So many women have so many stories of losing a baby pre-birth. Mine is unique to me, but one of the biggest blessings has been being able to hear others and then share our common grief with one another. Here is a part of our story....
On November 12th, Ryan and I excitingly went to our regularly scheduled first appointment, greatly anticipating hearing our child’s heartbeat and getting the "all clear" of a healthy baby. Friends and family all texted us with excitement and anticipation, encouraging us how amazing it would be to hear that little human’s beating heart. Only, as we anxiously watched the ultrasound come up on the screen, the only sound we heard was the doctor’s silence as he stared at the screen, searching for signs of life. After minutes of crushing silence, he said, "well, this isn't good". I will never forget that moment in the office, as my incredible husband protected me by asking the hardest question, one that I could have never asked myself. "So does this mean we lost the baby?" As the doctor shared the news with us, I will never forget the moment my heart understood my head, that the screaming silence meant death. The doctor left us alone as the tears started to fall. However, I knew I had to take the hard walk out of the office, so I composed myself immediately, as I walked to the registration counter. I barely was able to keep my composure as I made the follow up appointment to confirm the death of my baby. I thankfully made it out to the car before uncontrollable sobs hit. Endless tears would be my constant companion throughout the next few months.
As I searched for truth in His Word, I realized that what I was actually doing was searching for purpose in my pain. It all hurt so bad, and just simply looking for something that would make it better or take its place made it infinitely worse. Because nothing in the future was going to make it any better. Looking to the future seemed to be the worst part. So many people would say, "Don't worry, Julene. You'll be able to have another one, I just know it. Most women go on to have so many other babies". While I never harbored anger or frustration at people for saying this to me, as I know they were just trying to encourage me, that exact statement actually brought discouragement to my heart instead. This was because I knew I was not guaranteed another baby. I was not promised parenthood. I was not told I will someday have a house full of children. God did not promise me that I would have this gift. My heart wanted to scream, "Stop saying I will have more, because you and I don't know that! And what about the one I lost?!".
The months following the miscarriage were incredibly painful, both physically and emotionally. They consisted of 3 rounds of an inducing medicine (doses given to women during miscarriage are 12 times the normal amount since there is not full term baby to naturally encourage labor) putting me into 3 painful labors that all failed to pass the baby, followed by an emergency D&C the day before Thanksgiving, and a month of additional medical complications and infections in my uterus, requiring antibiotics. I fervently kept writing in my journal, as each disheartening doctor's visit (I had to have 6 ultrasounds) came and went. "Nothing in the future makes this any better. Looking to the future seems to be the worst part. But, if your pain has a purpose, there is a reason to hold on to hope. There is a greater reason for our baby dying than coming full term. Rex’s life has a greater purpose for being only 3 months old rather than being born. Despite our grief and pain, God has a plan and is using our baby’s short life to further His kingdom somehow. Rex’s life is still purposeful for its short time, bringing Glory to God. It makes it all worth it knowing that God planned it this way so that He would use it glorify Himself. That means our first child was a part of God’s master plan and His life had just as much purpose as my life. I cling to that, because that is what He promises: purpose in our pain".
Don't get me wrong. I hope I will someday have a house full of kiddos, but my hope is not IN that. The peace rising above the pain raging in my heart is not from looking to the future of trying to have more kids. If anything, that is still one of the biggest sources of fear for me. What if I can't have more...What if another one dies...What if it takes years... The questions didn't stop and haven't stopped. But in the meantime, my hope and peace is not in what is seen but rather what is unseen.
When the fear, grief, pain, and tears take over my heart, I listen to this over and over and over again by John Piper and the song, "Though You Slay Me" by Shane and Shane.
http://www.desiringgod.org/messages/do-not-lose-heart
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qyUPz6_TciY
"We do not lose heart because every single moment of our affliction in the path of obedience — whether from sickness or slander — fallen nature or fallen people — all of it is meaningful. That is, all of it — unseen to our eyes —is producing something, preparing something, for us in eternity.
This glory, that God will show us and give us, is beyond imagination. “What no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man imagined, God has prepared for those who love him” (1 Corinthians 2:9). And more than that. There are special glories in the age to come brought about by your particular afflictions. That’s what verse 17 says: Your affliction is preparing [producing] for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison.”
That is what I mean by saying every moment of your affliction is meaningful. It has meaning. It is doing something. Causing something. Bringing about something glorious. You can’t see this. The world can’t see this. They think, and you are tempted to think, this suffering is meaningless. It’s not doing anything good. I can’t see any good coming out of this. That’s what you feel if you focus on the seen.
To which Paul responds, look to the things that are unseen. The promise of God. Nothing in your pain is meaningless. It is all preparing. Working something. Producing something — a weight of glory, a special glory for you. Just for you because of that pain."
"So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal."
2 Corinthians 4:16-18
Even though I will never know for sure, maybe Rex's little life's purpose was SOVEREIGNLY chosen to be used an divinely appointed arrow, pointing people to the all-wise and perfect and loving God of the universe with an unseen Hope awaiting us for eternity....
My heart still aches for Rex, and the difficulty of this road has not lessened, but as each painful moment comes crashing in along the way, God reminds me to look not to what is seen....
This is my story. This is my song. YOU are immeasurably more.
