I called my OB -- she was on call that weekend -- and she suggested we head to the ER, if we could make it out of the house. It was a big if. A wicked blizzard had blown through the previous 24 hours, with a one-two punch of freezing rain followed by wet snow. Our garage doors were literally encased in ice and frozen to the ground. It took my husband a couple of hours to chip the door loose, but once we were free, we loaded up the kids and thanked God for a four-wheel-drive vehicle that was able to navigate the treacherous roads.
By the time we got to the ER, I had a sinking feeling in my heart. And by the time we got into our own room, I knew. I wasn't just cramping anymore. I was miscarrying. I was in mini-labor, with regular and amazingly painful contractions.
(My sweet nurse offered to get me something for the pain. "That's probably a good idea," I reluctantly agreed. She returned with a needle that was at least ten inches long. "Ummm, it's not that bad!" I backpedaled. I'm a notorious needle wimp. But five more minutes of consistent cramping, and I was ready for the shot.)
They drew blood to check my HGC levels. They weren't where they should be. And within an hour, it was all over. In the ultrasound room, my body shed the tiny baby -- still in its amniotic sac -- and sent his or her soul to live with Jesus.
My OB was unspeakably kind. The ER staff was extraordinary. (They even took charge of our two older kids -- who didn't know I was pregnant in the first place -- and entertained them in an ambulance when it became apparent that it was going to get messy in our little ER space. To this day, Natalie has the stuffed kitten the EMTs gave her from their stash of toys. She thought our trip to the ER was awesome.) Corey, the perfect mix of strength and tenderness, didn't leave my side for days.
And me? Well, I was in shock. How does your heart comprehend that your hopes and dreams for the future have irrevocably changed? How does your mind grasp the sudden emptiness, the unfulfilled promise of a baby lost?
I wasn't mad at God, really. We had grown so close the past few years. I trusted Him.
But I was sad. Unspeakably sad. My heart was so heavy.
The next morning, I woke up and hoped it was all a nightmare. Instead, it was my new reality. As I wrote in a post a few days later, "Some of the sparkle has left my world."
I got into the shower and wept, leaning my head on the slick plastic wall, letting my tears mingle with the water's flow. I poured out my broken soul to the One Who Knows.
Oh great GodOf course, if you're a regular reader here at all, you know know the end to the story -- and it's full of God's grace and mystery. Just two months later -- before my body had even gotten back to normal -- Teyla Jenet was conceived. She is a tangible reminder to me today of God's goodness and His providence.
Be small enough to hear me now
There were times when I was crying
From the dark of Daniel's den
And I have asked you once or twice
If you would part the sea again
But tonight I do not need a fiery pillar in the sky
Just wanna know you're gonna hold me
If I start to cry
Oh Great God
Be small enough to hear me now
But a year ago today? I didn't know how this twist in my life's journey would play out. I only knew that I had a Father-God who cradled me while I cried, who spoke hope to my bruised heart. When I needed Him to hear the cry of this bleeding and broken girl, He was small enough.
What would I do without You, Lord? You are my tender rock and redeemer. My hope is forevermore in You.
I know you could leave writing on the wall that's just for me
Or send wisdom while I'm sleeping like in Solomon's sweet dreams
But I don't need the strength of Samson or a chariot, in the end
Just want to know that you still know how many hairs on my head
Oh Great God
Be small enough to hear me now
("Small Enough," by Nichole Nordeman)
