Faith makes a fool of what makes sense

If there is one theological principle I have been studying and meditating on for the last 6 months, it is this:

My life is not my own. If I live by the principles behind Galatians 2:20 and Romans 12:1, then it is no longer my own life to live for my own pleasure or gain.

My prayers had shifted in the last few months from requests and demands about the trivial, to deep intercession and pleas for wisdom, discernment and understanding. I no longer prayed “Lord make this situation work out like I want”, but instead “Lord, I don’t see a solution, but I trust you. Lord I praise you for your goodness and your direction”

It was with this shifted and renewed mindset that I walked through the events of 2/16/24, the day our son was born, never to draw a breath on this earth.

I had struggled the entire 18 weeks I carried him with extreme sickness. Every day I carried him was a battle in which I felt alone. My family and businesses were suffering because of my sickness. It was suffering like I had never endured, but the hope of another child encouraged me to get up again day after day. I knew the suffering was not forever, and so I knew I could endure.

I had begun to feel better around week 16, but a terrible cold and a resurgence of pregnancy sickness knocked me down again at 17 weeks. My misery was renewed, but we finally announced this pregnancy and I did my best to soldier on.

The day of 2/15 I had some unusual discharge and just felt overall unwell, like something was wrong. I tried reaching out to my midwife and then setting up an appointment with my gynecologist. It didn’t seem urgent so a check up would need to wait until next week.

That evening I started having lower abdominal pain, but I pushed it off as round ligament pain or a pulled muscle, maybe even just gas pain. The kids went to bed, I went to bed, but I was so uncomfortable I couldn’t sleep.

I acknowledged that this could be a preterm labor. I paced the house alone and prayed. The pain was becoming so unbearable that I was having a hard time making rational thoughts.

I tried laying down again and almost drifted off to sleep during a pause in the pain, but was jolted awake again with a sudden gush of blood.

I knew the baby was coming. I knew that he was still too little to survive. I woke Joel and called the midwife to ask if I should go to the ER first or straight to the Women’s hospital. I called my mom to come stay with the girls.

Once inside the doors of the hospital, I went to the check in desk. The women first handed me a mask and then started asking me a bunch of questions. I interrupted her to tell her I was bleeding heavily and about to deliver this baby. She asked my husband to stay at the desk to answer questions and took me back to triage.

The nurses helped me get in bed and tried looking for the baby with the ultrasound. They couldn’t even find him (I think he was already on his way out). Another nurse grabbed a set of vitals. My husband finally came back in the room and held my hand. As the nurses were continuing to ask a long list of questions, our baby was born.

I picked him up with one hand, but his cord was too short to move him any farther. He didn’t struggle, he was already gone. The doctor cut the cord so I could pick him up further. I was passing massive clots and had large gushes of blood, but the placenta didn’t want to come away. I was given two different medications to help the placenta release, but it just didn’t want to let go. Usually a mother’s rush of “happy” hormones from cuddling and nursing a newborn help the placenta deliver. I didn’t have that. The doctor even tried manually removing it (which really freaking sucked), but still no success.

The doctor told me we needed to go back to the OR for a D&C. I really, really, really did not want that, but knew I was bleeding a good amount and it would be necessary if I couldn’t deliver the placenta on my own (sometimes in an effort to remove the placenta the body will just let you bleed until either it comes out or you run out of blood).

I agreed and she booked an OR. When the doctor stepped out, Joel placed his hands on my belly and prayed for the placenta to come loose. He told me later he didn’t want me to suffer any further than I already was and knew that a surgical procedure was not going to make anything easier on me.

Minutes later I was able to deliver the placenta on my own. The OR was canceled, but the doctor suggested I stay for the rest of the night to make sure my bleeding slowed down and nothing else was retained.

Joel and I said goodbye to our son and turned him over to the nurse. His body was here, but he was not and we didn’t feel the need to hold him any longer.

I was transferred to a room and settled in for the night. I didn’t sleep much. The nurse asked me questions I didn’t know how to answer, like “what funeral home would you like his body sent to?”

Walking out of the hospital the next morning I sobbed. How suddenly my world had turned upside down.

As horrible as that night was, I can’t help but be overwhelmed with gratitude for each and every moment of that day. February 16th was a dark day in my book, BUT GOD was there each step of the way.

I am so thankful that my son was alive and well up until the moment I delivered him. I did not find out he had died through a test, having to walk around with a dead baby in my belly.

I am thankful Joel felt him kick the evening before he passed, even if it was just once.

I am thankful that I decided to go to the hospital when I did. Even though my son lost his life, I was able to walk away with mine. Without medications and medical intervention things could have been different.

I am so thankful my placenta came away on its own and I didn’t need surgical intervention.

I am thankful that I was able to return home quickly.

I am abundantly thankful that my milk did not come in. Joel and I prayed fervently that it would not, because it was something I did not emotionally feel like I could handle, and God was merciful in that.

I am thankful for a quick recovery.

I am thankful that I didn’t make it even further in pregnancy and deliver a full term stillborn.

I am thankful for the joy in the mourning and for the peace that passes understanding.

Most people would not understand my position nor my attitude in this mourning. Yes I am sad. I still randomly burst into tears from time to time and there are moments I wish I still had my son.

However, I am choosing to see with eyes that don’t see as the world does.

I see the events that transpired as an act of love, justice, and mercy from a loving, just, and merciful Creator.

I don’t understand why my baby isn’t here, but I trust that all of this is so much bigger than my own understanding and experience. There are unseen powers and principalities at work behind everything in our lives. I would be a fool to think I had it all figured out.

“But God took your baby! You have every right to be angry!”.

I do not believe God took him out of cruelty or punishment. Death is just an ugly part of this fallen world that we live in. No one is immune from heartbreak and loss. I do believe the LORD allowed it to happen, and I am choosing to believe it was out of a place of mercy for me. I do not know the reason, but there are times that a “no” or a “not right now” is the most loving answer we can get from our Father.

Faith doesn’t make sense, but it does tell me that I don’t have to live a life of self blame, what-ifs, and sorrow. I am allowing myself to grieve, but I refuse to allow any anger or bitterness in my heart because of this.

God is so good, so wise, so merciful and so loving. I can continue to trust him, even in this.