Everything That Happened


Let me just start by saying that no, it wasn’t just you, my blog really and truly did disappear.

I took the blog away (or rather, My Beloved took it away, since I couldn’t find the right buttons) shortly after my last post, for the simple reason that I didn’t want to be tempted to say things that would be less than edifying for others, injurious to my own testimony, or Just Plain Ugly.

I was in the throes of the worst week of my life, for reasons varied and complex. I had started spotting. The sonogram showed no growth, and no heartbeat. It was to be a repeat of the last four pregnancies after all.

I wrestled with God. I punched, kicked, hit, screamed, cried, called Him names, and basically threw the biggest temper tantrum you can imagine. And then I walked away. I told Him we were through.

I don’t expect everyone to understand. I don’t entirely understand it myself. Why should a ninth miscarriage send me over the edge when the eighth had me clinging to Him in trust? I don’t know. It just did.

I hated the expectation that I would be all right. The way people would say you have such a strong faith. I know you’ll come through this all right. Oh how angry I was at that. I didn’t want to be all right with this. This was not all right with me.

But here’s the thing. He never gave up on me, though I had given up on Him. He continued to woo me through the whole week. I could hear His voice. I plugged my ears and sat in the corner, rocking and banging my head on the wall, but I could still hear Him. He said


I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t believe it. He was supposed to know how much I could take, yet He obviously didn’t.


Who can resist Him?

On the seventh day I woke up in the early dawn of the morning. The breeze through my bedroom window was intensely sweet with springtime.

It seems crueller somehow, to miscarry in the spring when all the world is bursting into life.

The trees were rustling their branches. The birds were tweetering busily. I had seen them lose their babies over and over to storms and crows and squirrels and yet there they were, at it again, building their nests and planning for the future.

Stupid birds. I didn’t want to be that stupid anymore.

But then I thought of all the people I knew who had lost babies and children at all stages of their lives and yet clung to the Hope that He offers. People in WWII who had lost all their sons to the conflict and yet proclaimed His goodness. People who held onto their joy, who were still letting Him use them. I didn’t call them stupid. I called them inspirational.

I decided I was tired of being shaken by trauma and tragedy. I wanted to get to the place where hard times didn’t make me question and doubt. God’s own word tells me to expect tribulation. Yet I never do. I want that to change. I want to say with the apostles that these are light and momentary troubles when compared to the glory that is in Jesus Christ.

I didn’t understand. I don’t understand.  There is a lot I don’t understand. My eyes do not see far enough, and my heart does not have the capacity to fathom what His love is doing behind the scenes that play out on this terrestrial plane.

But I can still trust Him.

Who can resist Him?

Not me.

I will proclaim His mercy as long as I live. He truly holds us in the palm of His hand…gripping us so tightly that we leave an imprint there. When we are His, we cannot leave, this I firmly believe. We can lose our testimony and our ministry. We can walk through life in defeat and cynicism, but we are His. He has laid claim to us.

He is faithful when we are faithless, for He cannot deny Himself.

All this shifted into my heart with a soft plunk that morning.

And then I went to the OB for my follow-up.

Off to the OB for my weekly dose of humility and despair I said as I left.

How are you feeling? He asked me, like a moron.

Terrible. I said. I feel horrible.  (I have bile reflux and let me just tell you, mine was not a happy stomach that week)

He gave me a strange look.

Your hormone levels were high. He said. Any more bleeding?

Not yet.

I was contemplating a D & C for the first time, ever. I firmly believe in letting the body do its thing; I know it’s best hormonally and physically, but I had some plans coming up that could have been seriously derailed by my body deciding that that weekend was the best time to eject the remains of my baby.  Plans that had been in the works for six months at least. It didn’t seem fair to the children counting on me for these plans to hope for better timing.

Let’s take one more look. He suggested. Sometimes…

NO. I cut my brain off before it listened to anymore. I was not getting one of those “sometimes”. Not even going to go there.

Room dark, gooey belly, wand placed, and boom. A baby. With a beating heart. Waving at me.

Oh. my OB said dumbly. We’re all right after all.

But I was not all right. Far from it. I was bawling. What a week! I said.

I…I’m so sorry…he stammered. 

I contemplated kicking him in the gonads. But only for a minute.

The baby’s growth was perfectly on target, yet again. I went home with a print out that looks like a foggy peanut and no small bit of awe  in my heart.

I don’t know what happened. I don’t know if she was hiding, or if the Lord simply started her heart again. It doesn’t matter. What matters is what I learned.

He is full of surprises.

He is able to do exceedingly, abundantly, above all that we could ever ask or think.

And sometimes He does.

And when He doesn’t, He is still good. He is still God. And He is always, and forever, mine.