Who knew a little babe could change us from the inside of my tummy?
Our baby was around the size of a chocolate chip on the day we miscarried. As I type this, it’s been exactly one month. We didn’t know how much we loved the life inside of me until we had to let him/her go. To be honest, the grief took us by surprise. We have shared a different kind of silence now, where we partook of a new kind of love and loss together. It was hard and holy.
I will never forget the prayer Stone prayed that night:
“Lord, thank you that even though we had to say goodbye to our ‘little chocolate chip,’ there are still three of us in the room tonight. You have been so good to us.”
As we declared He is good in the midst of circumstances that are not, we have never been surer of this promise: where two or three are gathered, He is in our midst.
Up until this point I oversimplified miscarriage. A typical response to pain we don’t understand, I guess. They were pregnant. Now they’re not. They can try again. But what I’ve found is though it’s simple to describe, it’s complicated to experience.
It’s complicated because I have no memories with this person, yet they have begun to saturate ours. We’ve been on vacation and every so often when we’re doing something really fun or laughing really hard, I get a profound wave of missing our six-and-a-half-week-old and its tiny little heartbeat that I never got to hear.
If you’ve never experienced miscarriage or infertility, this might all sound silly to you, and that’s ok. But if you have, you might have a tear or two running down your face… because you know exactly what I’m talking about.
I’m sharing about our miscarriage partly because… well, it just feels weird to keep posting “life-as-usual” pictures and updates on social media because 2018 has been anything but that.
I’m also sharing because I’m in awe of how Jesus can use the hardness of life to soften our hearts and clear the fog from our eyes.
Over the last few weeks God has used the physical and emotional pain of miscarriage to remind me of the sanctity of life–the miracle of imago dio. While I’ve always ascribed to the belief that the unborn are whole persons, now my body does, too. The grief of miscarriage speaks to the departure of a life with a soul, not simply a mass of tissue. There is no more, “I was only 6 weeks, but it was painful.” I was 6 weeks. And it was painful.
But life? Life is beautiful, and that’s why we must hold the unborn and born in the highest regard—remembering that what gives us value is not our contribution to the world. The mere fact that we were created in the image of God is what gives us value, and that is why we celebrate at conception and grieve the loss of the unborn as if they are whole persons… because they are.
“For You formed my inward thoughts;
You knitted me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Wonderful are your works;
my soul knows it very well.
My frame was not hidden from you,
when I was being made in secret,
intricately woven in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes saw my unformed substance;
in your book were written, every one of them,
the days that were formed for me,
when as yet there was none of them.”
I miss my little chocolate chip. I love Jesus. I love my husband. And I am so grateful for our amazing family and close friends who have surrounded us this year!