Miscarriage has become a huge underground struggle in American families. Over 15% of pregnancies are lost each year. That percentage didn’t scare me when I first found out that I was pregnant. I was young, healthy, strong, and none of my friends had experienced one. But I was very naïve.
Only 6 weeks into my pregnancy I lost the baby. I hadn’t fallen, or done anything that I wasn’t supposed to. I took my vitamins and ate all the healthy food I could stand. It just didn’t make any sense. No one even seemed surprised when they found out. My mother (who also lost her first) just kept telling me that it was OK and that she felt so sorry for me. I wasn’t sure if she really understood or if she just said that to make me stop crying. I wasn’t even crying because I was that upset over the miscarriage itself. I was crying because I was scared. What if something was wrong with me? What if I could never have children? Why did it happen to me but none of my friends? I was confused and angry.
My husband tried to help, but he was going through his own stuff at the time. He was really upset that he was never going to meet his first child. He kept saying that he hoped the baby would be in heaven. That was the last thing on my mind, though. I was caught up in the fact that something was probably wrong with me and that I would be the only person I knew who could not have children. In my mind my household consisted only of my husband and I… and whatever animals we decided to fill it with. I was positive that God was messing with my head. I hadn’t been completely sure that the timing had been right to begin with, but once we found out that we really were pregnant everything seemed to click. It was like God had given us a gift and a direction, then just took it away and messed our newly married life up. I didn’t want to blame God, but if not Him, who? It made sense at the time.
So, I would hurt God the way that He hurt me. I stopped going to church, having time with Him, or really even praying. I pretty much cut myself off from Him completely, and in doing so, cut myself off from my husband, too. My husband just didn’t understand why I couldn’t be comfortable in church, or why I never wanted to have devotions with him anymore. While he was leaning totally on God, I was running in the opposite direction. We didn’t even talk anymore. It was like we were roommates who weren’t completely comfortable with each other. It took weeks for us to be able to have a decent conversation.
When my marriage finally started to feel like it was OK again, work started to suck. I couldn’t stand any of the people that we were hiring. Where I was needed before, I was no longer needed. When one part of my life started to work again, another part started to crash.
Of course, the only place that I knew that I could go was to God. I felt ashamed for my petty anger. I knew that He hadn’t done anything to hurt me, and yet I put all of the blame on Him. I started praying again. One night, after my husband was asleep, I prayed that God would use the loss of the baby for good. I felt like God was saying that even through something horrible, He can and does bring good. Even though it was hard to talk to or be around my husband right after the loss, eventually our relationship grew stronger and deeper. My walk with God also became stronger than it was before. I see Him in a different light than I did before. My relationship with God had always been close, but before I saw Him as an escape from my trouble and pain. Now I understand that He sometimes has to lead us through pain. It sucks, but He doesn’t let it end there. My husband and I are pregnant again. I am a little unsure about whether to be skeptical or overjoyed…. But I know that whatever happens that God will use it for His best.
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