If a sentence could sum up the Christian life, it would be that one. Nearly everything about living in Christ is founded on faith and not sight. Believing He created the world. Believing He really came and gave Himself for us. Believing His blood really covers our sins. Believing He loves us and is making us into new creatures every day.
It is very rare that we get to see farther down the path, closer to our destination. Most of our walk seems to be done at night with only the light around our feet for a guide. However, faith keeps us straining our eyes at the darkness, believing we see the pinpricks of stars peeking through. We can see the answer with our eyes of faith before we ever see it with our physical eyes.
I wrote a blog post about peace a couple of months ago. The focus was the miscarriage my husband and I went through after over 2 years of trying to conceive our baby. That blog post changed my life. It was incredible to hear so many people respond with “I went through that too, but was never able to say anything” or “If you can find peace in that, I know God will give me peace too.”
For a moment after I wrote that, I felt like my faith eyes were 20-20. I could see God using my pain to paint a picture of healing. I knew all would be well. About 2 weeks later though, the darkness closed in again and I was left swimming in the most intense depression I have yet faced. April was slipping by and May was coming.... and with it, Mother’s Day loomed. How are you supposed to celebrate Mother’s Day when your womb is empty and God isn’t giving you your miracle?
We attended District Conference and heard a sermon by Pastor Andrus on walking in faith by “preparing the room”. He used my favorite Bible story, the Shunamite woman and her powerful, “It shall be well.”
On the way home, Rick commented that we needed to take that phrase literally and begin to prepare our nursery. We ordered the crib, bought the crib set, and set it all up.
Seeing the room that way made me feel emptier than ever. The depression worsened, leaving me sobbing in the nursery, gripping that crib and spiraling deeper into that darkness. Satan began to whisper, “You liar. You wrote about God giving you peace, but look at you now. You have no peace. There’s only darkness in you.” In moments of grace, God would lift my head and I would cry out again, “Even if the healing never comes, He’s still a good God.”
When Mother’s Day came, I determined to make it through without anyone feeling sorry for me. “No tears,” I promised myself. I did fine until about 9 that night, and then I couldn’t do anymore. The tears fell like rivers down my face. Others had their miracle, where was mine? Why didn’t I deserve to be a mother? Why had God given me my miracle and then snatched it away from me? Why was I still empty?
I am so thankful that when I am weak, He is strong. When my faith is gone, He draws me to find solace under His wings. He bore me up that night and the depression finally broke. On the hardest weekend of my life so far, God’s grace broke through and shone brighter than ever. I slept soundly that night and dreamt of my promised little one again.
Two weeks later, on a whim, I took a pregnancy test. Double pink lines greeted me. We were pregnant. Because of what we had experienced, it wasn’t just joy that filled my heart, but also dread. “God, I can’t make it through that again. Please don’t do that to me again.” God looked past my fears and doubts and allowed faith to bloom.
Weeks slipped by, morning sickness started and worsened. Fatigue took over my body. All of the things that we had missed out on before now became the norm. Hope built up inside of me and we began to share our news with close family and friends.
Week 7 passed. Then 8. Then 9. My ultrasound was set for my first day of week 10. We pulled into the parking lot of the same place we had gone last time. The place they had told me that there was no baby in me, just an empty sac that I would soon lose. The place where everything had fallen apart.
“Don’t park over there; we parked there last time.” Everything inside of me was full of fear. What if this was just like last time? What if there was nothing again? What if this was all fake? What if God made us go through another miscarriage?
We prayed in the lot and went inside. Within moments, we were in the room and the tech was walking us through the procedure.
“How many pregnancies is this for you?”
“Two,” I answered.
“Have you delivered?”
“No, we miscarried at 6 weeks in January.” Just saying the words brought back the fears. She could hear the brokenness in my voice and made her apologies.
She brought the camera down and there was our baby. Heart pumping, hands moving, body stretching, feet kicking. Perfection.
Throughout this journey, my faith eyes have been strong and then been weak. For many of us, we go through seasons of faith, sometimes within hours of each other. The man who came to Jesus said, “I believe. Help my unbelief.” How quickly our human emotions take us from faith to doubt. I’m so thankful that God remembers our frame and that we are only dust. He loves us so fully that He doesn’t withhold His blessings until we prove we are worthy. He showers us in them to prove that He is worthy.
As you rejoice with us over the next few months, I have a request. Please take a moment to reach out to anyone that you know of who is in a dark place. Remind them that the darker the night, the brighter His glory. For it is in the moments when we are in the nursery floor, gripping an empty crib, and begging God to answer, that the promise is already inside of us. Keep turning your eyes back to Him and let Him lift your head again today. There is an answer coming. There is joy in the morning!
