See Luminosity

Losing, Again

Losing, Again

I was wrong. Devastatingly wrong.

There is no baby – It is definitely a miscarriage.

Remember that critical part of the Miraculous-Hear-Correctly-and-Obey Faith Building Plan, hearing correctly? Yeah, well, apparently I didn’t. And, instead, we seem to be on the Rebecca-is-Humbled plan. Not sure how faith-building this plan is, but it definitely makes it clear who is God in this little scenario, and who isn’t.

How are we here again?

Somehow, I knew it, too, the night before my appointment. I didn’t feel peace, I didn’t feel hope – I felt complete terror. I was hoping, of course, that it was just Satan’s darts at me (you know, since I had such great faith and all), but I had this overwhelming awareness that we were about to walk down the dark, foreboding hallway of grief that I thought we’d already left. I felt physically ill before going into the doctor’s office, this morning, and just wanted it all to be over.

I sat in the waiting room, trying to hold back tears of fear, while I watched a mother interacting with her toddler son, about 18 months of age. She kept telling the little boy to sit down in the chair and be quiet – a pretty unreasonable expectation for a little one that age waiting for a long period of time – and she would yell at him and give him a threatening shake to the arm whenever he didn’t comply. He cried on and off during the time we waited, and she intermittently yelled at him and plopped him back in the chair over and over again with threats of punishment. The longer I heard it, the more it hurt, and the more I heard the insidious thoughts:

I’ll bet she will be able to have as many healthy babies as she wants. Probably more than she wants. And I’ll bet she didn’t have any “words from the Lord”, either. 

Eventually I left the waiting room and went out to cry in the hallway.

Once I got called back, I didn’t even look at the screen during the ultrasound – I knew before I heard the words. “Everything looks pretty much the same as it did last time. There isn’t anything in there”.

Hope – crushed.

Again.

We had to go home and tell the girls – one of whom, this morning, had just exclaimed excitedly, “I can’t wait to find out if it’s a boy or a girl!” I got to hold them, again, through their tears and mine and hear, “But I’ve been waiting for so long. I really, really just wanted to have a brother or sister.”

It is hard to hear the echo of your own heart in your children.

Today I am not able to answer their questions. Today I am not able to process what has happened. Today I am only able to sleep.

Oh, my God, I DON’T WANT TO BE HERE AGAIN!

I am humbled and devastated and angry to have to be on this path, yet again. I am disillusioned and spiritually emptied out. I feel foolish and spiritually tone deaf and just all sorts of awful. At some point I will come back to what I know – that He is good and He is always working for my good. But, for right now, all I can do is weep, for the losing of this world is just too much to bear.

Why do I keep writing, everyone asks? Why put myself out there and bring the world into my shame and pain? I don’t know, really. I guess it’s just that I have this sense of conviction, this sense of being compelled. I would’ve said, before, that it was from Him, but in light of my recent track record in hearing His voice correctly, I’ll refrain. Good or bad, I don’t want to suffer in silence. If I have to go through it, I want Him to use it, somehow. And He can’t use it if no one knows about it.

He may not keep me from the pain, but He can make the pain meaningful.

I hope.

So, thank you. Thank you for your prayers, for reading my journey, for caring enough to walk with me through my tangled spiritual trek. I’m not ok, right now, and I don’t know how long it will be before I am, but just let me be not ok. Just let me know you love me, that you are thinking about me, and that will be enough. As miserably horrible as all of this is, I would still rather be going through it with my friends who love me than without them.

One day, somehow, this will all become clear. Until it is, I cry the words of Job, even as I do not feel them:

“Naked I came from my mother’s womb,

and naked I will depart.

The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away;

may the name of the Lord be praised.”

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