After Mira died, I felt like Job. I had nothing left but my faith. I lost it all but Him.
I found, in the days and weeks and months that followed, that I had walked in the darkest of valleys and made it out. Surviving the loss of her was the fiery refinement that made me absolutely fearless. I have become sold out in reckless obedience to God. Her life, though entirely too short, taught me that all of it, all the pain and hurt, are completely worthwhile. Everything made sense. I didn’t like it, but I saw God’s fingerprints in it. Without the miscarriages we experienced in our early days, I don’t know if we would have the same hearts for adoption we have now, nor would we have been in a position to adopt a tiny, toothless 7 year old. If Mira had survived, I know I would not have my son. That’s plain and simple. He has worked out things for good, even the most horrible things. He’s made messes turn into miracles and He brought joy where only sorrow lived.
I know these things.
I know God’s goodness.
I know to trust Him wholeheartedly.
Yet, this next twist in my path has me in a full-on fist-fight with fear.
If you and I personally are social media friends, then you saw our announcement. Much to our complete and utter shock, we are pregnant. Due to my genetic cancer risk, we have been planning a surgery to remove my breast and ovaries in a few short years, so this last summer, we tried one last ditch fertility treatment. It was a giant failure, but it brought me peace and I felt content with never pursuing pregnancy or having biological children again. Due to my PCOS, I haven’t had a period since then. It’s not unusual for me to go 3-6 months without a cycle, and it can be longer in times of stress. And a little one, a teenager, and a realllllly difficult school year can create a lot of stress. I started getting sick around Easter time. Pregnancy was the last thing on my mind or my doctors’ minds, for that matter. At first I was treated for a sinus infection, and they suggested the drainage was making me sick. I went back, and I was told it was anxiety due to delayed grief and stress at work. So I started anxiety medication. Still, I found myself vomiting 3 to 4 times almost every day, now for months.
I went back to the doctor this past Friday, and he felt determined to get to the bottom of this. He did lab work and he made a referral to a G.I. specialist. A brief moment before I walked out the door, he walked quickly and purposely to where I stood at the checkout desk and stopped me from leaving, asking me to go back into the exam room to talk. He has no poker face, and so I could immediately tell something was going on. When he shut the door, he took a deep breath and told me I was pregnant. My initial reaction was complete and utter disbelief. I argued with him! Then disbelief gave way to shock, which turned into a lot of crying. I was both petrified and excited. It was impossible to guess how far along I am. I called my husband, then my mom.
And then I did what any other normal mom does when she can’t get her life together… I went to Target.
As I walked the aisles daydreaming, panicking, questioning “what now,” I felt an overwhelming sense of peace as I remembered God’s goodness even in the most horrific darkness. I called Jake and he and I both agreed we should share our miracle with all of our friends and family for their support and prayer, as well as to share our testimony, which is that God is always good.
I felt brave and fearless. We eagerly made the announcement.
Now, I’m only two days into the week long wait for my ultrasound, fear is creeping in and my knees are already knocking.
I’m fighting the what-ifs and thinking too much. I over analyze every single pain or ache. I panic thinking I’ve told too many people, terrified bad news will break their hearts.
Pregnancy after loss is brutal.
Unexpected, unintended pregnancy after multiple losses is a battlefield.
I’m fighting hard to remember that no matter the outcome of this pregnancy, He is good.
I’m fighting doubt that yes, He is the God of miracles.
I’m fighting to let go of the reigns, I’m struggling to remember His vision is broader than mine.
I’m fighting fear.
Pray for me. Pray for this tiny miracle baby.
Fear is a liar.