miscarriage

1 Samuel 1
Mark 11:22-25
Hebrews 11:11-12

Today could be the day.

The day I’ve been waiting for.
The day we’ve been waiting for.
With every month that passes by a new wave of excitement, nervousness, and hope plague me. The biggest desire in my life has yet to be fulfilled.
But still, today could be the day.

My drive home from work seems to be taking longer than normal, and I let myself reflect on how I got to this moment, today.

Growing up I pretended to be the mommy to all my little friends in the nursery.
I hung on every word my mom said, as to make sure I gained as much knowledge from her as possible.
I babysat as often as I could, because in my mind, you could never have enough kid experience.
I took care of my body, and was hardly ever sick.

Which makes it so hard for me to believe even after all this time, it still hasn’t happened. I’m a woman and this is the one thing we as women are supposed to be able to do.
Yet, I’m unable.

As I’m jolted back to the present, the tears start to fall in the quietness of my car,
as this is the only place I allow myself to truly feel.

I feel sorry for myself—is this desire selfish?
I feel sorry for my sweet husband as we’ve talked about having children since our dating days.
I feel sorry for my parents who long to be grandparents.
I get angry sometimes with God, unable to understand why we have to go through this hardship and why He’s allowed negative test after negative test.

I’ve heard it all.
“Maybe you’re not meant to be a mom and God has another plan for you.”
“It will happen one day, just you wait and see.”
“Stop thinking so much about trying; just relax.”

While those words are meant for comfort,
they provide only a tiny Band-Aid over an already gaping wound.
A wound laced with shame and sadness.

I want to put on a brave face and act like the pregnancy announcement posts on social media don’t bother me, but they do. I’ve spent the last few years coming up with excuse after excuse as to why I can’t make the baby showers and birthday parties I’ve been invited too, and I’m so tired of the lies.

Maybe having a baby isn’t in my story.
Maybe my husband should’ve stayed with his first wife.
At least she bore him children.

Knowing that my mood has suddenly taken a turn for the worse, I make a pit stop.
I pull into the church parking lot where I’ve been a member for most of my adult life.
These walls have heard my cries of triumphant joy as I wed my husband,
as well as the mournful sobs at the inability to conceive.

With a heavy heart, and a foggy mind, I sit down on the front pew in the sanctuary.

I expect the prayer to come easy, but it’s not.

In a desperate attempt to unpack my thoughts, I start to mutter, choosing to simply abandon all I know of myself onto all I know of the Almighty. The words stumble at first, awkward, but as I sink my shaking heart into solid truth of who God is, the words no longer matter, who might be watching no longer matters, I need the Father God. I’m entering His throne room by the sheer gracious goodness of God; He’s inviting me here in the middle of all my brokenness.

‘God, You know.
You know where I am at right here in this moment. You know the immense depth of my affliction and in a desperate moment of feeling completely forgotten and alone, please, don’t forget me. I know You never abandon the work of Your hands. I know my every longing, every ache, every joy, is known completely by You. You hem me in on all sides. There is no darkness with You. Lord, this desire of my heart to be a mom, I know You placed it inside of me. I know You are good, even if this desire isn’t fulfilled in the way I dream. Whatever happens, Lord, I want to honor You as King. Lord, if you give me a son, I will give him back to You all the days of his life. Peace, Lord, give me peace.’’

I look up through my tears and see my Pastor standing quietly off to the side, with a hand raised in my direction, and I can tell that he is praying for me.
Our eyes meet, and I see his lips whisper, “Peace, go in peace.”

I feel that still small voice speak to my heart:
You’re not forgotten, beloved.
Peace.
Be Still.
Know that I am God.

I wipe my tears and walk back to my car,
longing to linger in this moment of sweet worship.

My husband’s waiting for me when I get home, anxious for the next three minutes as we wait for one more test result.

I place the test on the bathroom counter, set a timer, and walk to the living room where we begin to pray that no matter what happens, God is still good.

With a deep breath in and then out, I feel as though my eyes deceive me.
Positive.

I’m pregnant.
We’re pregnant.
I’m going to have a baby.
We’re going to have a baby.

Oh, Abba, thank you.

Peace.
Be Still.
I Am God.

—
This is a modern take on one woman’s real-life journey who lived centuries ago. Hannah ached for a baby, but she knew Yahweh alone held her sufficiency. She struggled with longing, she was bold in her request of the Lord, but her “ask” grew out a relationship, a knowing that the Lord God was indeed good. And she chose Him, even over her heart. No matter our struggle or our aches, let’s follow the brave example of Hannah and choose the Lord, waiting for His peace.