3 months

Today is 3 months. So odd, as it feels like it was yesterday, and yet it feels like I've always been carrying this around me inside as well.

I don't mean to mislead, and for you to think that all I think about is the miscarriage. A month ago, that was true. This month, God has been good and I am not CONSTANTLY thinking about it. It still comes up, in my mind, every day. But it's different. I don't well up in tears (all the time, sometimes I do, but I'm a cry-er anyways), and I can feel inside me the healing. I know, and have been told by others who have gone before me, there will always be a hole there, a longing. As someone put it "A piece of your heart is in heaven." And it is.

And there have been so many good things, good days, visits with friends, holidays, that have passed. It's a weird sensation honestly. To be so present in the  moment, so thankful and happy, and joyful. But there is just a teeny piece of me thinking "I would be pregnant right now... we would have a baby on the way." It's strange to feel so completely connected to those around me and feel and know I am loved and included, but at the same time to feel a gap, disconnected, alone. Strange.

I think the hardest think has been an absolute shift in the world I've always known. To walk into a room one person, and walk out changed forever. To live my life mourning with OTHERS, carrying OTHERS' burdens, praying for OTHERS going through hard times/things/trials. Because bad things are all around, but they happen to OTHERS.

To be an OTHER is altogether different. This has been my hardest realization. The bursting bubble. Our baby died. What if Matt died? What about Levi, Noah, my mom? Me? What if one of the boys gets cancer? Do they have it now? What if the US government just implodes (mess that it is), should we get a gun? Should we, what if, how about?

And every night as these questions absolutely overwhelm me in my paranoid panic attack driven fit, I just have to shout "OK... WHAT IF?" What does that change? What is my core? These peoples, these circumstances, this government? NO. No. Christ is my core. And every night "preaching the gospel" to myself, as our small group leader used to say. Bringing myself back to the foot of the cross, Christ died for me. He lives. Every good and perfect thing is from above. My marriage, my boys, my family and friends. These are all good things given to me by my Creator for a point in time.

I see much clearer the effects of sin and evil in this world, and it has intensified my longing for Heaven. For righteousness, for completion of all good works. For Christ. This baby has driven me closer to the cross, brought me down to my knees, as both Levi and Noah have in the past, only this time it was done in a much more tangible way, much more painful way. Because give me sleepless nights and spitting up and a messy house and toddler tantrums. But loss, oh loss. Motherhood is humbling. The children we bear and lose, all of them. Humble us, God uses them to mold us more like Him. And in the end, that is the goal. I have to remind myself of that. Earthly happiness will get me nowhere. Joy in my Savior, belief in Him, that will get me everything.

As always, Andrew Peterson's lyrics hit the nail on the head. Pillar of Fire:

On through the passes of the mountains it goes
As bouldered and broken as my heart
I shiver and cry and I watch as it winds
To the deepest and the darkest parts

I can see it whirling, swirling,
Spinning all around
Now upward, onward, now homeward bound
Oh, Jesus, hold me through the night,
Pillar of Fire

Where, Oh Lord, are you leading?
I can get so scared in the night
My feet are cut and bleeding
With every step I feel less alive

Oh, but Pillar of Fire, you blazed this trail
You've been there every step along the road
From a barn in Bethlehem to Hell and back again
You blazed the trail that leads me home

*As a side note: I started writing not sure where I was going with this, so, yeah, it got out of a hand a little bit...


Shari said...

I remember when I realized I was not immune to trials and hurts. It was such a shock. And, for me, revealed where my hope had been placed. I felt alone too. Because no person can really feel the hurt with you. But I learned that Jesus can, and He is there. Love you and miss you.

Grace said...

How am I just seeing this now? Such a beautiful post and I can so relate. I always think about it every day...and feel empty inside. But like you there is still joy! I guess that's why psalms says, "Weeping may remain for a night but rejoicing comes in the morning." It's a weird mixture.

maryanne helms said...

Betty, this was beautifully written and beautifully expressed.