In the Spring of 1997 I was expecting baby number 3. Everything was proceeding normally and we had just announced the good news to our friends at church on Palm Sunday.
Our first child was a girl and our second a boy, but within the hour of delivering him I told my husband that I was sure we weren't done; someone was still missing. This was something that not all family members understood--after all we had one of each, so why would we want another? So three years later the 'someone' was growing inside me and we were excited. The timing was a bit off from what we had planned, but these things happen for a reason.
Later that week, I think it was Wednesday, I realized I had not had my usual morning sickness for about three days. When I called my doctor's office they told me to come in immediately and we did. They brought me into the room and explained that they wanted to do an ultrasound to check on the baby. I was early enough in the pregnancy that we could not expect to see much more than a heartbeat, but we did see more, and less. They looked. They waited. They positioned and repositioned the ultrasound wand. It was not good. What we could see was that the pregnancy had detached and separated from the wall of my uterus and was now only barely connected at the very bottom. What we couldn't see was a heartbeat. The doctor said compassionately, "I'm so sorry, but you are miscarrying. These things happen for a reason. Something may have been wrong." I was told that the pregnancy would soon be completely detached and would come out, probably in the next few days. If not it would be removed. We were devastated. Our Someone had died before being met. Before being carried and held. Someone I already loved. I was heartbroken.
Thursday, Friday, Saturday came and went with no visible miscarriage. It was Sunday. Easter Sunday. Resurrection Sunday. The day of triumphal celebration for those who belong to the resurrected, living Savior, Victor over Death. And I felt like a walking tomb, hollow and death-filled.
Friends who had heard the good news from the week before came rushing up to congratulate us, but then knew by our shaking heads and sorrowful faces that congratulations were no longer in order. They were so sorry. Had I miscarried? No? Oh...a 'dead' pregnancy. Oh, everyone was sorry. These things happen for a reason. Happy Easter.
It was awkward. And awful. No 'Hallelujahs' for me that day.
We went home. There was a divine tap on my shoulder and I brushed it away.
I could accept God's will in this, I thought, but I felt heavily the ugly irony that this was happening on Easter. It was sickening that my greatest sorrow should be happening in the context of my greatest joy. And why the delay? If the Lord had chosen this for us could He not, at least, wrap it up quickly? And it was made worse that every person needed clarification that I was still the vessel of the deceased hope we had rejoiced together over only a week before.
Another divine tap. A call to prayer. Pray? Now? Not happening.
There were toddler lunches to prepare and naptimes to work toward. In addition, I was far too busy with self-pity to take the time.
Again, the tap. I have nothing to say.
Every mother of preschoolers knows the tiredness. Every pregnant mother of preschoolers knows the fatigue. And many women know the hollow, numb, empty-sick, slow-motion grief that accompanied all of the above.
Incessant Tap. Leave me alone!
I am sure, had I been listening, that He would have said: "Come to me. You're weary. I will give you rest." But all I heard was a demand for what I felt, on this day, would only be a performance; and I am no performer.
Tap, tap. Talk to Me. Now.
Angrily I informed G that he was on duty with the children because the Lord wouldn't leave me alone and He (I cringe now for the way I said it) Wants Me to Pray.
I went to my room and sat. In piteous indignation. I will never forget my words. They burned:
"Fine. Here I am. You want me to pray? Fine. Then You will have to provide the prayer. Because I've got NOTHING."
And then I was praying. Or not I, but the Spirit within me--acknowledging the power of God in apparent contrast to my circumstances in light of the day we remember His most amazing work:
"God, You are the Giver of Life. You are the All-Powerful One. You are the God who brings life from death. You raised Christ from the dead. You are worthy of all praise. It is all true, regardless of my circumstances." The end. Romans 8:26-27 explains what had happened: "
... the Spirit also helps our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we should, but the Spirit Himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words; and He who searches the hearts knows what the mind of the Spirit is, because He intercedes for the saints according to the will of God." It was unexpected and I was taken back, but I cannot say I was not comforted. The day moved forward.
...These things happen for a reason...
The doctor's office had said that if the situation did not 'resolve itself' I would have a procedure to remove the remains of the pregnancy the following Wednesday. The day arrived, the appointment approached, but something inside was screaming NO every time I thought of the procedure. I suppose it was the Lord again making sure I would know when I looked back that He was deeply involved in each step of this. It was strange, and another awkwardness to add to my growing list. I called the doctor's office and explained that I wanted to wait on the procedure if that was okay, and then, unplanned, I asked if we could have another ultrasound. They were sympathetic and accommodating; yes of course, I should come in.
Today there were no optimistic smiles from the nurses, just kindness and silence. As we walked down the hall each poster of a joyous mother and baby poured salt into my wounds.
The ultrasound was performed again, and again the same tech moved the wand at all angles to get a picture of what we could not see. There was silence, too much of it, and there was something else, too: tension. The tech knew what she was supposed to see, but that was not what she saw. We all strained at the screen as if staring and blinking would make it show what we expected. Finally, anxiously, my husband broke the long silence. "Is that a heartbeat?" The tech said she thought so too, but it would be best to call in the head tech from downstairs. She finally arrived, a little flustered, from her very full schedule and quickly ran through the procedure. Yes, of course it was a heartbeat. No, I wasn't miscarrying, it was firmly attached except for a small part at the top. Unaware of what we had seen the week before, she felt we were all a little high-maintenance. The separation had filled and healed. Everything looked fine. She left the room. We were stunned. Grateful. Humbled. Elated.
...These things happen for a reason...
For the rest of this pregnancy I wondered why the Lord had chosen to let us see and go through all these things. We had been given a glimpse of God's detailed plans and work in the unseen; inside me. It would be awhile before I understood some of why He put us through it. After all, He could have taken my baby home, or kept him safe from death without any of us knowing a single detail, but instead, like the family of Lazarus, He let us grieve and then He gave us the impossible. The joy of the resurrection.
God is the Giver of Life. He is the All-Powerful One. He brings life from death. He raised Christ from the dead. He is worthy of all praise.
In November, our boy entered the world, healthy and crying. We were full of joy and gratitude that the child that was dead to us was in our arms, perfectly healthy with beautiful rosebud lips. In the recovery room his big sister and brother marveled with us. And soon we would need the experience to get through each day, because in our exhaustion we might otherwise wonder if we truly wanted this child. He had to be held constantly. It would be over three years before his crying and sometimes screaming would start to taper off at night. Every night, all night, from sun down to sun up, it was our constant implacable serenade. No comforting, no ignoring, no sleep changes, or locations, no reason treatable or untreatable was ever found to explain or help it, and it was not the only difficult challenge this child presented in our lives. The few hours that he would sleep often coincided with the waking of his sister and brother.
We love him dearly and he brings us much joy and has from the beginning, but his early years were a blur of sleep deprivation lived in a fog of exhaustion and frustration. I often felt I was the worst Mother on the planet. But we had been given what we needed to get through it when all else failed. This glimpse into God-stuff, this unwanted experience. Easter 1997. The terrible memory of losing him, missing him, and longing for him with every fiber, together with the knowledge that God's plan for him included bringing him back to us from the dead, answering a prayer we never dared to make, and making sure we knew beyond a shadow of doubt, and before witnesses that He had done it.
...These things happen for a reason. These things happen because God is good...
Happy Resurrection Sunday. He is Risen! And He is the Giver of Life. He is the All-Powerful One. He brings life from death. He raised Christ from the dead. He is worthy of all praise.
