Kids have always been something I have wanted. For as long as I can remember I have looked forward to having my own family, my own children. Sam and I had been married about 3.5 years when we decided to start thinking about our family. Our story begins in November 2011.
After about two months of trying, I was ecstatic to find out I was pregnant. I wasn't surprised. After all, women in my family have a history of being healthy mothers...no issues, no history of problems. I thought, without a doubt, we were in the clear. Actually, to be perfectly honest, I pridefully believed child loss was something I would never have to deal with. The thought hardly crossed my mind. I was pregnant. We were going to have a baby. Begin the 9 month countdown.
Things got interesting about 11 weeks along. Looking back on it now, I see the warning signs I missed. I won't go into them in detail since that can get a little gross. But I will say this: my body was giving me cues. I just missed all of them; my doctors missed all of them. About 11 weeks in, I started spotting. A trip to the emergency room later, we were given the worst news. The pregnancy had stopped progressing at 6 weeks; I would imminently lose the pregnancy. After about a week, my body started to reject the pregnancy and I ended up back in the hospital, in an operating room, and left to deal with the emptiness. That's the only way I can describe it. I just felt empty...and broken. Of course, I asked God all of the obvious questions you ask in crisis. Why me? Why now? Is there something wrong with me? What I didn't do was surrender it. Instead I clung to it. The only thing I could think of was recovering and getting pregnant again. I didn't want to waste time. I had tunnel vision set on the future and I had to try again.
We were successful again in April 2012. Of course, we were so excited to get another chance and, once again, I managed to convince myself that nothing like that first time would ever happen again. I was thrilled, I told too many people way too early, and then the bottom fell out...again. We made it to 5.5 weeks this time. I barely had time to celebrate the pregnancy before it was over all over. No hospital this time; luckily my body took care of itself...but the toll of the second loss was somehow more than the first. I was inconsolable. But still, that stubborn, fighting voice in my head propelled me forward. It said, "Try again...don't waste time." I listened to that voice for the second time. One would think I could have learned from my mistakes.
Since I didn't, we were pregnant again in late July 2012. Three pregnancies in less than one year. Once again, we were excited; however, this time, we were apprehensive. I felt scared the moment I found out. I don't know if it was divine discernment or if I had just learned my body's cues extremely well, but I just knew something wasn't right. Everything positive in me tried to convince myself that I was just being paranoid, but the sense of foreboding continued. At 5 weeks, I was experiencing my third miscarriage. I was in disbelief. I was broken, a mess. I was ashamed of my body, of the losses, and of the failures.
3 miscarriages in less than one year.
How does a person cope with that? How can you move on from that? What comes next? I'll be perfectly honest, I was scared to death. I didn't know what the next step was. Of course, at this point I truly believed something must be wrong with me physically. I thought I must be infertile or that something in me was hostile towards a developing baby. So, that's the road we went down first.
Looking back on it, I feel like God led us in this direction just to quiet my inner demons. We went through all of the tests, many of which were extremely invasive and uncomfortable. We jumped through all of the hoops. A gazillion blood draws, pokes, and prods later, I was given a clean bill of health. Absolutely nothing showed up.
At this point, about 2 months had passed since my last miscarriage. Sam and I weren't even considering trying again until we figured out what the problem was. With this clean bill of health, we were left scratching our heads. If it isn't physical, what is it? Is it possible we are just that unlucky? It was at this time I heard (and when I say heard, I don't mean an actual voice...I know that happens...I can't wait until that happens for me, but this wasn't one of those experiences) God reassuring me, "Nothing is wrong with you. I showed you that." I'm not sure how I heard it, but those words were on my lips. They were in my head...even though I tried desperately to refute them. Somehow, it was easier to believe something was wrong.
I was at a crossroads. Either I could go down the same road of stubbornly trying again and again...which somehow, even after all of that mess, seemed humanly appealing. Or, I could try another tactic. I could invite God in to this whole mess and ask Him for guidance and help. It's actually a little pathetic that the two options even competed with one another. Written out, I know it's obvious which to choose. I know you're all screaming, "Choose the second option!" For me though, it wasn't so clear.
