It all started June 4th. I had an inkling. Things didn't seem... right. And either I was going crazy or a certain something was... late. A test was taken and, though I expected otherwise...
Two pink lines. I was pregnant.
Quick calculations put the baby due in early February and we scanned the internet for bread names (as is the tradition). And we had baby #3. Pumpernickel.
After the initial shock, we were quite excited. We dreamed about tell the girls. Mia had been asking about babies and requested a baby brother to be born soon. I couldn't wait to feel the baby kicking, talk (fight) about names, and pick out the baby's verse and special song.
And then we went to the doctor. During the ultrasound the baby showed to be measuring a week behind. No worries! said my doc. Based on your chart this is highly likely. We'll scan you again in a week.
But something didn't feel right. I tried to be positive but something kept nagging at me. Something was wrong.
And something was... we lost Pumpernickel just 3 days later.
It doesn't matter that he or she was the size of an apple seed; it was our baby. I loved that baby with everything I had. I dreamt about him or her. I could literally feel the baby in my arms.
And then it was gone.
Even now, more than a month later, I struggle to put into words how I feel. The best way I can describe it is just that feeling of something missing. My arms feel empty. My heart is missing a little piece. Every time Mia asks when we are going to have a baby, my soul aches just a little bit more.
There hasn't been a time when my faith has been tested so greatly. Have I been angry? Sure, at times. Who wouldn't be? I had already dealt with infertility... why this? Why now? Have I been depressed? Yep. Denial. Frustration. Devastation. But one thing has remained -- hope.
Right after the miscarriage started, I was sitting outside talking with God. And I asked Him -- "Okay, what's up? Why me? Why now? Can you give me just one answer?" And He clearly replied, like a breeze over my soul:
"Because I am the same today that I was yesterday."
And it's true. He was there the day before when I was thanking Him for this precious gift. And He was still there even when it was taken away.
My heart learned something new that day -- how to choose to praise. Is it truly praise if we only do it when things are going great? going OUR way? Or does it become more real when we lift our hands and voices when there's pain? There were times when I'd grit my teeth and stomp my feet. I didn't want to praise Him. But I had to. Because He is the same.
I pray that God uses this hurt. I pray that Pumpernickel's short little life isn't in vain. And you know... that's all in my deciding. I can choose to be bitter and angry, but what good does that do? Yes, I still grieve. There are still tears and my heart feels a bit empty. But I choose to say -- "Lord, Blessed Be Your Name."
"Then maidens will dance and be glad, young men and old as well. I will turn their mourning into gladness; I will give them comfort and joy instead of sorrow." Jeremiah 31:13
