Sometimes I think we go through hard things and then hide them. Or at least not talk about them. Sometimes it’s easier to avoid them. Maybe it’s too raw and real. We let memories fade and time pass and sometimes, we forget.

We forget how God was with us, and we forget that people are going through things that we’ve been through. We forget that He can get glory and honor for the painful or hard things we’ve endured.

According to Google, a miscarriage is “the spontaneous loss of a woman’s pregnancy… that can be both physically and emotionally painful.” They are “very common” with more than 3 million cases in the United States every year.

Despite the frequency and familiarity, when you’re facing one, it can feel like you’re traveling down such a lonely road. Isolated, confused, heartbroken.

Lately it seems like more and more people have been sharing glimpses into their experiences with miscarriage. I have been thinking about our story; I’ve been digging through unpacked boxes, finding treasures from this chapter of our life.

I share them with you in hopes that it helps and encourages you, whether you’ve gone through a miscarriage, or know someone who has. I believe one of the best things we can do is listen – our stories may be similar, but no two are exactly the same.

And most of all – God is good, He is on the throne, and He can redeem anything – whether we see it this side of Heaven or not.

It was my third pregnancy.

We were in a season of church planting. I was a full-time Bible college student. We had an energetic 4 year old boy (completely unaware of all his medical conditions at the time) and an adorable 2 year old girl. We wondered if maybe it was time to add another member to our family. (I know, I’m crazy.)

I had two mostly normal pregnancies and birthed two healthy babies, with a little help from pitocin and epidurals.

I knew I wanted to take better care of myself in this third pregnancy. Along with everything on my plate, I decided to keep up with my running routine on the treadmill.

I was 6 weeks along. I had my first appointment on May 28, 2009; they confirmed my pregnancy. My due date was January 19, 2010.

I had procrastinated on some homework for a special Bible college course I was taking, which created a ton of unnecessary stress. I had months to compete the assignments, and failed to prioritize them. The quarterly class was the next day, May 29th, and I wasn’t ready.

And then I started bleeding.

My world came to a screeching halt.

I had never had this happen before in my other pregnancies. I was devastated. Fear crippled me; worry seized me.

I called my doctor, and she said I would have to go in on Saturday for some labs.

The waiting game began.

It partly seems like a blur, those two days… My husband must have taken care of our two kids. I’m not sure if I ate anything.

I didn’t go to the one-day college intensive that Friday. Overwhelmed, I dropped the class indefinitely. (I often regret this decision, as it was a class dedicated to worship.)

I stayed in bed. Reading my Bible. Worshiping. Bleeding. Weeping. And pleading with God to save my baby.

I studied “life” in the Bible and typed up some verses. I printed the page and I scribbled more notes and worship lyrics in the margins. (I kept this paper in my Bible for years to come.)

I spoke life in the face of death. I declared His promises in the midst of doubt. I believed God for a miracle.

“I Asked You For Life” and “I Have Found” by Kim Walker became my theme songs.

God gave me the name “Ava” which means “to breathe, to live”. He brought me joy and strength despite the depth of the pain I felt. He was with me in this valley.

I held on to hope. It’s all I could do.

My husband drove me to the lab on Saturday. We drove home. We waited some more.

And then we got the call. My levels were down. I was no longer pregnant. I wasn’t far along so there was nothing left to do.

I don’t remember the rest of that day.

But I do remember the next morning.

It was Sunday. We had church. My husband was leading worship. I would still grieve and mourn in the days, weeks, and months to come, but I remember that moment well; I was up front, worshiping my heart out. God was worthy of my worship, no matter what.

I felt a bit like King David in 2 Samuel 12. David pleaded with God for the child; he wept, prayed, and fasted for his son to be saved. His servants couldn’t believe his behavior after his son died. He arose, freshened up, went into the house of the Lord and worshiped. Then he went home and ate.

“While the child was still alive, I fasted and wept. I thought, ‘Who knows? The Lord may be gracious to me and let the child live.’ But now that he is dead, why should I go on fasting? Can I bring him back again? I will go to him, but he will not return to me.” – 2 Samuel 12:22-23

During this season, God gave me someone who had recently gone through a miscarriage. A teacher, a mentor, a friend – she walked this road with me. It helped having someone who had been through what I was going through. Someone further along, full of compassion, who dealt with a similar experience that could understand what I was feeling. One of the greatest gifts – she gave us ideas of how to remember.

