I’m ready. I have been waiting for that time when the tears come less quickly, waiting for a time when
the pain won’t leap out with startling rapidity. Waiting for healing from grief. But it hasn’t come. Not
now. Not yet. Maybe never.
My life forever changed.
Our baby died.
Scott and I were only a few weeks into being parents. Almost to the end of the first trimester, we were
prepping ways to tell families and friends about the little surprise that we were welcoming into the
world. And then I began to experience excruciating pain.
A series of tests. Two ER visits. I was told that my baby was dead. Then told that my baby was alive.
Finally—that my baby was growing outside of my uterus—and that my baby and I would both die if
the pregnancy continued. There was no question. No possibilities. Only certainty. We would both die,
probably in the second trimester.
Chemo treatments to end my baby’s life. The pain, the shaking, the nausea—knowing that my baby was
On Christmas day. An ultrasound. My baby’s heartbeat—still. Unspeakable pain. Surgery.
A blur of agony and hard choices. Tears. Lots and lots of tears. Brokenness.
And my Savior. God’s grace.
Bless our God, O peoples; who has kept our soul among the living and has not let our feet slip. For you, O God, have tested us… you laid a crushing burden on our backs… we went through fire and through water; yet you have brought us out to a place of abundance. (Ps. 66)
My sustenance was Psalm 66 and constant thanksgiving. “I’m thankful for nurses who work on
Christmas. I’m thankful for a husband who brings me cold water. I’m thankful for excellent medical care. I’m thankful for Dr. Wickert. I’m thankful for eternity and heaven…Thank you, thank you, thank you…
“Thank you, Lord for letting my baby spend eternity praising you. I asked that they may live for your
glory all their lives. You have granted my prayer in a way I did not expect, but a way which is so loving for my baby.”
Grief doesn’t go away. Instead, it’s like a deep dye, saturating the weave of your life. As time goes, it
lightens, it washes, but it never leaves. Your fabric has been changed. Permanently altered. And by
God’s grace, it becomes beautiful. Beautiful, but different.
By God’s grace, I battled bitterness, discontent, insecurity, worthlessness, depression, fear, and anger.
I have not emerged victorious. I am still battling, but such is life. Fortunately, the intensity of the battle is waning. Rest comes frequently. Tears don’t rain as often. God has led me to a land of sunshine.
Come and see what God has done:
he is awesome in his deeds toward the children of man. (Ps.66)
I do not know why God orchestrated my first venture into motherhood in this way. But I can see the
blessings: I can see increased compassion and sensitivity, a continual focus towards heaven. The blessings which come after the pain are much sweeter.
And a new blessing is coming…
Building a family is not about splitting and combining DNA. It’s not about biology. It’s not about
procreation. It’s about love. God’s family is a beautiful amalgamation of different backgrounds, different skin colors, and different gifts.
But it is a family—knit together by passionate, all-consuming love of our great God and faithful Savior.
We want our family on this earth to model our eternal family.
With that in mind, we are in the process of adoption.
Because we wholeheartedly believe that this is the best way for us to bring God glory and praise… and
because He deserves it all and so much more, we are venturing into another adventure of parenting.
The waters are choppy. The sea not as quickly navigated. Some of the unknowns are terrifying, but
God’s grace continues to amaze.
“Shout for joy to God, all the earth;
sing the glory of his name;
give to him glorious praise!
Say to God, “How awesome are your deeds…
All the earth worships you
and sings praises to you;
they sing praises to your name.”