Enter an angel. Seriously, I'm convinced she's an angel. A close friend of mine came in to work gushing over a book she was reading. A book about prayer and praying intentionally. Cynically, her descriptions of the book made me roll my eyes inwardly and think things like, "Oh brother, I can't take this right now." She knew better than me though. About a week in to her reading, she gifted me with the same book. It is called The Circle Maker by Mark Batterson.
I'll be honest, my first experiences with this book left me inwardly gagging. Obviously, this was a good indication of the condition of my spirit: cynical, doubting, hard. The text made it seem so easy. Pray unceasingly for what you want, get specific, name your miracle, God will deliver it. Um, yeah. Sure. Sounds great. For some reason though, I kept reading. One story actually struck me. It was about a mother who had tried for years to have children. Obviously I could relate to that. It softened my heart and opened my mind. I heard a small voice telling me things like, "You could try it. What could it hurt?" Heaven knows my relationship with God could use some work. Even if it just gets me praying again, I guess that would be worth it.
So I dove in. I went all in. In the beginning of November 2012, I began a fasting regimen. Now let me be perfectly transparent, I had never in my life tried anything like this before. I feel like the word 'fasting' brands you as super-spiritual...well, you've obviously read this whole story...you know that isn't the case. But I did try it. As Sam and I eased back into 'trying' again, I fasted for 14 hours a day for 14 days. During this time, I prayed more than I ever have in my entire life. Everyday I would meet God for about an hour and just tell him what I wanted. Exactly what I wanted. I got awkwardly specific. It felt weird...I had always been a very vague prayer. But I realized that vaguely praying doesn't really give God a chance to show you all He can and will do. I prayed, I asked. I begged. I remember going to church during this time and looking at Jesus' prayer in the garden. He asked God, if it were possible, to change his fate. Ultimately though, He accepted that God's will would be done. It slammed me...if Jesus asked for a change, why did I think I shouldn't? Why shouldn't I ask? What could be more intimate than asking God to do something so personal? It takes more trust to ask than to sit back and attribute anything that happens to God's will. That's easy. Asking is hard; it's vulnerable. It's risky...because you might end up with a solid 'no.' Then again, you may end up with a resounding, miraculous 'yes.' The risk is definitely worth it.
After my 14 days, I had a renewed vigor for God and I saw God's hand through all of our mess. Just as importantly, I became aware of the times I shut Him out when I should have invited Him in. I'm no theologian...I don't know if God causes things like miscarriages to happen. I just don't know. All I know is, He absolutely, 100%, without a doubt used those awful experiences to draw me closer to Him.
God is faithful. He is so good. After two weeks of fasting and praying, we were pregnant again. I felt peace. Seriously. I am not kidding. I had no fear. It was different. I had asked God to allow me to get pregnant again only when it was right...only when it was a baby I would get to meet. I knew He listened. One of the things God and I talked about during those 14 days was that, when he gave me a baby, I wouldn't keep quiet about it. I told him I would shout it from the rooftops. I wanted everyone to know that God was the One who gave me this miracle. It wasn't me, it wasn't owed to me, it was a gift. It is an incredible gift. This blog is my rooftop and, I hope these words I've typed scream out this story.
I'm now 12 weeks pregnant. We've seen the ultrasound pictures, we've heard the heartbeat...it's actually happening. Does it scare the crap out of me to post this blog before I'm holding a baby in my arms? Absolutely. I'm not naive to how delicate this whole process is...I know so much can happen. But with our story, 12 weeks in itself is a miracle. We are blessed to have met this baby on an ultrasound and to have heard this baby's heart beating. It's the greatest feeling in the world. God is faithful. He redeems messed up situations.
The most important thing I learned through all of it? Never stop talking to God. When you speak to Him, you'll hear Him...and hearing Him will forever change your life.
At this point, about 2 months had passed since my last miscarriage. Sam and I weren't even considering trying again until we figured out what the problem was. With this clean bill of health, we were left scratching our heads. If it isn't physical, what is it? Is it possible we are just that unlucky? It was at this time I heard (and when I say heard, I don't mean an actual voice...I know that happens...I can't wait until that happens for me, but this wasn't one of those experiences) God reassuring me, "Nothing is wrong with you. I showed you that." I'm not sure how I heard it, but those words were on my lips. They were in my head...even though I tried desperately to refute them. Somehow, it was easier to believe something was wrong.
