2 years, 6 days ago, I took another test just to make sure I
wasn't actually pregnant, like I suspected, before I ran the 1st Annual Spencer
C. Duncan Make It Count 5K. I made it to the finish line, exhausted, and a
friend's mom revived me with a banana. The very first banana I'd been able to
eat--apart from those in banana pudding--since sometime during my pregnancy
with Kendrick when he alerted me to the fact that he did NOT like bananas.
2 years, 4 days ago, I finally got that positive test I'd
been waiting for, but it was faint. Fearing what might be coming, I announced
to only a couple of people, asked desperately for prayer, and took a few
"bump" pictures because I wanted to enjoy whatever time there might
be.
2 years, 3 days ago, I took another test in the hopes it
would be darker, but if possible, it was even more faint than the day before.
2 years, 2 days ago, I went into the doctor for a blood
test. Before I could even get the results, I noticed my water had broken. At
Chick-fil-a of all places, while I was at lunch with a friend. I knew, of
course, what this meant, but against all odds, still, I hoped. The results of
the blood test were 18--very low HCG; indicative of a pregnancy, just not a
healthy one.
2 years, 1 day ago, the back cramps began. I rested and
prayed and hoped.
2 years ago today, it became official. I miscarried.
I was sad, angry, confused. Yet I was also relieved to
finally have the scientific proof backing up what I'd already known each time
before. I felt damaged, inept. Why was having a baby so hard for me? All of me
was broken--mind, body, and soul. I grieved deeply but thoroughly. I cried out
to God in my prayer journal, no longer asking for rescue for our baby, but for
healing and wholeness of my body, understanding and acceptance of this loss,
and future healthy children.
2 Greek words had been jumping out at me during my Bible
studies the week I was the box that housed Schroedinger's cat: anastasis (meaning, "resurrection")
and zoë (meaning, "[full, abundant, new] life"). While I had no
earthly proof of the baby's gender, it was settled. Her name was Anastasia Zoë,
meaning, "resurrected to new life." I took note of her A to Z name;
He is the Alpha and Omega, the First and the Last. He is in control, faithful,
loving, merciful, gracious, God of all the universe and Savior of my soul. He
was the Rock that was higher than I. He was near this brokenhearted girl and He
was faithful to bind up my wounds. He beckoned that I come boldly to His throne
of grace that I might obtain grace and find mercy to help in my time of need.
As I shared my bit of wisdom and encouragement with a friend
who recently suffered a miscarriage, I thought of those who lived out this
verse to me: "Blessed be the God
and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all
comfort, who comforts us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort
those who are in any trouble, with the comfort with which we ourselves are
comforted by God."-2 Corinthians 1:3-4. I looked back along the path and
realized just how far I'd walked--just a step at a time. As I told her, I could
see the truth evident on my own heart:
the scar will remain, but the wound won't be open and raw forever.
True to His Word, He knew the plans He had for me, plans to
prosper me not harm me, plans to give me hope and a future. 11 months (minus 8
days) later, I held a beautiful baby boy in my arms with my oldest son beaming
at the newest arrow in our little quiver. "Through the Lord's mercies we
are not consumed, Because His compassions fail not. They are new every morning;
Great is Your faithfulness. 'The Lord is my portion,' says my soul, 'Therefore
I hope in Him!'" (Lamentations 3:22-24).
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