Well, we got our lab results back this week. Normal. Everything turned up normal. I am both relieved and frustrated by this. I am pleased that there appears to be nothing medically wrong with me. However, I feel that we are where we were before the testing...with no answers. Nothing to "fix". Absolutely no further insight as to why this has happened. Nothing.
As you can probably tell, I am feeling a bit more defeated than relieved at this time. Although I never wanted anything really terrible to be causing these losses, I guess I was hoping for some answer, something I could blame this on and then fix...easily. Instead I am left still wondering what went wrong. I'm left wondering why this happened. And probably the most frightening thought is wondering if this is going to happen again. Will I experience the loss of another child? That thought makes me sick.
After each doctor's visit, lab test, or any event that forces me to directly face our situation, I am thrown back into an unforgiving sea of sorrow, helplessness, and fear. With each wave I am slammed into a rock that tells me that I will never get out of the dark, murky water. It happens every single time. Sometimes it's short lived, other times it seems to drag on for days.
I learned the results of my tests on Tuesday and feel like I am still trying to find my way back to the shore. A place that is filled with uncertainty and sadness. But in this place I can find truth and hope when I scour the sands long enough. I believe that the shore of my life is also filled with all the wonderful feelings of joy, peace, stability, and strength. I just haven't traveled inland far enough to find them.
My sea is a dark, cold place made up of chaos and restlessness. It's seems to have no end in sight. It's a place I don't want to be. I don't navigate it well and fear I will drown with each powerful wave. My toes barely feel the sandy floor only when the water recedes in preparation for the next watery blow. But that's the only chance I have to make it back to shore. It is in those times when I have to dig my feet in as deep as I can and begin pushing forward against the undertow of failure and the rip tide of hopelessness. I have to will myself to use the demanding waves as the propeller that inches me closer and closer to my sandy destination.
On the best days the water has calmed to large swells allowing me to gently paddle my way back to the shore. The beach greets me with the warm, cushiony sands of truth and rest. As I lay on this shoreline today, exhausted and overwhelmed, I cannot help but peer out into the debilitating sea and rest in the satisfaction of defeating it yet again.
Psalm 139 7-12 says, "Where can I go from Your Spirit? Or where can I flee from Your presence? If I ascend to heaven, You are there; If I make my bed in Sheol, behold, You are there. If I take the wings of the dawn, If I dwell in the remotest part of the sea, Even there Your hand will lead me, And Your right hand will lay hold of me. If I say, "Surely the darkness will overwhelm me, And the light around me will be night," Even the darkness is not dark to You, And the night is as bright as the day. Darkness and light are alike to You."
I'll be honest, I was only going to share the last part of this, as it had been on my heart since earlier this week. However, when I went to copy this from my Bible today I was struck by the David's words about dwelling in the remotest part of the sea. Actually, I wasn't just struck, I was giddy with excitement of how God's word addresses every last situation that I find myself in...He leaves nothing out. There is no place that I have ever been or could ever go that God will be absent from.
I know that I will again find myself back in the harsh waters of the sea...a place filled with the presence of God and His desire to calm the waters and gently carry me back to the shore of His truth.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Saturday, January 14, 2012
A Bittersweet Anniversary
I never really understood why people are often so affected by the anniversary of a traumatic event or someone's death. I had a friend in high school who mourned her grandmother's passing every year. She would reminisce and cry for a couple days, reminding us of how special and missed her grandmother was. Although I understood the reality of her sorrow, I did not understand why she was still so emotionally connected to her grandmother's death.
I was not very acquainted with loss of any kind until last year. Yes, I have lost a grandparent, my great uncle, and my father in-law. And, I still miss them and think of them. But, those experiences have not impacted me in the same way as my high school friend.
2011, however, was different. Almost one year ago I found out that I was pregnant. After four years of trying, we were finally going to be parents. Because of that one precious day I now understand what my friend experienced each year.
There is nothing I don't remember (or can't forget) about the weeks surrounding our exciting realization. I always had pregnancy tests on hand - just in case. I knew something was different this time around. Chris and I had just returned from our yearly church network conference. It was the weekend of my birthday...I hadn't been feeling well all weekend. On Sunday morning, February 27th, I decided to test. I immediately got a positive reading. Because Chris was already at church I had to call to let him know. That morning I literally fell to my knees praising and thanking God for this answered prayer. A few days later I remember telling Chris that I did not believe that God would allow this pregnancy to end in miscarriage. A few days after that, on March 3rd, I began to miscarry.
I remember my excitement, the pregnancy magazines my husband bought, and the plans we had about our soon to be nursery that filled those five precious days. I remember the physical pain, helplessness, and utter sadness that filled the next several weeks even more. I remember begging God to save our child. I remember the sleepless nights, the late night movies I watched to pass time, and the spot on the couch that I stayed for several days. I have grown to hate that couch.
Unfortunately I now completely understand how such an event has the ability to capture and hold you despite your desire to move on. How one day in your life can change you for what seems like forever. I am scared, hurt, sad, and hopeful. I am scared of facing the upcoming months and the memories that I have involuntarily associated with them. I am hurt that I seem unable to move on. I am sad that another year has gone by and despite our pregnancies we are still childless. I am hopeful that I will still become a mother. For these reasons I call this year to come "A Bittersweet Anniversary".
And not only this, but we also exult in our tribulations, knowing that tribulation brings about perseverance; and perseverance, proven character; and proven character, hope; and hope does not disappoint... Romans 5:3-5
I was not very acquainted with loss of any kind until last year. Yes, I have lost a grandparent, my great uncle, and my father in-law. And, I still miss them and think of them. But, those experiences have not impacted me in the same way as my high school friend.
2011, however, was different. Almost one year ago I found out that I was pregnant. After four years of trying, we were finally going to be parents. Because of that one precious day I now understand what my friend experienced each year.
There is nothing I don't remember (or can't forget) about the weeks surrounding our exciting realization. I always had pregnancy tests on hand - just in case. I knew something was different this time around. Chris and I had just returned from our yearly church network conference. It was the weekend of my birthday...I hadn't been feeling well all weekend. On Sunday morning, February 27th, I decided to test. I immediately got a positive reading. Because Chris was already at church I had to call to let him know. That morning I literally fell to my knees praising and thanking God for this answered prayer. A few days later I remember telling Chris that I did not believe that God would allow this pregnancy to end in miscarriage. A few days after that, on March 3rd, I began to miscarry.
I remember my excitement, the pregnancy magazines my husband bought, and the plans we had about our soon to be nursery that filled those five precious days. I remember the physical pain, helplessness, and utter sadness that filled the next several weeks even more. I remember begging God to save our child. I remember the sleepless nights, the late night movies I watched to pass time, and the spot on the couch that I stayed for several days. I have grown to hate that couch.
Unfortunately I now completely understand how such an event has the ability to capture and hold you despite your desire to move on. How one day in your life can change you for what seems like forever. I am scared, hurt, sad, and hopeful. I am scared of facing the upcoming months and the memories that I have involuntarily associated with them. I am hurt that I seem unable to move on. I am sad that another year has gone by and despite our pregnancies we are still childless. I am hopeful that I will still become a mother. For these reasons I call this year to come "A Bittersweet Anniversary".
And not only this, but we also exult in our tribulations, knowing that tribulation brings about perseverance; and perseverance, proven character; and proven character, hope; and hope does not disappoint... Romans 5:3-5
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