The Peace of God in a Miscarriage

I was really excited for 2026. I had a secret that very few were privy to and I was bursting with excitement to tell everyone. For months, we had held on to the precious joy of knowing we were adding to our family and we were about to let our little world know.

We got the positive pregnancy test in the middle of November, the morning that I was going to leave with our kids to start our roadtrip back South for Thanksgiving. I took the test in the early hours of the morning, woke up my husband and said, “Are you ready to have a third kid?” We were both ecstatic and a little shocked. We are officially out of the baby/toddler stage and almost out of the preschool stage completely. But here we were - about to step right back into a life full of diapers and bottles and lacking in sleep. And we couldn’t wait.

The road trip I took with the kids was exciting for so many reasons, but most of all because my mind started to take off with imagination about what this new phase of life would look like. Nervousness about changing our family dynamics. Uncertainty about how I would be able to homeschool two children and take care of an infant. Delirious joy at the prospect of having a sleeping baby on my chest again. Anticipation of our kids’ reactions to the news.

Our roadtrip went well, my husband flew out to meet us the next week, and we had a wonderful Thanksgiving trip. Though it was still incredibly early, I shared the news with my mom and my grandma in person, a delight I had not yet had the pleasure of enjoying. There were tears of joy, and the excitement grew.

A few weeks later, I had my first appointment and heard that beautiful sound of a strong heartbeat. We got our first picture of Baby Hopkins #3, and my heart exploded. We shared the news with more of our close circle in hushed tones of “It’s not public yet! Our kids still don’t know. But it’s happening!!”

Christmas came and went. We considered announcing it to the kids as a Christmas present, but something held me back. It was still just a bit too early, and I wanted to wait until we were in the safe zone. But that didn’t stop me from ordering the cutest Big Sister/Big Brother shirts we would gift them.

My symptoms were getting more prevalent, and the kids were starting to wonder why I was so sick. My belly was growing faster than in my previous two pregnancies, and I was starting to show. I knew we would need to tell them soon.

We had decided to tell them on Friday, January 9th. I would be 10.5 weeks along, and Fridays are always our family movie nights, so they are already a sweet time. Our plan was to wrap up their new shirts and give them to them. My husband and I couldn’t wait, knowing our kids would be so excited.

But then, Thursday, January 8th, I woke up to some spotting. This was very unusual and deeply concerning, but I wasn’t panicking yet. I called my doctor and waited most of the day to hear back, but when I did, I was told this was perfectly normal, and I had no reason to be concerned.

I couldn’t sleep that night. I got out of bed around midnight and spent an hour praying. Praying that God would keep our baby safe and protected. Praying that this wasn’t what I feared it was. Praying that the bleeding would stop. I went back to bed with peace, knowing I had laid it in the hands of my Savior.

But when I woke up the next morning, I knew he had answered my prayers differently than I had hoped. I knew something was very wrong. We called the doctor at 5:45 a.m., and she told us to get to the emergency room immediately. Our incredible church family swooped in and took our kids for the day, and my husband and I headed up to the hospital. The entire ride up, I had Scripture and worship songs playing that I knew I needed to store in my heart. The doctor had told us not to give up hope, but I knew. I knew deep down what was about to happen.

Once admitted, we waited. There wasn’t much the doctors could confirm until we had an ultrasound done. A nurse came in with the machine and started her exam.

I saw the moment she realized there was no heartbeat. We made eye contact, and without words, I knew. I saw the sorrow in her eyes as she gathered herself to say the words. And my heart shattered.

We have had two other losses in years past. They were early losses, but the pain of them was present nonetheless. And while I had experienced miscarriage to the degree I had before, what we were about to walk through was unlike anything I could have prepared for.

I won’t go into all the details here, but I am happy to talk with you personally if you would like to or need to. Just shoot me an email.

What I will say here is that for just a few seconds, I got to see our baby. I stared at them with intention, committing their existence to memory, and then they were gone. The next few hours were traumatic and painful. I didn’t realize a person could lose that much blood and still be alive to tell the tale. My body was weak, and my heart was broken. Panic seized every fiber of my being many times over the next 24 hours. It was debilitating.

