Strength in Weakness

The last few months have been hard. Some days are harder than others, but overall... hard. I've realized so much weakness in my life — my deep need for God. These last few months seem to have been filled with personal tragedy. While in my own life I've felt much grief, I look around and see others rejoicing and celebrating, and in my weakness I struggle to enter into their joy because I feel overwhelmed with sorrow. I sometimes wonder if all the joyful celebrations are just the easy things to see, that if I was to look harder I would see the sadness that's prevalent in the lives of so many. I am beginning to realize that there is so much grief and toil in this world, and it doesn't get talked about as much.  That's why I decided to write this. Grief can be lonely and no one should feel alone in their sorrow.

For those of you who don't know, Jordan and I announced not long ago that we would be welcoming a new baby into our family. We were so excited and ready to welcome another child. Unfortunately, almost as soon as we announced our Joy, we had to share our grief when we discovered that our baby had gone up to heaven. What most people don't know is what occurred after that. It's not a comfortable thing to ask about or to talk about. Engaging others in the trials of their lives is hard, and maybe even frowned upon. "Why would you bring that up?", you might ask of someone. I felt like a dark cloud in every one else's joy-filled lives — a sad thought in the middle of a joyous celebration. No one engages the dark cloud, because, if you do, it might rain, and then you'd be all wet. I'm not sure if that's an accurate description of how people interact with the grieving, but that was my perspective and how I felt about myself and others view of me the few weeks and months following our loss. Come to think of it, it's probably how I interacted with others that I knew were suffering and grieving previously. It's a hard thing to engage. I get that.

A few weeks after we lost our baby, whom we named Joy, we discovered the medical reasons why she did not make it. I had the procedure called a D&C, where they suction and scrape your uterous and remove your precious child's remains. It was traumatic for me. It was awful. Afterward, they apparently don't just discard the remains, but they study and investigate what happened. It's called pathology. I suppose it gave me some peace and relieved my guilt surrounding the reasons why I miscarried. It answered the "What did I do wrong?" question, but, for the most part, it only caused me more grief and anxiety.

What I experienced was called a Partial Molar Pregnancy. They said in addition to the sweet baby in my womb, there was also a molar growth. This growth can continue to grow even after the baby is removed and would need to be treated as cancer with chemo therapy. When the pathology report came back with this information and the nurses and doctors said words like "cancer", "chemo", and my favorite, "Don't even think about getting pregnant again right now!",  I started to feel like I would combust or melt into a sad pile on the floor, feeling utterly empty and useless. I had to go into the doctor's office once a week for a few months to follow my HCG levels down completely to zero. I couldn't walk in without remembering my baby that I lost. I was faced with many, many, many other pregnant women. Come to think of it, it's easier to name those I knew who were not pregnant than the ones who were. I gave over to bitterness and jealousy. I decided I had nothing to be thankful for, and that I would wallow in my pity party because it was better than being forced to enter into life's festivities. I wanted to stay in my sorrow. I wanted to remember my baby, and I didn't want anyone to interfere with my grief. I felt the world had moved on. I received a flood of help, support, kindness, and beautiful, touching cards and notes in the next few days and weeks after the miscarriage, but once those stopped, I was still being poked and prodded at by doctors each week and began feeling helpless and alone. I felt robbed of my grief and forced into worry. Worry of chemo, of the inability to conceive again, of living through my due date empty. I was a mess. I think I must have put on a good face because no one seemed to know how messed up I was, and I kept hearing how well I was handling everything. No one seemed to see how I was spiraling out of control.

There was One who saw my spiraling. He saw my anger, bitterness, and jealousy. He saw it, and I know I grieved Him. He saw my darkened heart, and he saved me from it. It was painful, and my sin during my grief hurt those around me. God has shown me great mercy, has forgiven me for my sin, and pulled me out of the pit of despair I so willingly plummeted into. It's a place I never want to return. I still cry. I still felt the emptiness of my womb and the longing for another child, but I know I am not alone and never will be. I want to encourage anyone who is going through something hard to remember that. If you feel alone, God is near and wants to draw you near. Sometimes, it's hard and seems unfair to have to let go of what we're holding onto, but once we surrender it to God, He is faithful to comfort you! What an amazing God!

God protected me from complications. I sometimes wonder if all our fancy medical advancements are really good. I know that good has come from medicine and lives have been saved and changed — don't get me wrong. I, however, had no health problems and did not need any further poking. Whether I had a PMP or not, the end result was the same as if I had a standard-already-devastating-enough miscarriage. All went back to normal. If we had never found out about PMP, then I would be right where I was, except with a lot less anxiety and more blood. Sometimes, I think we try to know too much.

Anyway, here I am, almost five months after the loss of my second child and fearing the loss of my third. We found out that I was pregnant again July 24th, when we were on our 6th Anniversary trip in Lake Tahoe. This was happy news, but not like my other pregnancies. This one was heavier… scarier… unsure. I didn't know what to do. Before miscarrying, I excitedly announced to my whole family my happy news. This time, I was afraid to allow this news to fill my heart with joy. I was afraid to hope and accept this gift. If I loved this gift as much as I loved the last gift, then if it get's taken away, it will hurt badly again. It was a process. I finally began to tell people, the reality of our news set in, and my excitement and joy grew. I wanted to accept this gift and trust God with it. So I did… finally.

We have had two ultrasounds now. The first confirmed I was pregnant, but we were not able to see the sweet little one because it was too early. It ruled out other concerns that the doctor had about complications from my previous miscarriage and confirmed pregnancy. It was happy news. I was disappointed that I didn't see the heart beating away, but I made peace with that and began to get really excited. The next ultrasound was the difficult one. It was two weeks later than the first and it showed no real change. No baby to marvel at. "Now what?", I wondered. "What does this mean? Is there any hope that I will be the mother to this child?" There is. There is some. We were told that either our dates are way off, and we are not as far along as we thought, or we are experiencing a blighted ovum, and this pregnancy will result in another miscarriage. Not what I was hoping for.

I switch between feeling hopeful for this child to feeling devastated. I have very few symptoms of pregnancy, and that worsens my fear. Memory of our miscarriage gives me hope and strength. I know that God is strong and will get me through this trial as well. As I wait, pray and hope for Friday September 6th, when we have our third ultrasound, I know that I will trust the Lord. I pray that, no matter what, I am able to bring Him glory. I pray that, no matter what, I will not go down into the pit I so foolishly chose last time around. I pray that he fills me with His spirit and gives me a mind set on Him, His glory, and His kingdom. I have a hope! I have victory in Him! I am his precious child, and no matter the trials I face on this earth, I have a reason to rejoice. I rejoice in the kingdom I will one day share with my Jesus, my Father, and my God.

I am not perfect. I am scared. I am pleading with the Lord to give me this child — to have even more mercy on me. What I am is filled with hope in God.


If you think to pray for us, we would so appreciate it.

May the God of Hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope! — Romans 15:13

Why are you cast down, Oh my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise Him, my salvation and my God. — Psalm 42:5

Therefore, humble yourselves under the mighty hand of God, that he may exalt you at the proper time, casting all your anxieties on Him because he cares for you. — 1 Peter 5:6-7