not I was miscarrying or still in the early phases of pregnancy (even though I was aware of the fact that levels had to be higher than that for a home test to read positive). I denied it because everything in me wanted to hope for a miracle and to find out later that maybe my tests were mixed up with someone elses or that the home test somehow picked up the low levels.

But I knew. Oh how I knew. I even told Ben, as I walked out the door into the pouring rain at 2 am, "God is crying for us. He knows our pain." My heart was breaking and it was trying to find any way to not recognize the pain and sorrow that I would have to embrace with the reality of what was facing us. And if only to confirm, the diagnoses on the discharge papers read "abortion - spontaneous vs. ectopic". (I feel it necessary to put here that I believe life starts at conception and I believe that a chosen abortion is killing a life. In medical terms, a miscarriage is an abortion. It rocked my boat to see that as I wasn't aware of that. And I think it also put much more sorrow in my heart over the entire situation I was faced with. I will have to visit that later...if I remember to.) There was no denying between my heart and my eyes fixed on those final words.

I had miscarried the baby. (By the way, I am no fan of that last sentence as, to me, it makes it sound like I could have done something to change it. I'm not sure why I feel it says that, but I've have to work through knowing that it just the phrase we know to let those around you know you are no longer pregnant.)

There were some other situations that transpired allowing me to confirm the miscarriage of the baby. Some very personal and dear to me. Nothing that I feel open to share. Others mere tests that confirmed I had miscarried.

And though I know I do not share the hardness of a miscarrige that is further along, having cared for this little one for almost 7 weeks was enough for me to be connected. I still cry over the loss. I hate knowing that a cabinet full of burp cloths ready to be stored (yes, I still hadn't put them away from use for Zoë) contains a special t-shirt for Zoë that she won't get to wear yet. One that she will never wear for this little life that graced our lives and then said good-bye much sooner than I would have chosen.

My heart hurts.

My arms ache as I miss the life that was supposed to be placed in them this coming November.

I have had many doubts about life after death for unborn children. Really children period. Thankfully, I have come to the place where though I won't have a black-and-white answer this side of Heaven, my God can be trusted. He is loving. He is just. And He never changes. With that in mind, I choose to believe that effects how He handles the soul of a child.

I have struggled with anger at God for taking this life that I was so ready to care for and teach about Him and His love for us.

I have wanted to close myself in for days and hope that I could completely empty my mind.

There have even been moments that I have selfishly wished God would allow me to be taken from this earth, that my time to go home would be now.

This is what I have been facing. And yet as you have seen in the previous posts (if you haven't read them yet, the three posts I linked earlier are what I'm referring to), I am clinging to a God who is unchanging and trustworthy. A God who knows my pain and my sorrow and who is walking beside me through this storm. Though I wish that I could say it was under different circumstances, I am watching my faith deepen before my eyes.

God is good.

Please understand, my ability to continue to believe in God is purely by His amazing grace. I cry at every church service I go to and am barely able to speak the words in all the songs I once so boldly sang. And yet, I know that if I were to leave the service I would be running from the entire situation, really life itself and God.

I am also not saying that God did this to me. Yes, He allowed it to happen, but it may very well have been an attempt of the Enemy to put a stronghold in my life. It could also just be a repurcussion of the choice Adam and Eve made at the beginning of our world (see Genesis 3). I'm not sure which but I am sure of this, God did not look down from Heaven, see Ben and myself preparing for this life and say, "Yep. I'm going to take their baby." This was never His desire when He created the world and so from spending time in the word, I believe that He doesn't choose people to inflict pain on. That is a part of the effects of sin entering the world after Adam and Eve chose to disobey Him.

Know that I am open to questions. I reserve the right to not answer them, but for the most part, I want to be open about this. I know I am not the only one who has faced this struggle as I have heard too many times in the past few weeks "1 in 4 women miscarry". (I now find myself thinking "Yeah, yeah, yeah...blah blah blah. Please. I don't want to hear that...again!) If you don't want to ask it publicly, you may e-mail me. Just click on my contact page. The information is there.

But above everything you may have read on here, I feel I need to end this by saying one more time, if more so for my sake than for yours:

God is good.