And then, the worst of it was over. I was stable enough for my husband to pick up our kids and bring them home. And while we had just walked through a horrendous nightmare of a morning, our afternoon at home was…normal. The kids came back, and the pained silence was over. Their laughter and shenanigans filled the space that had just been laden with sorrow. My panic subsided for a time, and I joined in their silliness, and it didn’t feel forced or fake.

I realized there was peace in our home. It truly didn’t make sense. It didn’t make sense that these two halves of our day should coexist together. I suppose I’ve always thought that Paul’s words in Philippians 4:6-7 would be more of a deeply spiritual experience. An unquenchable joy that took over in times of despair. But I understand it differently now. His peace wasn’t loud, emotional, or transcendent. It was quiet, lovely, and healing. It was snuggling up with my kids on the couch and reading with them. It was watching them put on a ridiculous, silly show for us. It was sitting still, my body so weak, watching the barely controlled chaos of my husband wrestling with our son and being climbed on by our daughter. The peace that filled our home that night was not a deeply emotional, spiritual experience. It was a precious break in the storm. A breath of air when I thought I was suffocating. An anchor that wasn’t going to move.

That evening was meant to look so different. It was meant to be filled with squeals of excitement, not wails of sorrow. It was meant to be full of questions about what life would look like, not questions of why and what if. Those shirts I ordered are still hidden away, their purpose currently lost.

We decided to invite our kids into our grief, rather than try to hide it from them. In so many age-appropriate words, we shared what had happened. Our four-year-old was sad for a moment, but quickly rebounded and went back to his game of tackling Dad. Our seven-year-old, however, was deeply affected. We cried together and spoke about the truth we could hold onto even in sad times. I shared the verses I had been clinging to all day. And while we won’t ever be able to find an answer to the question “Why?”, we were able to sit together and worship our God, our rock in every storm.

The tragedy is still so close at hand, and this journey of grief has only just begun, but I do know God has been close at hand. The January 9th I had planned was very different than the January 9th God had planned. Wrestling with this aspect of the sovereignty of God has been challenging and comforting all at the same time. I don’t know why, but I do know there is a why. There is a purpose to all of this, though I may never know this side of heaven. He hasn’t left me alone in any of this. In fact, there hasn’t been one moment in this last week that I have even felt alone. Our church family stepped in and brought meals over every day. A dear friend essentially moved in during the daytime just to sit on the couch with me. While sorrow, grief, and pain have certainly been present since the loss, love and peace have been the banners waving high during this time.

I imagine this won’t be the last time I write about this. This loss has altered me. There will always be a before-and-after version of myself in relation to January 9th, 2026. But I know our little one is safe in the arms of his or her Creator and that one day I will get to spend an eternity worshipping that same Creator with them. And I know my God is close to the brokenhearted.

I was really excited for 2026. And now, I am simply taking it a day at a time. My plans were shattered, and now I have no idea what to expect from this year. But, as the saying goes, “I don’t know what the future holds, but I know who holds the future.” I don’t know if God will bless us with another little one to add to our family. I don’t know what this summer or fall or next winter will look like. I don’t know if 2026 will end up being the joyful year I anticipated. But I do know, whatever this year may hold, my God is still good. He is near and working. He hasn’t left me or forsaken me. His peace is near and abounding even in the grief. I’ll leave you with some of the verses I’ve been clinging to this last week. May we rest in his presence and in his promises in all that is and is to come.

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted

and saves the crushed in spirit.”

Psalm 34:18

“Cast your burden on the LORD,

and he will sustain you;

he will never permit the righteous to be moved.”

Psalm 55:22

“How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?
    How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I take counsel in my soul
    and have sorrow in my heart all the day?
How long shall my enemy be exalted over me?

Consider and answer me, O Lord my God;
    light up my eyes, lest I sleep the sleep of death,
lest my enemy say, “I have prevailed over him,”
    lest my foes rejoice because I am shaken.

But I have trusted in your steadfast love;
    my heart shall rejoice in your salvation.
I will sing to the Lord,
    because he has dealt bountifully with me.”

Psalm 13

“My tears have been my food

day and night,

while they say to me all the day long,

“Where is your God?”

These things I remember,

as I pour out my soul:

how I would go with the throng

and lead them in procession to the house of God

with glad shouts and songs of praise,

a multitude keeping festival.

Why are you cast down, O my soul,

and why are you in turmoil within me?

Hope in God; for I shall again praise him,

my salvation and my God.”

Psalm 42:3-6a