Here are some practical things my husband and I did to help us mourn and grieve:

• We named our baby. My husband had really wanted a boy, and I was secretly holding on to the name “Ava”. We both loved the name Levi. We chose Enoch as a middle name, because in the Bible Enoch was taken up to Heaven. It wasn’t until this week that I looked up the meaning of the names. Levi means “attached, joined to”… Enoch means “dedicated”. This baby was joined to his Creator for a reason unknown to us. But this experience also drew my husband and I closer, and it taught me to lean into God at a new level.

• We bought something with the birthstone for January, to help us remember when he would have been born. We settled on a simple ring for me, a heart shape, with a garnet stone. I don’t wear it everyday, but when I do, it’s a beautiful reminder of God and His promises and how He is working all things together for our good.
• I collect Willow Tree angels, and I had stumbled across the “Heart of Gold” keepsake box. It has a little boy on the front, holding a gold heart. The tag reads “You will always have my heart.” It holds the ring when I’m not wearing it.

I’m not saying this is a magic list or things you have to do. But these are just a few examples of things that helped me keep going.

It was a week or so later; I was heading up a project in Bible college and a classmate asked about my pregnancy… in front of everyone. Just weeks before we had proudly announced the good news, but how do you announce that you’re no longer pregnant? We had quietly told a few about the miscarriage, hoping news would get around. Apparently it travel fast enough, and this poor guy hadn’t heard. The awkwardness and heartache, the guilt and the sorrow – it was a heavy burden. I stepped aside while my mentor took over the conversation. I’m so glad she happened to be there.

In the months to come, one of my best friends would have a miscarriage. I often wondered if God had me experience it to help her. And maybe to help you.

The story of miscarriage doesn’t end here. It forever changes us. It can fuel fear or faith. It can inspire worry or worship.

I remember the doctor saying it would take a few months for my body to get back to normal, before we could begin trying to get pregnant again. So much to our surprise, just a short time later, we found out we were pregnant again.

I remember telling the woman who walked so closely with me through my miscarriage, and she said she had been praying for God to restore and redeem that which was lost.

Excitement set in, but fear was close behind. What if I have another miscarriage? How do we announce this if we’re just going to have to un-announce it again?

What if it was my fault – what if I pushed myself too hard with all the running? (There wasn’t much wisdom in this thinking as I later discovered, nor in my fear-based decision to stop working out altogether… which led to me gaining 50+ pounds in this pregnancy.)

Fear caused me to flounder. Especially around the 6 week mark. So I boldly reached out to someone who had a miscarriage and then went on to have more babies. I was open and honest about my fear and worry, and asked for any help or advice.

She spoke life and truth, hope and love into my situation. She shared her experience, and pointed me back to God and His goodness. I actually printed our messages back and forth and kept them in my filing cabinet. I found them this week as I was preparing this blog; I had no idea I still had them!

Fast forward to my due date: April 1, 2010. Funny, huh? April Fool’s Day. Well, unlike my other children, this one came on his own without induction and pitocin. A week later than his due date, our amazing son was born, weighing 11 pounds 6 ounces. There’s a picture of me smiling between pushes, no idea that he would be so big, but overjoyed that we had made it.

His day had come. The redemption was brought to fruition. Love conquered fear. Life won over death.

At the time, I had never heard of a rainbow baby – a term given to a baby born after a miscarriage. “It is like a rainbow after a storm; something beautiful after something scary and dark.”

Another piece of the redemption story came three years later, the day we welcomed our (second) baby girl into the world. Ava Joy had come and brought the promise of life and breath, along with some heavenly joy. The words He spoke in one of the darkest moments of my journey came to life on a Tuesday night in June.

Our family complete.

We wait with hopeful and expectant hearts for our reunion with our baby we never got to meet.

Just last week, I was re-explaining to my kids that they have a brother in Heaven who we’ll get to meet someday. I try to answer their questions as best as I can but sometimes I just don’t know the answers. And that’s okay.

I’m sure I’m leaving out details, as this happened almost ten years ago. I also understand that the endings to our stories can be very different. Saying I’ve had one miscarriage while I have four kids may not compare to what you’ve endured. And it doesn’t have to.

I’m not here to compare. I’ve lived through the loss of an unborn baby. These are my memories. This is a part of our story, our journey, our walk with God.

I pray you’re encouraged to lift up your eyes and find hope in Him, no matter what trial or trouble you’re facing. And I pray for courage, that you’ll share your story – the brutal and the beautiful. Chances are there is someone out there who needs to hear it, to know they’re not alone in what they’re up against.

Remember – God is good, He is on the throne, and He can redeem anything – whether we see it this side of Heaven or not.

I’m here for you, to listen and help, in any way I can, because I care about you so much.

“It is God who arms me with strength, and makes my way perfect.” – Psalm 18:32