Faith, Hope, and Love

To create something for an unborn baby is an act of faith. I didn't fully realize that before miscarriage became an inescapable reality in my life. Every stitch is made in hope, and hope seems foolhardy when loss follows loss (after loss, after loss). 

In late August, I had a pre-op appointment for my exploratory surgery the following month. I'd been waiting for this surgery since the beginning of the year, and along with the changes I'd made to my diet and lifestyle, I hoped it might provide answers (and more importantly, solutions) for our recurrent miscarriages. It was my first time going to the big city alone, and I visited a lovely yarn shop after my appointment. My primary motive was to purchase yarn for a gift I was planning, but I also wanted to make a "faith purchase" -- a tangible expression of hope that I'd actually get and stay pregnant once again. 

I ended up purchasing a skein of Brooklyn Tweed Peerie Yarn in the warm, gender-neutral colorway "Klimt" -- not only is the merino wool sourced from the west (a bit of a souvenir of our time here), it's also heavenly soft and isn't scratchy in the slightest. Perfect for delicate baby skin. Oh, how the thought of soft baby skin makes my heart ache!

With several other projects underway, I didn't get to use my Peerie right away. In fact, I didn't start knitting until right after we got a positive pregnancy test a little over four months later. It was both harder and easier to start after that positive -- at least I didn't feel a fool for making something for a baby that might never exist, but I also feared that the little one who did exist might never get to wear the tiny garments I was knitting with such love. And that would be worse.

I wanted something with bobbles suited to a newborn's size (but most patterns had "too big" bobbles). I wanted a pixie style bonnet in fingering weight yarn (but most were for heavier yarns). I wanted booties like this marvelous gifted pair, which all of my children have worn (but when I tried modifying that pattern to a stockinette "bobble" style, it was a distinct failure). So I ended up creating my own patterns, something I've long wanted to do but have never had the courage or inspiration to try.

You can spot the ball of Peerie in the lower right corner...

I knitted away as I slowly recovered from an illness I feared might compromise this long-awaited pregnancy. Hoping, praying, waiting. Scout joined me one afternoon, falling fast asleep atop his minute sibling while I stitched tiny bobbles. As I tentatively knit together tiny garments, God was knitting together something far more precious inside of me.

Over the coming weeks, all the news was good. It seemed miraculous after so much loss. One by one, we passed the gestation dates of previous losses. We neared the time when we were ready to make an "official" announcement, which meant it was time for a new faith project.

Using cotton rope and Drops Paris cotton yarn, I set to work making a rainbow for what I hoped -- hope! -- will be my "rainbow baby" six times over. This was a relatively quick project (though wrapping all that yarn was a bit tedious), and such a joy to create. 

Ultimately, my hope lies in the redemptive work of Jesus Christ, not in the outcome of this pregnancy.  But as week follows week, I joyfully wonder if we might actually get to meet this precious baby. Not my will, but Yours, I tell Him often. My children are quick to remind me that nothing is impossible with God (though it's usually when I make a perfectly sensible statement like, "the baby can't possibly weigh 40 pounds at birth" -- it was Scout who suggested that palatable "possibility"). Getting this far feels like an achievement, but it's hardly the finish line. 

In the meantime, a tiny bonnet, pair of booties, and a fiber rainbow are the evidence of the faith, hope, and love that have surrounded this tiny new life ever since we saw that second line on a home pregnancy test. His mercies are new every morning, and great is His faithfulness.