These are the last deep thoughts I'll have this week, I promise

I have to admit -- yesterday's post made me nervous. Really nervous. Butterflies-in-the-stomach nervous. All night long, I wrestled with the urge to run to my computer and delete the post. Of course, since I would have had to get out of my warm and cozy bed to do that, I managed to hold myself in check.

But still -- I was still nervous. (And lazy. What a combination.) I wondered how my reminiscing would be received, if it would be too melancholy for readers who might stop by looking for their daily dose of funny.

And then I started getting your comments. Thank you. They made the vulnerability worth it.

One of my favorite bloggers wrote about miscarriage recently, saying it's a right of passage no one tells you about, an almost universal step on the road of motherhood.

So true. Many of us have walked this path.

Still, I want to make clear -- this is my story. I wanted to share it because Monday was a tender day between me and my Jesus. But I would die a thousand deaths inside if it in any way caused you to doubt your own journey through loss.

For example, when I said I wasn't mad at God, I want you to know it's perfectly fine if you were -- or are. That's just where I was at that point. The four years previous to the miscarriage were the hardest, most devastating years of my life. I had already raged at God, pounded my fist on His chest and demanded to know why He allowed horrible pain in my life. Frankly, I was too tired to do it again -- especially after He so gently led me along the path to healing the time before.

I also know my loss at 12 weeks doesn't compare to the agony some of my friends have lived through. Losing a baby in the first trimester isn't like losing a baby at 20 weeks. Or 35 weeks. Or after birth. For me, it was the loss of a possibility, the end of a precious dream. As I wrote in my journal last year, I hadn't gotten the chance to know that little one yet. That changed the way I grieved. A few weeks after the miscarriage, I was ready to move on. God lifted my head and filled me with hope.

But for some people, a miscarriage is profoundly life-altering, and it takes months or even years to grieve that loss. If this is you, please know -- that's OK too. God makes all kinds of different people, and He can use each story. If you are still in the valley of the shadow? I can only point you toward Jesus. He knows your name. He sees your tears. And I believe He knows what He's doing -- even when we can't see it, even when we don't like it.

Yesterday, as I studied Teyla's sweet face -- which is covered with baby acne, poor pitiful little girl -- I marveled at God's mystery. His ways are higher than mine -- and wonderfully so. I don't know how He manages to redeem the heartbreak. I don't understand how He grows something beautiful out of our tears when we sow them in Him.

I just know He does. Always.