My first miscarriage was hard. Make ya wanna dive into the depths of the despair, consider throwin’ in the baby making towel hard. But the faith part wasn’t so terribly hard in that one. I mean, it sucked. And we weren’t excited about it, but they’re not uncommon, right? And everybody has to go through stuff…the Bible tells me so. And that was maybe the hardest thing I’ve ever actually been asked to walk through so I figured it wasn’t as bad as people who had met there baby and then had to watch him/her die. I could at least be faithful through an early term miscarriage. And it wasn’t because I was willing myself to be faithful. It never occurred to me to be angry or doubt or cuss. I desperately wanted to honor God with my response to that first one.
My second miscarriage occurred two and a half weeks ago. I can’t believe it’s been two and a half weeks. It feels like less. Or more. I’m not sure. It just feels…awful. I’m all cried out at this point, to tell you the truth. In fact, after the first two days of snotting up my pillow case and not showering at all, I let go of sad and latched onto pissed. Full on, say a lot of cuss words, “God, we are not on speaking terms” pissed. And then hopeless saddled up with pissed. They take turns holding the reigns. Occasionally I allow peace to bump them off but hopeless and pissed will not be so easily dethroned, I guess.
This time around I have felt personally attacked by God because I know He can do whatever He wants. That He could have, at the very least, prevented the pregnancy. Even THAT would have been better than THIS. It felt/feels like He looked at me and said, “Em, I know this is deeply important to you and Josh. I know that it’s a deep-seeded heart dream of yours. And I know this is going knock you down like a tidal wave, pin you to the floor, and wash over you again and again until you feel like you’ll never take another breath. But I’m going to allow it to happen anyway. Sorry, pal.”
Please hear me. I’m well aware that what I feel does not match up with what God’s Word says. And I do/will continue to remember that His Word is my plumb line. My truth level, NOT the way I feel. And what I’m learning is that when the truth about me and the truth about my God collide, a big, fat, snotty, showerless mess called a crisis of faith occurs. And I must make a choice – to believe what He’s already said or to buy some boxing gloves and slam the mess out of an unsuspecting punching bag. Which I may do anyway because this home girl could stand to relieve some aggression.
And please also know that Jesus’ nearness has been tangible.
He let me be angry, say ugly words and ugly things. He didn’t push through the just being here for me of my husband and my Mama.
He whispered words of faith-hope through my Gra’ma. Thoughts of I care through Lauren. And brought me chocolate and flowers through Tiffany. All on the same day.
He spoke I’m so sorry this happeneds and it really isn’t fairs and I’m talking to God about it, toos through the people who love me.
He sat next to me in church on Sunday – my first day back amidst the regular life living when I felt all but regular. The Hunk got tied up doing his job and I felt like the loneliness would swallow me up until He held my hand, stroked my hair, and gave me the strength to praise a God who I believe but I do not understand.
And today He swooped in and reminded me that I have the choice to say, “Enough is enough.” To run, arms flailing Phoebe-style, back to the only place I ever find comfort. His truth. His Word. His presence.
I don’t really know what this is going to look like this time around. How I will be able to ask for good things again and believe that He will give them to me. That He wants to give good. But I know that He will not stop until He has healed me. Again. Today I slammed right into Him through this blog post. The collision hurt so good that all I could do was weep.
And then I knew it was time to tell you what I’ve been walking through because you should know that I’m confused, too. And that God isn’t finished with me yet. Maybe you’re walking through something that has you scouring Amazon for pink boxing gloves because pissed and hopeless have settled into your heart and they’ve gotta express themselves somehow. Spousal abuse is off the table so a punching bag will be needed as well 😉
All I can say right now is to watch for Jesus. He IS pursuing you and me. He aches to comfort you and me. Be brave enough to let Him. And God? Apparently He’s not done yet. Hang on to the rope [as my Mama would say]. Hanging on to the rope, especially when you’re down to your final shred of fingernail, is the kind of faith that does move mountains. Thank you, sweet Jesus, for that.