Last night I had a nightmare that Beautiful Mom came and took my baby. Just walked right into my hospital room, and whisked that little one from my arms.
Beautiful mom is taller than me. She is prettier than me. She is skinnier than me. Beautiful mom has long straight silky hair instead of the rat’s nest that lies on my head. Her hands are soft and she does not bite her nails. Beautiful mom went to college for 100 years and she’s a doctor with a side degree in business, and a booming career in modeling for toothpaste commercials. Beautiful mom never loses her temper, never burns dinner, and never forgets a load of towels in the washing machine for 3 days.
Okay, 4 days.
I know it was just a dream, but I woke up with slight feelings of guilt and inadequacy. Did I do something wrong? It’s hard to get past this; especially after I read things like “with late miscarriage, the health of the mother is most often to blame,” in popular pregnancy books. What–did I not eat enough broccoli?
I quickly talked myself down from that cliff. I trust God; and for reasons that I might never understand while I live on this earth, He called our baby up. He or she will only know happiness and joy, forever. He or she will never ever suffer, not even a little bit. I’m glad for our sweet baby, who is safe in heaven with my grandparents and my dog. (Say what you will about pets not having souls–I will call you a bold-face liar. And then I’ll probably punch you in the face.)
I am honestly okay. I am sad, and I am hurting, but I have a great peace about this whole thing–more peace than can possibly be natural during a time like this. I can only attribute that to the prayers that have been sent our way. I truly believe that God knew best in this situation. He takes what was meant for bad and uses it for God. He keeps His promises.
“Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”
–2 Corinthians 4:16-18
Months ago when I said that God was on-board with making our family more awesome: He has done that. We have pulled together and leaned on each other over the past week; we’ve talked about the hard things and we’ve laughed over the little things and I have treasured every minute of it.
Months ago when I said I would be content no matter my circumstances: I am content. I trust God. This doesn’t mean I am not sad or that this doesn’t hurt–because it does hurt, more than anything. But we have not been wronged or cheated; our lives are far from wrecked.
Months ago when I said God performed a miracle by giving us a heartbeat on a day when I had nothing but my small prayer to believe in: that miracle has not been taken away. It happened. We promised God we would be grateful and we would love the life He had trusted us with–even if we only got to keep it for another week, or several more months, or many, many years. We are grateful because it was a life and it was beautiful, and it changed us.
Our faith has grown even in this short period of time. My relationship with my husband has strengthened. We have gotten closer to our church family. I’ve been able to have meaningful conversations with Mia about Jesus and trust and salvation–all subjects that may have taken years to bubble up inside her questioning young mind.
God is fair. Even last Thursday, that terrible day, God was taking care of us: Caleb wasn’t supposed to be in town–he decided not to leave. He wasn’t supposed to accompany me to what I felt was a bullshit appointment–but he decided to come anyway. We were going to take separate cars, but at the last minute we felt like riding together. We almost refused the ultrasound because we felt it was unneccessary and expensive; the doctor’s staff talked us into it. And together we learned of our baby’s passing, by the gentle explanation of a kind doctor in the quiet darkness of a private room–and not through a traumatic bloody midnight visit to the ER.
Maybe there was something wrong. Maybe our baby was terribly sick. Maybe our baby wouldn’t have made it to September. Maybe this pregnancy was meant to teach us a valuable lesson. Maybe this experience was meant to push us in another direction.
We just do not know yet.
I’ve been reading a wonderful book called “Kisses From Katie”, by Katie Davis. It’s about a teenager that moved to Africa and ended up adopting 13 kids and staying there forever. One particular quote stands out to me and I have to share it, because it fits so perfectly not just with what I’m going through but with everyday things:
“I believe that God totally, absolutely, intentionally gives us more than we can handle. Because this is when we surrender to Him and He takes over, proving Himself by doing the impossible in our lives.”
I have never, never thought about that before, but it makes so much sense. This suck-fest that is late miscarriage is most certainly not in my power to endure, at least not with any amount of calmness. God is giving me more than I can handle, way more. But He’s also provided me with about a hundred people who have enough wisdom and enough love to see our family through it. I have to choose to thank Him for what He is doing in our lives–because I know without a doubt that our future holds something more wonderful than I could plan or imagine.