God is good even when life is hard.
You probably know that 1 out of 5 pregnancies ends in miscarriage. Joe and I miscarried last weekend. Sad, right? We weren't too far along - just 7 weeks.
We bought a minivan on a Monday. I started bleeding Tuesday, and I had my first prenatal appointment on Wednesday. The midwife ordered a sonogram, and the embryo (why can't we call it a baby? that seems silly to me) looked fine. The bleeding continued. My folks picked up Coco and Art Thursday evening, and I pretty much stayed in bed watching Hulu.com. Friday it got much worse, and I just knew. I wasn't soaking through pads and my cramps weren't bad, but I knew. My midwife wanted to see me on Monday, but Joe didn't think we should wait that long - plus Monday was logistically challenging with the kids. So we went to the urgent care center across the street, which is ridiculously posh. Flat screen televisions in every waiting room posh. After a couple of hours the doctor finally gave us another sonogram and confirmed that the embryo's heart had stopped.
I know without a doubt that everything happens for a reason - especially early miscarriages. I know that God is good and that his plans for me are good (that's in Jeremiah and Romans). I can see how gentle he was with me through this. Allowing me a chance to "see" our little one healthy on Wednesday, the fact that no one gave me false hope, the fact that the bleeding built up gradually allowed me to come to terms with what was happening slowly, that my parents were free to keep the children three nights, that Joe was off of work and insistent on going to the clinic for confirmation, even that stupid flat screen television in the private room was evidence of God's loving provision through an awful ordeal. And of course I have the comfort of my two beautiful children. Even the timing of the miscarriage and the Olympics are a small blessing; I have cuddled on the couch in front of the television all week (Art can identify all the daytime sports). Our friends have really done a bang up job loving and supporting us while simultaneously allowing us room to grieve. God is good.
Joe and I seem to be weathering the loss fairly well together. He's been so sweet and gentle to me, and he's grieving too. He's spent a lot of time planting vegetable seeds this week. I'm making horribly tacky jokes like how can we possibly nurture seeds to life, and he's laughing with me - sometimes making his own. We've had (and still have if I think about it objectively) an easy marriage. Loss is shitty, but I know I'm far from alone. How can we be anything less than grateful? I hope and pray that I would be singing God's praises no matter how bad our circumstances may be; I've had moments this week when I could.
For I know the plans that I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans for welfare and not for calamity to give you a future and a hope. (Jeremiah 29:11)
We bought a minivan on a Monday. I started bleeding Tuesday, and I had my first prenatal appointment on Wednesday. The midwife ordered a sonogram, and the embryo (why can't we call it a baby? that seems silly to me) looked fine. The bleeding continued. My folks picked up Coco and Art Thursday evening, and I pretty much stayed in bed watching Hulu.com. Friday it got much worse, and I just knew. I wasn't soaking through pads and my cramps weren't bad, but I knew. My midwife wanted to see me on Monday, but Joe didn't think we should wait that long - plus Monday was logistically challenging with the kids. So we went to the urgent care center across the street, which is ridiculously posh. Flat screen televisions in every waiting room posh. After a couple of hours the doctor finally gave us another sonogram and confirmed that the embryo's heart had stopped.
I know without a doubt that everything happens for a reason - especially early miscarriages. I know that God is good and that his plans for me are good (that's in Jeremiah and Romans). I can see how gentle he was with me through this. Allowing me a chance to "see" our little one healthy on Wednesday, the fact that no one gave me false hope, the fact that the bleeding built up gradually allowed me to come to terms with what was happening slowly, that my parents were free to keep the children three nights, that Joe was off of work and insistent on going to the clinic for confirmation, even that stupid flat screen television in the private room was evidence of God's loving provision through an awful ordeal. And of course I have the comfort of my two beautiful children. Even the timing of the miscarriage and the Olympics are a small blessing; I have cuddled on the couch in front of the television all week (Art can identify all the daytime sports). Our friends have really done a bang up job loving and supporting us while simultaneously allowing us room to grieve. God is good.
Joe and I seem to be weathering the loss fairly well together. He's been so sweet and gentle to me, and he's grieving too. He's spent a lot of time planting vegetable seeds this week. I'm making horribly tacky jokes like how can we possibly nurture seeds to life, and he's laughing with me - sometimes making his own. We've had (and still have if I think about it objectively) an easy marriage. Loss is shitty, but I know I'm far from alone. How can we be anything less than grateful? I hope and pray that I would be singing God's praises no matter how bad our circumstances may be; I've had moments this week when I could.
For I know the plans that I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans for welfare and not for calamity to give you a future and a hope. (Jeremiah 29:11)