Tuesday, April 29, 2008


"Grief is like a drunken houseguest, always coming back for one more goodbye hug."

I've never had a drunken houseguest, (my poor guests are offered milk or water!) but this stinkin grief thing is annoying. Every once in awhile I just start sobbing. And now it's sitting on me and won't get off. This drunken houseguest is bringing all his friends back too, from my other miscarriages, to my brother Noah being in the NICU, all the way back to my brother Zebulun's stillbirth 15 years ago. It's like a sad scrapbook that's sitting out on the coffee table. I keep putting it on the shelf and someone keeps getting it out again.

Saturday, April 26, 2008


I went to see my doctor for a check-up on Tuesday. The miscarriage was complete with no complications and he sees no signs of any problems that require future intervention. I did ask for some blood tests which he agreed to although we don't expect to find a problem there either. It is hard to accept, but miscarriage is normal. Even recurrent miscarriage is normal. Research shows that even after 3 or 4 miscarriages most women will go on to have a healthy pregnancy without any intervention. Do we plan to try again? Well, there is something about having a miscarriage that makes us want to fight all the harder to bring another life into this world. To do that we have to get back on the roller coaster, but hey, that's normal around here. It's hard for us to say that we "plan" to have another baby. Early in our marriage we asked God to give us children as he saw fit, and then began waiting on him to give us a baby. You could say we have experienced infertility at various times, but on the other hand, we have two children and we were serious when we put our family in his hands. Even when we make decisions regarding our family, God is always reminding us that he is the author of life. He gives and he waits to give, he takes and he gives us himself.
In the reading that I have been doing since the miscarriage, I have been awed by the mystery surrounding the beginning of life. I had no idea that we know so little about why life begins and why it doesn't or why it ends so quickly. The sovereignty of God is nowhere more vital and powerful than the sacred beginning of the smallest embryo. This intersection of the physical and spiritual is holy ground, the miraculous "normal", that we take for granted... until it's gone.
Of the three miscarriages I have had, this one was the hardest. I don't imagine they get any easier, and I realize that if I do become pregnant, I could go through this all over again. But it's just as likely that I could go on to have a healthy baby. And we're back to the sovereignty of God. I cannot trust in statistics, no matter how favorable they may be. They tell me nothing of the story of my life that God is writing. I have no idea whether we will have more children, and I will not pretend that I am in control of it. I have been reminded of the fragility of life, and my place in the hands of the Creator.

Tuesday, April 22, 2008


As the song says, I am being held. By love and prayers and really tight hugs.
I am healing, but I am not, as someone told me, "amazing". You might like to know that I too screamed at God in the night. Those words that came when I could not form any others, when anger was my first and all encompassing emotion. But as I came to the moment when my baby slipped away I felt the grace of God melt all of that anger into a sad acceptance. I don't know how He did it, but I know it wasn't me. He gives life, and He takes it, and he caresses my rage into gentle tears. He takes my chin in his hand and gently turns my head.
My girls are beautiful. They are happy and full of the promise of spring. They are muddy and sunkissed and stomping the last pile of snow, barefoot in bikinis. They are giggling in the bath and ask "Mom, what is that animal with a squarish nose that likes to go in the water sometimes, but lives on land? It's a something-bara". "A capybara.", I said. "Yes! We are capybaras and we have to wash our fur now." They are playing baseball and floating boats and drawing fairies and birds. All is right with girlhood at this glorious moment of spring. This, too, holds me.

Saturday, April 19, 2008

Another Heaven-Birth

Last night we lost another 9 week baby. We don't know why, although we hope to get some kind of medical answer in the future. As we grieve we covet your prayers for our healing. Right now it seems like a reoccurring nightmare. This song could have come straight from my heart. Take some time to listen. (I double posted this on my other blog so no one would miss it.)

Held by Natalie Grant

Two months is too little.
They let him go.
They had no sudden healing.
To think that providence would
Take a child from his mother while she prays
Is appalling.

Who told us we'd be rescued?
What has changed and why should we be saved from nightmares?
We're asking why this happens
To us who have died to live?
It's unfair.

This is what it means to be held.
How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive.
This is what it is to be loved.
And to know that the promise was
When everything fell we'd be held.

This hand is bitterness.
We want to taste it, let the hatred numb our sorrow.
The wise hand opens slowly to lilies of the valley and tomorrow.

This is what it means to be held.
How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive.
This is what it is to be loved.
And to know that the promise was
When everything fell we'd be held.

If hope is born of suffering.
If this is only the beginning.
Can we not wait for one hour watching for our Savior?

Wednesday, April 9, 2008

Pocketful of Hope

Yep! This is what it looks like! Our 8 week Belly Bean! We have known for awhile, but were waiting for this ultrasound to find out if the baby is healthy before we spread the news. Everything looks great and there is only a 5% chance of miscarriage now. For more details check out my baby blog at Pocketful of Hope. You might want to read the posts in order by going to the bottom first, if you want to catch up.
Acadia is doing pretty well right now. We seem to be avoiding the extremes and are just dealing with the regular stuff. She developed a new coping strategy: chewing ice cubes! Sunshine, bikes, the tire swing, and an emerging yard are really good medicine for any kid!