Our baby was supposed to be almost 16 weeks along when we went for our third ultrasound appointment. My husband and I had returned home a few days before, having been overseas on a work trip (for him)/ tag-along vacation (for me). We had been in Israel for the first time, walking along the beach of the Mediterranean Sea each evening, and strolling thru Old Jerusalem and Tel Aviv during the days. I was able to place my hand on the spot that maybe, possibly was the birthplace of Jesus. We walked slowly along the Via Delarosa. Then we flew thousands of miles in the sky back to our own bed and our own bathroom and all those other familiar comforts of home.
It was a Friday afternoon and the skies were grey and rainy. We saw her little profile for the first time and she truly looked like her own little person in there. I asked, “Shouldn’t we be able to hear the heartbeat?” It was several more minutes and another midwife brought in to check and double check. And then the words I’ll never forget, “I’m so sorry, Sara. There’s no heartbeat or bloodflow. Your baby is already gone.”
Two days prior, the song “Even If,” by the group MercyMe, had played on the radio and I sang along to the words I had only recently heard when a friend shared the music video on Facebook. “It’s easy to sing when there’s nothing to bring me down. What will I say when I’m held to the flame like I am right now? I know You’re able and I know You can save through the fire with Your mighty hand. Even if You don’t, my Hope is You alone. I know the sorrow and I know the hurt would all go away if You’d just say the word. Even if You don’t, my Hope is You alone.” I don’t know if that was premonition, or if it was the Holy Spirit gently preparing my heart. Because in that moment, laying on that table at the midwives office, I had a choice. And for the next two weeks–especially–I had a choice. At first going through labor and delivery, giving birth to my first tiny baby girl who’s soul had already gone home to Jesus, having emergency surgery and then going home with empty arms…preparing for a funeral in which my husband and I, not yet married a full 9 months, would be burying our baby…having my milk come in, crying in pain and weeping in sorrow…in all this, I had a choice.
As Elisabeth Elliot asks in her writings, “Would I shake my fist at God, or would I run to Him?” Would I blame God for taking my baby, or would I thank Him for the gift of life, the gift of knowing I could be pregnant, the gift of knowing that this nearly flat-chested, self-conscious girl could produce quite a lot of milk actually? (Many moms who give birth even at full term never have much milk. But here, God was giving me hope for future babies in the midst of my loss and sadness.) Would I thank my Heavenly Father, who himself had lost His only Son for a time, for what would become one of the most precious experiences of my life thus far, something that would bind my gentle and loving hubby and I together like nothing else in this world ever could?
[clickToTweet tweet=”As Elisabeth Elliot asks in her writings, ‘Would I shake my fist at God, or would I run to Him?'” quote=”As Elisabeth Elliot asks in her writings, ‘Would I shake my fist at God, or would I run to Him?'” theme=”style1″]
By God’s mighty grace and through the prayers and encouragement of many saints, I clung tightly to God and His hope and peace. As a woman with a super sensitive personality, one who fights near daily with anxious, negative thought cycles, who feels things so keenly…I had to choose to look to God, choose to not rely on my feelings, choose to trust and hope and even to keep praying. To paraphrase again from Elisabeth Elliot, “So much of this life is the daily choosing to trust and obey, letting the warm fuzzy feelings follow after, if they come at all.” I can’t wait till I have no doubts before I trust fully in my Heavenly Father.
The beauty in all of this for me is that when I’m thankful in spite of it all, God shows me good gifts and little mercies in the midst of it all. I have found the mercy of knowing I’m not alone in my journey…that there are countless other moms who have also lost their babies too soon; a club of sorts that we find ourselves in most reluctantly. We live in a broken world, waiting for redemption. Life is going to be painful and messy and traumatic; there’s no doubt about that. But I can choose to link arms with those around me, sharing my story, listening to theirs, crying together, walking together, and growing and healing together. I have also seen the gift I’ve been given of being able to not only sympathize but truly empathize with my fellow mamas suffering through postpartum depression. Due to the trauma I went through, as well as hormones being quite out of whack, my journey has led through some very dark days of depression. I now know the most wonderful help of a wise and skilled professional counselor. A therapist that one meshes well with and can open up to so vulnerably is a mercy and grace and gift all rolled into one.
My husband and I have seen the treasure that is friendship lived out as dear ones near and far have held out their hands to hold us up and offered their shoulders for us to cry on. When we first shared the news at Easter of a Koshy baby on the way, there was shock and awe and so much rejoicing. I wanted to tell our family and friends sooner rather than later, because I always figured that that would mean more people praying for a healthy mama and baby. There was the temptation to regret this decision a few months later. But what is the use of true friends if they are only there to rejoice in the happy times? To have someone to share in our sorrows is the glue and reassurance we all desperately need in this life. To be able to write to a friend and say, “Hey, today is a really bad day, and I miss my baby and I miss carrying her in my tummy and being able to place my hand there and tell her ‘Good Morning! Mommy loves you.’ Would you please pray for me?” This is what I give thanks to God for. For friends and for family and for my husband, especially, who has proved himself over and over as my steadying anchor and calming embrace. When we said our vows, committing ourselves to each other, “In sickness and in health, in joys and in sorrow…” I would bet quite a lot of money neither one of us thought the sorrow part would come so soon. But this is life. This is living. This is what we all must walk on this pilgrim journey.
And so God’s grace has been sufficient in all of this. He has been faithful and He will always be faithful. I give thanks that I can trust Him, I can lean into Him, knowing that “all I have needed, [His] hand hath provided.” In my trusting, I must know and believe that what He gives to me is for my best. It obviously won’t always be what I want, or when I want it. But I will always be able to look back and see my Heavenly Father’s hand and that hidden thread of God weaving His story in my life. For all of this, I give thanks.
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To read more of our 31 days of Thanksgiving posts, you can visit here.
About the Author: I’m a newlywed-ish housewife to my bearded teddy bear of a husband, living in Fort Worth, Texas. After many years of being a nanny and doing volunteer work with a Christian ministry in Ireland, I met my husband thanks to a chocolate pecan pie I had baked. I love to visit new places and meet new people and re-read old books.
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