When Life Fractures Your Faith
Can I tell you all about something?
It’s not
pretty. It’s hard. And it’s hard to talk about. I think I am needing to write my way through it, and, for some reason, I feel
compelled to share it. Maybe
someone out there needs to hear this or at least know they aren’t the only one.
Or maybe it is that I’m the one that needs to hear something from one of you
who has been here before.
(On that note, I also need to kindly ask you
to refrain from offering medical advice or family planning opinions. I am
talking with my doctor about it. And I am just not sure I am comfortable with
that dialogue or ready to have it here.)
In the span
of two months, I have had two miscarriages.
Two.
Both times,
my husband and I were practicing the method of birth control that has worked
for us for years.
Both times,
I tested before my missed period. (Perhaps I am just far too in tune with my
body, but I seem to have “spidey senses” when it comes to pregnancy.)
Both times,
I miscarried within two days of my discovery.
I have been
wanting more babies but sensing it wasn’t time (It kind of helps sensing it
when your husband tells you he is not at all ready).
Each time I
saw that extra line on the stick, I thought God was blessing us with a
surprise.
Maybe I am
alone on this. But I love surprises.
I have a
brother who is almost fourteen years younger than me, my parents' later-in-life
surprise blessing. I have two dear friends who got pregnant after thinking they
had permanently shut off the possibility of pregnancy. I’ve seen the miracle. I’ve
seen the way that the family stretched with joy and love. I’ve seen the abundance
of blessing in the unexpected.
I am not
quite sure how to put this into words, but I have been so angry over the
miscarriages. There is white hot rage underneath this skin. How and why? And just why?! I felt the
darkness of depression pulling at me. I’ve felt my faith rock.
It feels like some kind of cruel joke.
I don’t
understand the point. I don’t even understand exactly what happened. Did life
happen? Did I lose something? What is wrong with me? Surely this isn’t normal?
It’s
isolating. It’s really hard to talk about.
It’s also really
hard to process.
I want to
grieve, but it feels like I haven’t “earned the right,” like I didn’t lose
enough. Like it was a second-rate miscarriage.
I am
learning that while I might want to pick up my broken heart and set it next to someone’s
heart like my dear friend’s who miscarried a very wanted and tried-for baby in
her 11th week and had complications that dragged out the whole
ordeal for weeks. Grief is not a substance
that it can be compared. Broken is broken. And while my rational mind might
want to say that I am less deserving, that I can’t cry as much or as hard. My
heart is broken. I need to heal. I need to grieve.
I remember
breaking my arm when I was in the third grade. I had gotten this great idea to
show my older, cooler friend that I could swing with “no hands.” It took about
two seconds to discover how not bright that idea was. I flipped
backwards, arm meeting the ground first. My right ulna was broken all the way
through.
I remember
the healing process for that break. The emergency room. The overnight sling. The
two different casts and the three months of wearing them. I remember doing
homework with my left hand and taking my baths with my arm above water, wrapped
in plastic.
I also
remember the pain of having my arm set back into place. My mom remembers the
scream of her quiet, keep-it-all-together child ringing through the waiting
room. Setting was by far the most painful part in the process, even more
painful than the break itself.
I think
grieving can be like that. It is a process. Life, trials, people collide with
our plans, our hopes, our dreams and just leave us reeling. Sometimes our ideas and beliefs get
fractured in the aftermath of loss and need to be set back into place.
Setting is
that painful place, that place that is full of why’s. It’s that place of broken
plans and dreams. It’s that place where you can walk away from God’s promises
and live fractured or you can chose to live by faith rather than by what you
see. It’s that place of re-realizing that God’s ways are higher and sometimes
we just don’t get to understand this side of heaven. It’s a place of letting
go, of surrender, of trust. It’s a place of realigning with what the Word of
God says.
I can tell
you I have gone through “the setting” in this process. I may have even yelled
out in pain and frustration at God. But I am walking through it. I have reached
out to some friends. I have chosen to fight that darkness instead of allowing
it to fill my life.
I just want
to leave you with the two things that seemed to minister to my heart.
Psalm 126:5-6 "Those who sow in tears shall reap with joyful shouting. He who goes to and fro weeping, carrying his bag of seed, shall indeed come again with a shout of joy, bringing his sheaves with him."
I am
clinging to this promise, reminding God of it. I am sowing my tears, I’m not
holding them in. And I am waiting to see what God will do.
I went to
Women of Faith in the midst of this and heard this song by Mercy Me. I can’t
even tell you how much it ministered or how much it felt like I could have
written this song from my own life. If you have ever experienced deep pain and
loss, just. listen. to. this. song.
Thank you
for letting me share here. Seriously, thank you!
By Grace,
Amanda Conquers
Psst… I should be back this week with a story that involves
a fishing line, two dogs, and the reason I do not fish. It may even leave you
rolling with laughter ;)