I was at a crossroads. Either I could go down the same road of stubbornly trying again and again...which somehow, even after all of that mess, seemed humanly appealing. Or, I could try another tactic. I could invite God in to this whole mess and ask Him for guidance and help. It's actually a little pathetic that the two options even competed with one another. Written out, I know it's obvious which to choose. I know you're all screaming, "Choose the second option!" For me though, it wasn't so clear.
Enter an angel. Seriously, I'm convinced she's an angel. A close friend of mine came in to work gushing over a book she was reading. A book about prayer and praying intentionally. Cynically, her descriptions of the book made me roll my eyes inwardly and think things like, "Oh brother, I can't take this right now." She knew better than me though. About a week in to her reading, she gifted me with the same book. It is called The Circle Maker by Mark Batterson.
I'll be honest, my first experiences with this book left me inwardly gagging. Obviously, this was a good indication of the condition of my spirit: cynical, doubting, hard. The text made it seem so easy. Pray unceasingly for what you want, get specific, name your miracle, God will deliver it. Um, yeah. Sure. Sounds great. For some reason though, I kept reading. One story actually struck me. It was about a mother who had tried for years to have children. Obviously I could relate to that. It softened my heart and opened my mind. I heard a small voice telling me things like, "You could try it. What could it hurt?" Heaven knows my relationship with God could use some work. Even if it just gets me praying again, I guess that would be worth it.
So I dove in. I went all in. In the beginning of November 2012, I began a fasting regimen. Now let me be perfectly transparent, I had never in my life tried anything like this before. I feel like the word 'fasting' brands you as super-spiritual...well, you've obviously read this whole story...you know that isn't the case. But I did try it. As Sam and I eased back into 'trying' again, I fasted for 14 hours a day for 14 days. During this time, I prayed more than I ever have in my entire life. Everyday I would meet God for about an hour and just tell him what I wanted. Exactly what I wanted. I got awkwardly specific. It felt weird...I had always been a very vague prayer. But I realized that vaguely praying doesn't really give God a chance to show you all He can and will do. I prayed, I asked. I begged. I remember going to church during this time and looking at Jesus' prayer in the garden. He asked God, if it were possible, to change his fate. Ultimately though, He accepted that God's will would be done. It slammed me...if Jesus asked for a change, why did I think I shouldn't? Why shouldn't I ask? What could be more intimate than asking God to do something so personal? It takes more trust to ask than to sit back and attribute anything that happens to God's will. That's easy. Asking is hard; it's vulnerable. It's risky...because you might end up with a solid 'no.' Then again, you may end up with a resounding, miraculous 'yes.' The risk is definitely worth it.
After my 14 days, I had a renewed vigor for God and I saw God's hand through all of our mess. Just as importantly, I became aware of the times I shut Him out when I should have invited Him in. I'm no theologian...I don't know if God causes things like miscarriages to happen. I just don't know. All I know is, He absolutely, 100%, without a doubt used those awful experiences to draw me closer to Him.
God is faithful. He is so good. After two weeks of fasting and praying, we were pregnant again. I felt peace. Seriously. I am not kidding. I had no fear. It was different. I had asked God to allow me to get pregnant again only when it was right...only when it was a baby I would get to meet. I knew He listened. One of the things God and I talked about during those 14 days was that, when he gave me a baby, I wouldn't keep quiet about it. I told him I would shout it from the rooftops. I wanted everyone to know that God was the One who gave me this miracle. It wasn't me, it wasn't owed to me, it was a gift. It is an incredible gift. This blog is my rooftop and, I hope these words I've typed scream out this story.
I'm now 12 weeks pregnant. We've seen the ultrasound pictures, we've heard the heartbeat...it's actually happening. Does it scare the crap out of me to post this blog before I'm holding a baby in my arms? Absolutely. I'm not naive to how delicate this whole process is...I know so much can happen. But with our story, 12 weeks in itself is a miracle. We are blessed to have met this baby on an ultrasound and to have heard this baby's heart beating. It's the greatest feeling in the world. God is faithful. He redeems messed up situations.
The most important thing I learned through all of it? Never stop talking to God. When you speak to Him, you'll hear Him...and hearing Him will forever change your life.
