Photo by Nicole Tarpoff
May 17th was my original due date. And to be honest, I thought I’d be pregnant again by now. I thought May 17th would come and go and I would be a new kind of happy, glistening with hope and pregnancy glow, excited for our new healthy baby to enter the world.
But that didn’t happen.
I still remember the day and those moments so clearly. I had been waiting so long to see our sweet baby for the first time; nothing beats the anticipation of that first ultrasound. I have never been so elated. But the tech was quiet and said, “Let me go get the midwife…”
A few moments later, we heard the words “no heartbeat,” “not meant to be,” and “miscarriage.” I have never been so heartbroken. In the days following, it was all I could do to pull myself out of bed and move to the couch. My mom came over and cleaned the whole house, cried with me in between doing dishes and dusting. Friends came. Some shared their own stories of loss. Others brought flowers and food. Over a few weeks of processing and mourning, I began to see our baby in Heaven, wrapped in the arms of Jesus, and bouncing on my grandfather’s knee. I began to see the gift of perfect life that our tiny love had been given. It may be weird to say, but it was almost hard to un-wish what had happened.
I comforted myself with thoughts of quickly getting pregnant again. Of moving on to a healthy pregnancy with a different baby that couldn’t have existed without losing the first. Again, I expected to be pregnant long before that first due date ever came. And well, I was. Four months after losing our first, the test was positive. And so was I. Positive that this one would be fine. That the first one was just a fluke, part of the unlucky 20 percent. God and I had a deal, and I knew this one would be perfect.
But three days after my test turned positive, I started to bleed. One week later, I miscarried our second baby. The first time I was devastated. The second time I was angry. Angry at God. I asked him, “How could You do this to me? The very thing I begged You not to do?”
I was completely broken. And that is when God came so close. In my pain and anger, in my suffering, the God of the Everything felt as close as my skin. And in my deep desperation, as I asked the Lord why He hadn’t delivered what I so desperately wanted, He whispered to me this truth, “You won’t get everything you want in this life, but in the middle of every single ‘no,’ my Son is always your ‘yes.’” In my pain, can I have more of Jesus? Yes, every time. In the middle of my anguish and despair, in my disappointment and brokenness, is He drawing near, giving me more of His comfort and love? Yes.
I am learning over and over again that this life isn’t about getting everything I want. It is about getting more of Jesus. May 17th has come and gone, and while I still hope to be pregnant in the future, I am full of Christ today.
A Million God Stories is a Christ-centered ministry which offers a platform for Christians from all streams of Christian faith to give praise for how God has worked in their lives. Christ heals in infinitely creative ways and we acknowledge that His way of helping may differ from person to person.
