My Miscarriage and How I Nearly Missed a Blessing

I was recently thinking about pride when a new acquaintance said to me, "I have a hard time accepting favors from people. It's not that I'm prideful." Why else would a person be unable to accept a gift, favor, or graciousness from another? Does it really all come down to that? Pride?

Let me recall the summer of 2007 . . .

I was 3.5 months pregnant and happy to be over the "hump." You know, the three-month "everything should be fine now" hump. I was feeling great when I headed in for a check-up appointment. In fact, I was feeling so great that I didn't really feel pregnant, but rather normal. I shared this with my doctor, who unbeknownst to me was immediately alarmed. She searched for a heartbeat to no avail, then led me to the ultrasound machine, which confirmed my worst fear. I had miscarried. My body didn't trigger any obvious symptoms when the baby had died roughly two weeks previously, so I had no idea. I sat there with my 7-year-old son in the room, trying to be as stoic as possible, but I was devastated. We had tried for 5 years to have more children. I would have to have a D&C the following Monday and so would have to spend the weekend knowing the baby inside me had died and was still there. It was a horribly emotional time, exacerbated by the fact that a good friend came home during that time with her newborn baby girl. My heart broke as I held her on Saturday, only days after my appointment and two days before my scheduled surgery.

Sunday morning I awoke numb. I tried half-heartedly to get myself ready for church so that I could lead the music. I knew my friend would be there with her baby and felt certain that I would not be able to sing a clear note through tears. Others would be there to celebrate the gift of life - the life of my friend's precious baby girl. There was no doubt in my mind that I would distract from what should be a joyous occasion. I opted not to go to church.

Minutes after the service should have begun, there was a knock at our door. Much to my surprise, it was Chaplain Shafer! Why was he not at the service, leading his flock? He stepped into our living room and asked how I was feeling. Again, stoicism kicked in and I tried to hide the extent of my pain. I shared with him my concern about distracting from the miracle of the newest edition to our church. I also think I didn't want anyone to see me in my emotional state. I was supposed to be someone strong in their faith, but where was it then? I thought I was lacking and didn't want to show myself so weak in faith. What he said to me next opened my eyes to a truth that hadn't even occurred to me. He said I understand your reason for not coming and respect your decision. He went on to ask me if I didn't think it was possible that the love our church had was enough to both rejoice in the birth of a child and mourn the death of another? I was taken aback at the thought. We prayed together and he walked out to join our congregation, already roughly twenty minutes into the service.

I sat for a moment and cried, convicted that I was not where God wanted me to be. I was the sheep going astray, whom the pastor left the 99 for and went to find. I shot upstairs, threw my shoes on, and ran to the chapel up the street. I walked in wearing shorts, a t-shirt, sneakers, no make-up, and swollen eyes - stripped bare of any facade. I realized that there was no reason to hide myself away or present myself as unfazed.

My friend, holding her new baby, met me ten steps into the sanctuary and wrapped her arms around me. We held each other, both crying, as we sang the last verse of a hymn into one another's ears. Afterward, the whole church sat back down. I made my way to the second pew and took a seat with my head hanging low. I was trying to dry my tears when I noticed that the entire congregation began standing and one by one moved to take seats all around me and my friend. Within a moment, the hands of so many who loved me began to touch my shoulders and arms and that of my friend too. The chaplain stopped in his tracks and came forward. As all my brothers and sisters in Christ surrounded us, the chaplain prayed. I'd never felt so loved.

I cried softly off and on through the rest of the service. During the service, the words of a Casting Crowns song came to my mind, "Praise You in This Storm."

I was sure by now, God, that You would have reached down
and wiped our tears away,
stepped in and saved the day.
But once again, I say amen
and it's still raining
as the thunder rolls
I barely hear You whisper through the rain,
"I'm with you"
and as Your mercy falls
I raise my hands and praise
the God who gives and takes away.

Chorus:
And I'll praise you in this storm
and I will lift my hands
for You are who You are
no matter where I am
and every tear I've cried
You hold in your hand
You never left my side
and though my heart is torn
I will praise You in this storm

I remember when I stumbled in the wind
You heard my cry to You
and raised me up again
my strength is almost gone how can I carry on
if I can't find You
and as the thunder rolls
I barely hear You whisper through the rain
"I'm with you"
and as Your mercy falls
I raise my hands and praise
the God who gives and takes away

Chorus

I lift my eyes onto the hills
where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth
I lift my eyes onto the hills
where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth

Chorus

The service was coming to an end and I asked the chaplain if I could share my heart with the congregation. I could barely speak, but what I shared was this:
My heart is broken and I've cried until I feel my heart will stop beating. Living with a baby inside me who is no longer living is nearly unbearable. I don't understand. I may never understand. BUT, I know I can't thank God for the good times and curse Him in the bad. Like the song says, ". . . my strength is almost gone how can I carry on if I can't find You? And as the thunder rolls I barely hear You whisper through the rain 'I'm with you'. And as Your mercy falls I raise my hands and praise the God who gives and takes away." I will praise God even through this.

The service ended with the whole congregation gathered at the front of the church, wrapped in each other's arms, crying tears of both pain and joy. At that moment, I realized a very important lesson. Had I not gone to church, I would have robbed my brothers and sisters in Christ of an opportunity to be there for me, to love me, share my burden, and live their faith in Christ. How could I have taken that from them when I have been blessed in the past to be there for others? I didn't realize until then that my not being at church, though understandable and forgivable, was actually selfish. My stoicism was prideful and nearly stole from me the blessings God had in store for me as a result of the "storm."

I prayed and asked God to remove my desire for more children until such a time that it was His will, not mine if in fact that day ever came. Not only did He take away my yearning, but He placed a thankfulness in my heart that I had not given birth. My heart did a complete 180 - I was actually relieved! I began to embrace being a mom of one and feeling truly blessed. This was August of 2007. 

More than a year later, in October 2008, I began to feel stirrings of motherhood again. I prayed again and asked God to turn my heart if it was His timing. We began trying again in November to get pregnant and learned in December that we were indeed pregnant. In January we found we were pregnant with twins. I felt it was God's way of blessing us because of our miscarriage. He loved, healed, and restored me.

There are many things about life that I will never know or understand, but one thing is sure - I will continue to raise my hands to the one who gives and takes away, for it's His will, His plan, and not mine that is perfect and that I should strive for.