On September 2nd, we found out we were somewhat unexpectedly, pretty miraculously, expecting baby #2. On September 12th, there were some concerns. The following day, we lost the baby; I had a miscarriage.
It is one of those things that I always knew was possible but never thought would happen to me. I struggle with feelings (as in, I hate them, ha), but I worked hard to give myself room to grieve the first week or two: I kept my expectations for myself low, I kept the amount of grace I was giving big. I went for walks and made simple meals, I took naps and did only basic chores, I didn't put pressure on myself to produce.
But when the calendar turned to October, I thought to myself, "Okay, time to move on. That was last month."
On Sunday, the calendar turns again. This time, it turns to the month I was due with our second baby. In a cruel turn of events, a day that was once a banner of redemption for me- Mother’s Day- is a day that I once again dread.
It makes me angry. And it breaks my heart.
Jesus is not afraid of my anger or grief. And He's not afraid of yours. Whatever is making you sad or afraid or angry right now, He knows. He knows, and He understands. And He can be trusted.
I would have told you that before and known it to be true. But now, I can know it as someone who has been in a pit of despair, who has cried and yelled and flailed her arms at Him. My flailing arms have been caught by His nail-scarred hands every time.
Back in September, on the same trip to Target that I was buying pads, I bought a pair of newborn pajamas. As I pushed those two opposing things around in my buggy, I prayed. I told God I trust Him with this baby, and I trust Him with our family. I prayed Psalm 118:17, that this baby would not die but live. I told Him He could do it. He prevented death when it should have been inevitable in the natural, and He has raised the dead, and I believe He could do it again.
And then the unthinkable happened.
And I lost my baby anyway.
And now that pajama is in the drawer in my nightstand.
What do I do with that?
Some would tell me I didn't believe hard enough, but I don't think so. I cannot manipulate the hand of God by believing "good enough." My faith is not one of manifesting or of being enough. My faith rests in Christ alone.
My faith is one that says "even if" and "even now."
Even if You don't, God.
Even now that You didn't, God.
I still trust You.
I still believe You are righteous in all Your ways and kind in all Your works. (Psalm 145:17)
Some would tell me I feel a little bit like Peter in John 6:68. Some followers of Jesus are leaving Him, and Jesus asks the twelve if they're going to go, too. And Peter says, "Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life..."
Where else would I go? I can’t go anywhere else. Jesus is it for me.
What does that mean for our family? Whatever the Lord decides is best.
So for all who've wondered or even asked if Selah is our only one, yes and no. Yes, because she's the one in our house. No, because I've had two pregnancies now. Yes, because even if God gave us half a dozen kids, I don't have the capacity to dream up even one child as amazing as the one I have. No, because I think God made her to be a sister.
I don't have answers, and even if I did, I don't think they would feel good enough. Answers would not change reality: I was pregnant, and now I'm not. I planned to bring a baby home on Mother’s Day, and now I'm not. Answers wouldn't change our circumstances or pain.
I don't have answers, but I do have Jesus. He really is enough. He’s the anchor of the hope that I have.
One of my favorite verses in all of Scripture is about hope. In Zechariah 9:12, God says, “Return to your stronghold, O prisoners of hope; today I declare that I will restore to you double.”
Zechariah 9 is talking about the coming of Jesus, both the first and second coming, and even references our righteous and victorious King coming to his people on a donkey (verse 9, a prophecy fulfilled in the first coming of Christ in Matthew 21:5 and John 12:15). Jesus’ reign and rule are over the earth and everything in it, and He declares He will restore double to His people.
As amazing as that sounds, and as much as I know it is true, it sometimes feels hard to believe when you’ve lost a baby. Or a marriage. Or a job with no new one in sight. Or a home that someone else now lives in. Or a family, fractured beyond repair. Or a friendship, when someone you loved like a sister is now someone you don’t even recognize. Or a childhood, and now you’re grown and there’s no going back.
It feels hard to believe, because the reality is no one on Earth can give me back what I lost. Even if, someday by the grace of God, we have more children, that will not give me back the baby I lost. Dear reader, I know there are things that have been taken from you, too, that no one on Earth can give back.
But Christ, who is before all things, He can restore in ways that are impossible in the natural. Through Jesus, because of who He is and what He has done, we won’t only get them back, we’ll get back double!
I don’t actually know how this works or what it will look like, and I don’t pretend to. I don’t know what parts of my story I’ll get to see restored on Earth, and what parts will only be made right in eternity. All I know is that one day, because of Jesus, it will all be restored. To paraphrase Tim Keller, everything sad will become untrue.
This week, turn your gaze to Hope Himself. Instead of beating yourself up or bowing out when you lose focus, return. Over and over in Scripture, God calls His people to return. (Note: He would not need to tell people to return if they never got off track.) I pray this is my posture this week, this season, this life: turning and returning my focus to Jesus, who is Hope personified.
Return to your stronghold (your refuge, your safe place), fellow prisoner of hope. He’s making all things new...and that means us, too.
God, you are the God of hope. Please fill us with joy and peace as we trust in You, so that we overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. You are our refuge. We praise You, the Maker of all things new, the Restorer of all the broken things. We give You the things we’ve lost, and we trust You to restore them to better than before. Lord, may it be so.