Wednesday, December 5, 2007

Large and Small Deaths

"We stand on the edge of our clifflike emotions looking into the deep cavern of our grief, and we're sure that the jump will kill us. For those of us who entrust our feeble selves to our faithful Creator, in ways I can neither explain nor describe, it doesn't. Life is filled with large and small 'deaths.' In Jesus, when one of these deaths comes, we have a unique opportunity to take it to the cross. We can remain nearby and suffer its grief. Then we also experience the resurrection." Beth Moore
I remember talking to a girl in a prayer meeting once who had suffered a miscarriage and two thoughts were paramount in my mind: One, I don't know what to say to her. And two, I could never survive something like this. It's strange the things you find you can survive--whether you want to or not. It seems so unnatural to have such a precious part of you ripped away so quickly and quietly and then to just go on with life. And I think it is unnatural to be forced to say goodbye to someone you never really got to say hello to. And people say the strangest things to you--things they wouldn't think of saying to someone who lost a beloved pet! They don't know what to say, just like I didn't know what to say. So I wanted to start this little blog in case anyone needs to know that someone else feels what they feel and also in case anyone is wondering what to say or not say to a friend who has lost a little one so soon. Of course you want to offer help, encouragement, and comfort. But you don't know what it feels like unless you've been there. The most important thing is not to ever minimize the loss by suggesting that it was anything less than the loss of a child. I was so full of wonder over my pregnancy and what God was doing in my body. There is an indescribable feeling of connection with that child that I could never describe. And for some reason people don't think you can feel anything if you're not far enough along in pregnancy to show very much. But you feel so much! There is a fullness of the womb that just seems to satisfy a longing you didn't know you had. And after a miscarriage, there is an emptiness of the same that just makes you feel.....lost.C.S. Lewis once said, "No one ever told me grief felt so like fear." And to me, fear is one of the biggest parts of it. That's where all those questions come from: What do I do now? What did I do wrong? Why is this happening? What if it happens again? How will I ever survive it? Will I ever have babies to raise? They go on and on. The most important thing anyone has done for me is to cover me in prayer. You will never have the right words to give someone. I already know all of the Scriptures you will think of to comfort me--the Holy Spirit has already reminded me of them. I already know that my April Baby is in a "better place." But when you pray for me, you put the ground back under my feet a little bit. Pray for me to abide with Christ. Pray for me to hide myself in Him. Pray for me to rest from worry. Pray for my dreams to come true. I hope this helps someone out there. My own friends have been unbelievable supports to me. Other things my friends have done that are helpful: One sent me gerbera daisies a month after my miscarriage with a card that said, "I hope you get your dreams." Another chatted casually and happily with me at a shower, keeping me upbeat, then emailed me later to say that she had been thinking and praying for me but didn't want to ask how I was coping in such a mixed setting. Another literally wept with me immediately following my sonogram and didn't say anything except "I'm so sorry." People who send cards that say things that validate my child's life are appreciated. I am thankful that God has held me tight and surrounded me with so much love. I am still devastated, but looking for the resurrection--for beauty from these ashes. God bless.

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