Just recently, another close friend lost her baby before she ever got to meet it. I was able to counsel her, listen to her, advise her, and just be there for her in an experienced way that most others, thankfully, could not. She asked me one day how I endured it all during those dark years, why I no longer spend my days constantly grieving and longing for the babies I will never get to hold on this earth. I answered her in two words that our pastor once made into an entire sermon:
But God.
For three years, I lived in a waking nightmare of hospital visits, surgeries, tests, ultrasounds, hormones, specialists, needles, blood, incompetence, heartbeats and no heartbeats, shots, and silence. I cried out; I wrestled; I screamed; I pleaded. After the fifth loss, I often felt more like a hollow shell than an actual person. I experienced many moments of grief that left me prone on the floor, silently begging for it all to swallow me up because my spent tears and hoarse voice had left me with absolutely nothing else.
As I tried to comfort those suffering through their own tragedies, I fought desperately to gain perspective. I worked with people who lost their beautiful, vibrant children or beloved spouses in terrible accidents. People who saw a loved one suffer through a cancer diagnosis. I witnessed both of my grandpas endure some of the cruelest things this world has to offer in their dying days. I watched people struggle through their grief and come out stronger on the other side, and I watched some who seemed as though they would never get out from under it. I know for a long time, it could have gone either way for me.
But God.
He faithfully restored my marriage. He brought friends into my life who shared the same beliefs. He prompted me to write and share my story with other women who were in pain. And on the most difficult days, he reminded me that even though it hurt, I was not hurting alone. In my weakest, most painful moments, his strength was revealed.
When God blessed me with Addison, she didn't fill the void of the babies that I lost. Only God could do that. He bound up my heart with his own healing thread of grace and contentment and love, and he filled it with a peace that passes all understanding. And even now, on the occasions when pain lurks around hidden corners and sometimes dwells in the shadows of my heart, he is there, ever faithful with his perfect comfort. While I would never wish to walk that three-year road again, it changed me for the better. Places that were hard and angry are now soft and sympathetic. Pride has been replaced with humility. Striving to do it all on my own has given way to surrender. I don't wrestle with what I went through anymore; it is a part of who I am. It has given me a powerful testimony, and it has prepared me for whatever lies in front of me. I'm no longer apprehensive about the future because I know that even on the hardest days ahead...
But God.
But [God] said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.
2 Corinthians 12:9-10 NIV
2 Corinthians 12:9-10 NIV
