I began miscarrying last night for the eighth time. The contractions started in earnest before I went to sleep and I woke in the early hours with intense pain and bleeding.
This morning I received an e-mail from a friend saying she’d been woken up by a dream about me while it was still dark and prayed for me. I was up shortly before dawn trying to make the pain go away enough so I could sleep. Her note reminded me that God was with me then, is with me now, loves me, is holding me in His hand. . .thank You, Lord!
I’ve been anticipating this miscarriage for a few weeks with alternating fear and faith, expecting the inevitable and yet excited that this time it might be different. A few friends have been praying for me with a lot more faith than I could. I have felt like the paralytic man who was healed by the faith of his friends who lowered him down to Jesus through the roof. My heart has been paralyzed because I’ve been trying to protect myself from the pain of yet another baby lost.
It hit me hard the other day when I realized that pregnancy signs have become signs of miscarriage in my mind–I don’t think of “pregnancy” in the normal way anymore. There are also specific signs of miscarriage I’ve become pretty sensitive to. I left the breakfast table the other morning to go cry, because I was pretty sure by then that I was going to miscarry and I couldn’t hold back the emotions. When I came back to the table Rob and the children asked why I was crying. When I told them, the children asked how I knew that already. Rob told them, “Mommy knows.”
A few nights ago I willed myself to open my heart enough to tell God that I did want this baby and that I wanted Him to preserve the pregnancy. I told Him that I didn’t want to wall off my heart, but instead I wanted to trust Him and ask in faith for this real and good desire, and that I would trust and praise Him no matter what the outcome.
I’ve decided I’d rather have faith and risk being hurt than have a heart of stone. I’d rather feel pain than feel nothing. I’d rather be forced to cling to God and experience His comfort than retreat within myself in prideful self-protection. I’d rather be alive than dead.