Miscarriage. There it is. Miscarriage.
I lost a baby this week. And I am so sad about it. We have been
dreaming on and wanting this baby for an awfully long time now and we
already loved him/her so much. My heart is still so raw and fragile
from losing my sweet Jameson and it is broken all over again. Yes, this
is different. No, it is not as difficult. Except it happened so very
soon after J died; the scabs on my heart have been entirely ripped off
and now the loss is multiplied. I can’t help but wonder how much one
person can really take and still survive. How can a pulverized heart
continue to beat?
Maybe that is the miracle. I keep praying for miracles. With Jameson, I
hoped and prayed and begged and pleaded for the miracle until the very
end and even then I still asked again. Can’t he be a Lazarus? And this
time when things just didn’t feel right and I couldn’t ignore that
nagging feeling that maybe, just maybe I need to call the doctor, I
prayed again and hoped again. And even after the lab results and pain, I
still hoped beyond hope for the miracle. But the miracle isn’t for my
babies. The miracle is for me. It is nothing short of a miracle that
my pulverized heart is still beating. That I am able to get out of bed
each and every morning and still see an abundance of beauty, love and
grace.
I am a broken woman. I am battered and bruised and my soul aches with
loss and lost dreams. But I am also a saved woman. It is only through
this amazing grace that saves me again and again and again that I can
continue to live and love with courage and confidence.
Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are
mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through
the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire
you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. For I am
the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior. -Isaiah
43:1b-3a
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