What A Day That Will Be - Hope in Miscarriage

“He will wipe away every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; grief, crying, and pain will be no more, because the previous things have passed away. Then the one seated on the throne said, “Look, I am making everything new.” Revelation 21:4-5 (CSB)

My alarm went off at 5:30 a.m. With two toddlers it was the only time of day that I could ensure was just for me. I stumbled out of bed and poured a cup of coffee. Sinking down into my favorite reading chair I cupped the mug tighter to my chest and stared out into the dark before dawn. I had lost count of how many days we had been waiting to deliver our sixth child that had gone straight from my womb into the arms of Jesus.

I had waited to miscarry naturally before. I would hide my bloated tummy and avoid the places where people knew me. But I realized I could not hide this time, chasing two busy kids. And yet, while my belly was swollen with death, my eyes beheld all the joys of innocent life.

Grief and joy, though they seem the opposite of each other, require one another in order to be full. If I don’t know the depths of my grief, how can I fully rejoice in the heights of my joy?

Those of us whose children have gone on ahead of us into the splendor of heaven are painfully aware that this world is not our home. We know that for which we long. We know that while it feels worlds away, heaven is closer than we think. Jesus is closer than we think. Grieving with hope is still grieving. The thrill of heaven does not rob us of our tears; it casts the comforting glow of Jesus all over it.

“When we cry, we cry through eyes that have seen a glimpse of the age to come.” – John Piper

I asked a friend to draw a picture of my family as I see it, with the six children we have lost and the names that we gave them to honor their lives alongside my two miracle children here on earth. My kids have grown up studying each child, quizzing each other on the names of their siblings. This beautiful piece of art has helped spark the conversation about the finality of death as well as the comfort of Jesus.

One day we drove past a dead animal on the side of the road and I saw on my daughter’s face that it bothered her. We came home and talked about it and I heard her tell me how it made her think of her siblings in heaven. With tears falling down her innocent puffy cheeks she held me around my waist and whispered, “I miss my sisters.” And so, we just held each other and cried a little bit.

Tears for our children will come unexpectedly for the rest of our lives. Let them come. We can cry tears of grief because we know that they mingle with joy and sweeten our faith.

The courage to lament does not rob us of the joy of the Lord, it dismantles our false perceptions of what joy in the Lord really looks like. Choosing to worship God in my loss reminds me that God is bigger than my pain and that He is making all things new.

We are grieving and watching within the care of the Creator. Expectantly looking and trusting that death will never have the final word even when it feels like it already has. Even when we hold the reality of death in the palm of our hands, we can trust that we too are being carried in the palm of our suffering Savior. And His final work of redemption will be the conquering of death forever.

Reflection:

How has grieving with the hope of Christ impacted your faith?

Prayer:

Lord, I long for my baby. How deeply I wish that my hand was resting on a healthy baby bump even now. My heart is aching, and my eyes are worn out from the tears. But Lord I know that this sting of death will not last forever. Will you strengthen my heart with your supernatural joy? On those days that I don’t even want to get out of bed, will you help me remember that you are near? Give me faith to choose to worship in this grief with my eyes fixed on the work of the Cross. You have a plan to redeem my pain and I trust you.