A Time to Mourn

*Beware: if you don't like any mention of blood, skip from the first paragraph to the last two paragraphs and you'll be safe*

Last month, new hopes sprouted quietly within. I was getting hungry at bedtime. I didn't feel like steaming green vegetables. I was taking naps when the children had their rest hour. There were a number of little reasons to wonder and to smile and to plan a quick trip down the pharmacy aisle, because maybe....

Then one day as I was at the store finally picking up that test there was an unexpected bleed, and I knew (though still my grip on hope struggled against reason) that God had taken our very young little one. I took the test and yes, the pregnancy hormones were there, but now this was no reassurance. Now came the desperate pleas to God, "If it be Thy will..." and the tears and the thoughts that had to be pushed away. "I was carrying my sleeping 3-year-old that day. What if... Or maybe it was because...." but the only peace was in knowing that God's plan was unfolding through each circumstance - His plan that we know is always for the good of those who love Him. Here, in God's loving character, is our peace. Meanwhile, I visited the doctor and got blood tests.

Two weeks later, Terry had to preach in Ontario. He left on Saturday, January 23. Three children got sick and threw up that night. Sometime after 11pm, we all settled in for the night, one of them in my bed. In the middle of the night, I awoke to fresh bleeding. The miscarriage was really happening. Though it was a sad time, I had a sense of closure, and relied on the security of God's presence. It would be okay. By God's grace, none of the children seemed the least sick the next morning. We watched the church service online. My sister-in-law Tristan was in touch via Facebook messaging, and she was a sympathetic listener about everything going on. However, as I continued to lose a lot of blood, I finally realized I needed to call for local help.

A sweet friend brought her daughter to watch the children while she took me to the ER. We had truly encouraging fellowship as we traveled and waited together. I was allowed to leave after being there a few hours, as the heavy bleeding subsided on its own about 12 hours after it began. Meanwhile, however, my dear husband had, I believe, the hardest job - preaching and visiting while I texted about the day's progress from the other side of the country.

Once I returned home, another friend who'd got in touch after we didn't show up in morning worship asked permission to mention our loss to the wider church family, and I agreed. I'd had time to mourn privately; now it was time to lean on the prayers and support of the body of Christ. Before long, five ladies scheduled time to help in various ways on the next day, Monday, until Terry would return from Ontario in the evening. Other ladies wrote notes and organized meals to be delivered every day that week. It was overwhelming and beautiful to see all that love from Christ given us by these members of His body.

I am thankful for a steady recovery of strength since the miscarriage. But even more, I am thankful for our spiritual strengthening through the miscarriage. I have often quailed at the idea of sickness and loss in our family, for although I know God is good beyond my ability to conceive of the notion, I still tend to imagine that the easy road would be best, or safest, or at least nicest. I know by faith that it's not. The opportunity to follow and know Christ is not just worth the trials - it often comes in the trials. His presence sweetens them and changes them into a place of security. We can rest as His hand upholds us, knowing there is no other rest. We feel the truth of that precious verse "The eternal God is thy refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms." Deuteronomy 33:27 The comfort food, or entertainment, or loved ones we often run to in the little trials are utterly forgotten as we rely entirely on our "Abba." In Him, we find joy through the sorrow.