Miscarriage and the Gospel

I’ve been pregnant four times.

It’s not something I’ve talked about to many people, but in between Selah and Micah, there were two more babies. The first little one that we lost, we barely had time to process it. It happened so early that I struggle to even acknowledge it. We weren’t planning on getting pregnant at that time so there wasn’t a build up of expectation. More of a, “Hmm, something is off right now. I wonder if we’re….wait we’re pregnant?? Oh my goodness! Ok! Well then…oh wait what’s happening…” My doctor confirmed what I couldn’t understand - we had had an early miscarriage.

The second time it happened was much different. We had planned for it this time. Been expectant and hopeful with the pregnancy test. Rejoiced when it came back positive. Took a few more tests to be certain. Basked in the days afterwards as the reality set in. Took some more tests just to be sure. Started dreaming of what life with two babies would look like.

And then the bleeding started. Then the denial. Then the cramps. The pain. The loss. If I’m honest, I don’t fully remember the 24 hours after our second loss. When I try to recall that time, I just get pieces. It’s a haze of blurry memories that don’t feel like they’re mine - moments in time that I watched happened instead of moments I remember living out.

The hardest part of these two losses, especially the first one, is justifying my grief. They both happened so early. We didn’t even get the chance to hear heartbeats. Does it even count? Did I just have seven faulty tests in a row? Do I get to grieve the loss of someone I’d only known existed for such a short time?

In all of the questions, in all of the grief, there is one moment that I will never forget. I remember excusing myself from the dinner table because it had become hard to breathe. I remember going into our bathroom and crumbling to the floor. I remember letting go of any restraint that I had held to keep tears inside.

I don’t remember that moment because of the overwhelming sadness. I remember it because that’s where God met me. In my sobs, in my tears, in my groans, in my pain, God was there.

I remember passages of Scripture I hadn’t realized I had memorized coming back into my mind. I remember the life of God’s word meeting me as I wrestled with the death my body had experienced. I remember laying out this burden of grief and finding the sweet refuge of my Savior’s grace and love - a perfect place to bring my brokenness and questions and pain.

God doesn’t leave us in the midst of our grief. The truth of the gospel doesn’t call us to diminish or erase its reality. Our faith isn’t beautiful because life is good and easy and free from pain. The gospel is so precious because in the middle of pain, loss, death, and tears, we have an unshakeable future hope to cling to.

“And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” And he who was seated on the throne said, “Behold, I am making all things new.” Also he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.” Revelation 21:3-5

It a was a few days after our second miscarriage that a podcast I was listening to brought up this passage of Scripture. It’s one you hear often when you’ve spent so many years in the church. But it was the first time these words punctured my heart. The hope I had been looking for, the peace I longed for, was all in these verses. This brokenness - all our brokenness - would be made new by God.

Right now, we live amongst the ruins of a fallen world. But one day, EVERYTHING will be restored. Death will be destroyed. Pain won’t have a place. No mourning and no tears, only perfect fellowship with our heavenly Father.

But this hope we cling to doesn’t begin the moment we reach our eternal home. It meets us in every moment this side of heaven. It’s grace that sustains us when grief saps our strength. It’s peace that guards our hearts when the road we’re walking is turbulent. It’s hope when loss overwhelms us. It’s life when death has taken our loved ones.

I don’t have answers that explain the tragedy of miscarriage or the loss of any loved one. I still hold those two babies in my heart. There are days when their memory comes to my mind out of nowhere and, for a brief moment, the grief is back. It’s in that grief that I can run to my Savior and find an unending peace and joy.

If you have experienced the loss of a child, sister can I give you a virtual hug? I may not know you personally, but I would love to hear about your little one. Please reach out at hello@sightssetabove.com.

The biggest comfort I found was knowing that the first arms to hold my babies were the arms of their heavenly Father. The first smile they saw was that of their Savior. They will never know pain or fear or heartache. They will only know the perfection of heaven.

And one day, I cannot wait to worship our God with them, side by side for all time to come.