When a first-trimester morning sickness pregnancy hiatus turns into grief induced neglect, it can be a scary thing to reopen your trusty Mac and start a brand new post.
Especially when it’s your first post of the year, and it’s been the new year for a month now. Here’s hoping you can at least sympathize, if not understand the necessity of my absence. Cheers.
It isn’t that I haven’t been writing. In fact, I dare say my journal has never filled up so fast with thoughts, ideas, and truths revealed to me through reading and studying. The struggle to begin again comes not from lack of topics to write about, but the ability to discern which topic should go first.
How does one eloquently and seamlessly slide back into a routine that was long ago disrupted? If you’ve noticed my absence, surely you’ll be keen to my abrupt return.
Yet, I use the term “abrupt” loosely, considering I’ve sat in front of this screen many times over the last 33 days. It was a slow warming up to…toe to ankle to knee to waist in the shallow end, not a spur of the moment canon ball back into the pool of blog posting. But I’m ready now. God has given me the nudge I needed to finally pinch my nostrils together (hey, don’t judge) and sink under the water of my gift.
He’s given me the desire to create again.
* * * * *
Long before January 1, 2017…and much before December 27, 2016 (the day we found out we must endure our third miscarriage of the year)…I had chosen a word to represent the next 12 months. My word was bold. And it was founded on the authority I thought I had over my most recent pregnancy.
Bold. I had bold courage in announcing we were expecting. I had bold hope in the future. I had bold faith that everything with this pregnancy would go smoothly. I made bold declarations concerning names and gender, I gave bold instruction to my family on how to feel about it and what not to say, and I circled bold promises in the bible– not for one moment questioning the fact that it was me who was making those promises, not God.
The problem with making promises to yourself, about things you have no control over, is that you can’t keep them.
When our world was rocked, yet again, I abandoned my word quicker than, I felt, God had abandoned me.
I was so angry with Him. I was angry that He hadn’t kept our baby safe. I was angry that He hadn’t allowed us to become parents again. I was angry that He didn’t reveal that our child had passed until weeks after the fact.
I was angry because I felt like all of the comfort, all of the peace, all of the joy I had experienced in the month of December, was a lie. A lie He told me. Gave me. Provided me.
I turned from Him in anger- but when your heart is full of truth, when your mind doesn’t stop referring back to all of the wonderful things He’s blessed you with in the past, when your soul is guided by Holy Spirit- turning away is a non option. And so, amidst my hurt, pain, and frustration, I wrestled with the conflicting emotions of understanding and acceptance.
I was mad that my Father gave me comfort, but wouldn’t I do the same? Don’t I? If my daughter falls and skins her knee, do I not kiss it and make it all better, all the while knowing the comfort will only last as long as it takes for her to fall again? Wouldn’t I speak life and encouragement over her as she attempts to do something even I question her ability to do? Don’t I work to prepare her for a world I’m 100% confident will do it’s best to break her?
How could I be angry that my Father in Heaven loves me so much, He filled me with peace and hope instead of worry and doubt?
Would my baby have had a better chance of survival had I spent every day crying, scared, and fearful? Or did He give me a gift, the gift of faith? Believing in what I cannot see, expecting what I cannot fathom, holding out hope for that which I cannot control? Had my month consisted of less smiles and more frowns, would my baby be here today?
No. Clearly the answer is no.
Why should I be upset that I was allowed to love every day of my pregnancy, instead of spending each 24 hour sun rotation on the brink of a nervous breakdown?
I was all for leaving my word of 2017 in the shadows of a harsh 2016, until God whispered one question into my heart: “Why?”
Slowly, certainly, it dawned on me the way the sun’s light reaches into the darkest corners of the night and brings forth a new beginning…
Why shouldn’t I plan to go boldly forward? To boldly share my story? To boldly declare my unshakeable faith? To boldly pray for discernment and courage?
Why shouldn’t I boldly reclaim my tired body and worn out mind? Why couldn’t I boldly laugh, love, and live, knowing that someday we will all face tears, sadness, and death?
I boldly believe that God will use this hurt and heal myself and others.
I boldly encourage other women to bring their burden of pain and lay it at the feet of our Father.
I boldly wait for God to reveal His perfect plan in His perfect timing.
* * * * *
There’s only been, as I write this, 28 days in the year of 2017. Of those 4 weeks, I’ve spent 3 days in the doctor’s office being poked and prodded to have blood drawn, 3 days in the hospital (which included 2 blood transfusions, 2 blown out veins, one blood infection, and a surgery), 2 days painfully laboring to “deliver” what remained of our pregnancy, an undetermined amount of days sleeping and resting- trying to regain some energy, and 28 full days of mourning and missing our baby.
And yet, with that being said, I’ve also spent all of those 28 painful, horrible, hurtful, heartbroken days with bold confidence that my best is yet to come.
I may be healing slowly, but I’m living and declaring that this year will be enjoyed with great intention and purpose.
Because I serve a bold God that is not defined by the parameters of this broken world.
Can I get a (bold) Amen?
I’ll hold you in my heart until I can hold you in heaven.