A few days ago my husband and I flew to San Diego, my favorite city to visit, I was sitting in the row behind him, almost giddy with excitement, eager to relieve myself of the stress that had plagued me for the past two weeks. .
I was standing next to a woman who spoke aloud on her phone about her friend who was pregnant again, she responded unpleasantly that her friend’s husband said she was more beautiful when she was pregnant: “Probably just to have more children from her. “She joked. I listened for a while until I realized that the woman on the phone was also pregnant.
Then he caught me for a nasty moment
“How can I have a baby but I wear it? He seems to hate children. I love them. Isn’t that fair?”
As soon as I came up with this thought, I felt terribly guilty. I know you shouldn’t be thinking about these things, and when you do, it’s definitely not legal to admit them. But it was clear as day: I was jealous.
When my husband and I found out we were expecting a baby, we weren’t surprised. Of course, I experienced this shocking moment of seeing the test, with trembling hands, very open eyes, motherhood floating over me. But even though Phillip and I have been married for just a month, I grew up hearing my father’s joke about his efficiency and my mother’s (I was born ten months after her marriage). Just to mention, I grew up in a church community where children follow marriage as inexorably as night goes on. Two of my friends and their husbands, who got married before me, received babies a week apart last year.
I considered telling someone that we were expecting a baby, although I know that the risk of miscarriage is higher in the first trimester, for my husband, it was obvious: that people rejoice with us while we rejoice, and if there is mourning, we will. cry together (Romans 12. 15). I waited another two weeks to make the news public, but I immediately told my friends and colleagues.
And then I started to worry
I am a naturally concerned person and nail bite has continued until my new pregnancy. Did I spend six weeks waking up in night sweats, fearing something would happen to my son?That cranberry [i] I already loved so much. Then, during the seventh week, I felt that I had come to a safer place, I was calmer, I could appreciate my changing body and the wonder of the child growing up in me.
Until then, I didn’t know my baby’s heart had stopped beating.
When the ultrasound informed us, I felt the greatest stomachache I’d ever felt in my life and it’s still painful. It’ll always hurt, I guess.
The worst thing I thought could happen in the last few weeks happened two weeks ago. I lay down on the floor of our apartment suffering physically, emotionally and spiritually, struggling with more pain in every way than I had ever felt before, and shouted, “Why?
Am I a good Christian girl? From a “good Christian family, ” so I know I shouldn’t ask, “Why me?Yes, of course, I deserve death, hell, and the grave (Romans 3:23). In the most difficult times, the Sunday school response to which I was going to be better than I deserved, resoned in me, but I couldn’t help but feel deceived.
I was there, with unbearable pain, tears flowing, by a baby who has caused me so much joy in such a short time, a baby I could never sustain.
The moment I found out I was pregnant, I was looking forward to meeting the little person the Lord had blessed me as a mother. I wondered about his future, his place in my house, his impact on our lives. loves this person more and more every day.
I love children, I grew up around them, I teach them, I want a house full of them, could I expect to be a mother?I was looking forward to taking care of my own son, but now my son was dead. I felt like the Psalmist: “What benefit will you gain in my blood when I go to the grave?Will he praise you for the dust? (Psalm 30. 9). Sometimes we can’t help but ask: God, what are you doing?
Even in this unbearable pain, the Lord’s suffering in my name came to support me.
And I don’t mean that I was sitting there singing Amazing Grace, while waves of pain and sadness flooded my heart. It was far from a beautiful sight. I yelled at God literally gutturally, and felt close to the Savior’s suffering, who had experienced even more unbearable pain for me, not because I lost a son, but because he gave everything to bring home the lost children.
It gives a purpose to our suffering (Romans 8. 28). My miscarriage didn’t happen in a vacuum. My son and I were created in the image of God, designed for his glory. My intentions for my son’s life were not the Lord’s intentions, and my schedule was not his agenda. He chose that the goal of this little person be fulfilled for seven weeks of life. He chose to make my goal even more revealed by the death of this little girl.
She chose me to be my son’s mother for seven weeks, she chose my husband and I to learn to cross hormonal mists together, so that my husband would show a love sacrificed for his tired wife, he chose us to walk together in sadness and to proclaim his greatness even through our pain (Job 13. 15).
I was a mother It was only for a while, but it was a beautiful moment. I hope to become a mother again, but even if that doesn’t happen, God is good and your goals for me are safe. My little part of motherhood continues to show me different angles of God’s good character and things about me that I would never have learned without my baby. That’s why I’m grateful. God is the author of life and the only one who satisfies everything; will fulfill his plan for us (Psalm 57. 2), and that comforts me.
[i] NE. : Cranberry is a fruit native to North America, widely used in American cuisine.