At the End of the Rainbow

Those of you who follow me on Instagram may already be aware that our family suffered another loss a few weeks ago. Ten weeks into my seventh pregnancy -- our "rainbow" baby after losing a son at 16 weeks back in December -- I was diagnosed with blighted ovum. What followed was a bit frightening, as I started losing a lot of blood very rapidly (by God's grace I was already at the ER; if I'd been at home we probably would have needed an ambulance, or I might not even be writing this post). My hemoglobin dropped from 14 to 7 in a few hours, and my blood pressure plummeted. I have honestly never felt so ill before, and I was given two units of blood before an emergency D&C. There is exactly one medical facility in our rural area, so there is not much choice for health care here. But the care I received was superb, and each nurse and doctor was kind and helpful. I am so grateful for that!

In spite of the pain and the confusion, one thing has been very clear to me -- God has sustained us through this difficult season. He does not ask us to walk the valley of the shadow of death alone. He is the Giver of all good gifts (James 1:17), the Binder of wounds (Psalm 147:3), the Sufficient One (2 Corinthians 12:9). He has surrounded us with friends, both local and distant, who have mourned with us and comforted us.

I'll be honest, it has been very difficult for me to come to terms with how my plan differs from God's plan. I think I'd unconsciously categorized my first two miscarriages as "off-script," even though I fully acknowledged them to be part of God's sovereign plan. But this third loss has led me to peel back layers of assumptions and expectations that I had built up over the years. I am leaning into God, hard, and asking Him to reshape my desires to fit His will (instead of trying to wrestle His will into my ideas of "good," which is both futile and unhealthy). Sometimes I wish I could go back to when babies seemed easy, when I trusted my body to nurture the lives God placed there, and when there were no clouds of grief to dim the horizon of our future. A little bit of heaven on earth, you know? Yet as wonderful as that idyllic picture sounds to my scarred heart, I know that would not be best. Of course I want the easy way, the way that doesn't involve pain or loss or heartache. But God is often closest to us in our grief, and He uses trials to shape us more to His image. It's part of the "beauty in the curse" -- pain and death are the result of sin, and yet God can use them for good in our lives. He gently picks up our broken pieces, and fashions us anew.

God only breaks us to remake us.


I hope one day we'll be blessed with another baby, but that is not my deepest hope. My true hope is in Jesus Christ, the sinless One who suffered and died and rose again so that death would not have the last say. He is the only true hope -- and I pray that He is your hope, too!

"I remember the days of old; I meditate on all that You have done;
I ponder the work of Your hands.
I stretch out my hands to You; my soul thirsts for You like a parched land. Selah

Answer me quickly, O Lord! My spirit fails!
Hide not Your face from me, lest I be like those who go down to the pit.
Let me hear in the morning of Your steadfast love, for in You I trust.
Make me know the way I should go, for to You I lift up my soul."

Psalm 143:5-8