Grief

What is healthy grieving? How can God be honored in a time of grief?

These are questions I struggle with during the loss of my second pregnancy in four months. The first, a “chemical pregnancy” was much easier than this one. This one really hurts. On a day I was supposed to be congratulated for entering into the second trimester, I was saw my child still in my womb with no heart beat.

Only two weeks ago I was reflecting on trusting God with my fertility, and now I feel my faith being tested. My initial reaction was one of humility, acceptance, sadness, but peace. Day two, going into the hospital, denial and anguish hit me in the gut. Today, I wanted to lock the doors, draw the shades and barricade my heart.

I have thought of going back on the pill, waiting a year to try again – shaking my fists at God and demanding back control. Instead of me waiting to see if You will finally give me a healthy pregnancy again, I will make it so that I CAN’T get pregnant at all. This childish defiance is only coupled with a the aching heart of a young woman who wants to crawl into Daddy’s lap and to know she is still loved and this wasn’t her fault.

I have a history of cutting myself off before being cut off, whether in relationships and community or in hopes and dreams, but this behavior does not lend itself to the gospel. The gospel begs that we open ourselves to be used by God in whatever way he deems best; and when we get hurt, we allow the death and resurrection of Christ to become our own. Through this, we are made more like him and drawn more deeply into community with him. When we cut off our hearts, we end up dying a slow spiritual death that leaves our souls cold and shriveled.

A friend recently wrote me an email that included the line, “the height of joy you can feel is equal to the depth of pain you have felt.” God longs to lavish us with his blessings and for us to experience his joy and peace. However, a soul that has been barricaded from pain, has also barricaded itself from the potential to experience joy. Anesthetics do not just work against pain. They leave us numb to everything.

This new grief, as I allow myself to experience it, harshly, brutally sends electric currents to my soul, waking it back up from the numbness it has been under. The amazing thing about the gospel is that the moment death and grief enters into our lives, the life and joy of Christ floods in – if we allow it. I have a choice: build up my walls and live with the pain that has already managed to enter in or allow God’s peace and love to come in behind and heal what’s been broken. So often I have locked my heart up with it’s pain, but not this time.

If you were to ask me how I feel, I’d say okay. I’ll be okay. Really I feel sad, hurt, cheated, relieved, scared, angry, teased, skinny, confused, thankful, alive, hopeful, hesitant, frumpy, empty, defiant, full, domestic, childish, and honest. I’m nervous about how I will react to my friends who are due about the same time I was due. I am very excited about making some girly drinks later this week. I want to lose five pounds and rock a bikini. I am so thankful I have Joe and Scooby. I wish I knew the genders of the two children I lost.