When Healing Looks Differently Than You Dreamed
I had my first miscarriage in 2017. That was the beginning of my healing dream. I began picturing how beautiful it would be to one day hold my perfect rainbow baby one day, and be able to speak of how Father how healed me. How he had healed our family, our story, our hearts - with this little baby. I would tell myself through tears and fears that no matter how deep the pain, He would heal my story. He would redeem it with life.
L I F E.
This is the word I would hold tightly to when I began to feel like I couldn’t breathe. It was the word I would cling to when I felt like death would be forever the season I was in. It was the word I would speak in confidence when sharing my story. It was the truth that I held so tightly to my hands bled.
L I F E.
As we walked through two more early miscarriages in 2018 and 2019, I kept preaching to myself the promise that God would sweep in, heal, and bring L I F E out of all of this pain and darkness. I would worship through tears, clinging the the truth of His ability to redeem and restore L I F E. And then in August of 2020 we found out we were pregnant. I took more pregnancy tests than I count, and they kept getting darker and darker, and I felt so sick. And over the weeks, as my body began deteriorating from Hyperemesis, I became more confident that this was our new season of L I F E. I spent weeks in the bed, on home health, feeling like death - but I kept preaching to myself HIS promise - to bring LIFE. In complication free first trimesters, every mom begins to dream. But you add in that we had desired this baby so freaking deeply, that I was laying in bed dying from being so incredibly sick, that we had already lost 3 babies before this…and you can probably only begin to imagine just how much I was dreaming. It helped me to hold on through Hyperemesis. It gave me hope to dream of this new life-filled season.
Life in a newborn baby. Life in our family transitioning from a family of four to a family of 5. Life in being surrounded by excited grandparents. Life in grandparents holding this baby, and taking tons of photos of him or her. Life in watching my girls hold our precious gift. Life if aunts and uncles rejoicing with us after a season of pain. Life in the tears of joy that would flow. Life in having a peace filled birth, welcoming this little one. Life in baby shopping. Life in breastfeeding again. Life in baby snuggles. I dreamt of life in so many different ways. How beautiful that season would be. I dreamt of it more often than I can tell you. I pictured just how perfect and peaceful that day would be.
And then it all came crashing down.
“It looks like two babies. Do you see here? This is two babies.”
”There is no cardiac activity.”
”Laura, I’m so sorry.”
I was so stunned because I was still so sick. And no one could tell me why. So we scheduled surgery. And things got even more dark, and we walked further into what felt like hell. I hemorrhaged. A LOT. I remember the ambulance loading me up from my living room when my husband and brother in law couldn’t get me to car quick enough, and thinking to myself as blood ran everywhere “Where the hell are you, God?” I remember my sister in law helping me clean up blood and clots before the ambulance arrived. I remember genuinely being less than confident that I’d see my two girls again as they wheeled me outside. What kind of life-filled season is this? So we had a blood transfusion, and another surgery. It didn’t work. I was so weak from blood loss, I don’t remember the days in the hospital. So the next step was a third surgery to stop the bleeding. It would take away my ability to get pregnant. The third surgery didn’t work either. And in the midst of this my most cherished grandpa died. My husband had to drive us straight from that surgery to my parents house for his funeral. I was struggling to find the value in breathing. I don’t know how many times I thought to myself, “Where the hell are you, God?” Hopelessness had taken over every inch of my soul, because I couldn’t cling to my dream of L I F E anymore.
It had become my rock, not Christ. It had become my hope, not Christ. It had become my reason to breathe, not Christ. And I hadn’t realized it.
What I’ve learned is that Father can be faithful to redeem, restore, bring life out of death, and bring hope - all without you ever getting that dream you’ve been clinging to. He is breathing life into our lives, just in different ways. He is breathing life is our family, just not how I imagined. He is breathing life into my soul and calling me into unknown, beautiful places - it just isn’t how I dreamed. He is breathing life into my body, just with the Holy Spirit and not a child. I am N E V E R going to give birth to my miracle baby. The grandparents will never hold a miracle grandchild of ours, and be in awe of how good God is because of that life. I’ll never get to watch my girls heal by the birth of a sibling like I envisioned. I’ll never feel a baby move and kick inside of me again. As a family, we’ll forever have to carry a grief and at the same time carry joy for others.
But does this mean that He isn’t faithful? Does this mean that He isn’t in control? Does this mean that He isn’t going to redeem and restore my story and bring life? In all transparency, there have been/are days where I struggle with these questions still. But, I do believe with everything in me that He hasn’t abandoned me. I do believe that He is able to redeem and restore. I do believe He is able to heal. I do believe He is able to bring life, even still. It won’t be life like I imagined, but it will be life.
