The present grace that we rest in is often constructed from the mountainous ache of years past. Yet, as we learn in Genesis through Moses’ retelling of Joseph’s story: What the enemy intends for evil, God intends for good and He uses it for His ultimate purpose. It is by this providential goodness and deeply wounding pain from miscarriages that I came to know Jesus more intimately than ever before.
My husband, Brian, and I welcomed the new year of 2018 as contented parents of three healthy children. We were blissfully raising infants and toddlers steadily since 2013 and I had experienced healthy, albeit tiring, pregnancies. That January we saw another two pink lines — two of the smallest markers indicating the beginning of a life-altering change. The test replies boldly “pregnant,” and the life within you becomes a person with whom you are instantly connected.
We were surprised but celebrated the gift. After one month I began to cramp. This was new for me. I had never experienced a miscarriage. I had never even heard another woman share about walking through pregnancy loss.
I flippantly replied to a friend who I had shared the news with, “Oh, we won’t be adding to our family after all.” She looked so shocked and completely at a loss for words. I could not even understand it myself to properly communicate my pain to my husband, much less my four- and two-year-old daughters.
I repeated the process of turning away congratulations or checking in on my pregnancy for a few weeks until I ran through the list of those I had told. I wanted that baby. I had seen the future for that baby. I was deeply grateful to the Lord at this time that my children were too young to grasp this loss. I clung tightly to my newly turned four-month-old, even more astounded at the miracle of his very life. Yet, deep within me a pit was being hollowed.
October of that year, after mourning fervently, God opened my womb and we were elated. I was extremely symptomatic very early and a stirring within my heart hinted that I may be carrying twins. Christmas was mostly a blur that year, but, oh, the sweet idea of the ultimate gift for my aching heart.
As I scheduled all my appointments, the world began to shut down due to COVID-19. I admittedly did not look forward to facing ultrasounds and checkups by myself, but a mama will do anything for her child. A parent will do anything. So, I entered my OB’s office practically dancing, thinking of the image of two little ones growing. Again, this had not been confirmed, only a mama’s hunch. The ultrasound tech — the same one I have used for years and who was as giddy as I was — went silent. She became stoic and reminded me that the doctor can tell me more.
Before my eyes were two amniotic sacs, one empty, one containing a little one. Much too little. Much too still. My loneliness in this appointment became heavier than ever as I spoke with my doctor.
I distantly heard, “It could be too early” — but the statement, “This may be the beginning of spontaneous abortion” (medical jargon for “your beloved baby is no longer living”) … rang loud and clear.
Onward through the painful process I went again. This time, the sense that my body was broken became viscerally real. I knew the fall had corrupted what was good, but until that moment, I did not truly grasp the chasm sin created.
I am not guaranteed the gift of children. I only have the hope of Christ at this moment. Every breath given is not promised but ordained. I was caught between the intermingling of pain at what was, what could have been, and the gratitude for what is. That’s where Jesus was for me. The Holy Spirit was my only company in those times. As deeply as my husband loved me, he could not touch this pain. It was too tender. A live wire that I did not even know how to control.
A daughter of the most High, desperately dependent, I stumbled from joy to joy. From sorrow to sorrow. The Beatitudes and Psalms 23 and 139 became alive in my life. A plumb line on which I grasped tightly. Jesus as my anchor was the only way I lived and loved and survived in the aftermath.
At some point along the journey, I became vastly overpowered by the precious nature of life. As a Christian, I would have called myself pro-life before this season, but delivering children not meant for this world lit a fire under me. Christ was delicately suturing my wounds, and tenderly filling in that pit.
Believing upon Jesus, the victor and overcomer, we knew death was swallowed up and our babies knew no pain, only glory. Rescued and sustained by the Savior’s power from being swept away by depression, we marched forward, loving our family with renewed vigor and remaining open to welcoming what the Lord had in store.
Yet, we would experience even more deeply that where the gears of grief grind, our faith is milled and refined. Life ebbs, sorrow flows — BUT God.
The year 2022 would prove the battleground for all that God had prepared me for since those first two pink lines slipped through my fingertips in 2018. We learned I was pregnant again. The joy never abated but trepidation lingered. Doubts kept my expectations in check, and I held this blessing loosely.
The foreknowledge of this baby was comforting. Unlike my other losses, this baby reached the milestones I longed for. A rhythmic singing heartbeat. A steadily growing presence that felt rooted and strong.
My obstetrician had no idea why I wept with each doppler check. But WE knew. God was with me as I saw the blessed 14-week mark (12 isn’t enough after so much loss, I thought) and I allowed my dreams to run wild with being a family of six. A Friday, a dark moody Friday — I recall it so vividly as it has been burned into my memory. That heartbeat strongly reassured me during my appointment. It was the Friday of Valentine’s weekend, and our home was filled with so much love and rejoicing after that appointment.
Then, came Monday. “Not again!” I cried from my bedside as my children looked on in horror and my husband bent to hold me and weep. I physically suffered quite deeply, and for the first time I thought I might not survive and may go to the Lord along with this child.
Hospitalized, isolated and physically vacant, my mental moorings came loose — but girded by the truth I had gathered in the trenches, I surrendered. On my own I had no ability to move on after loss. This pregnancy was not supposed to end like this. My children knew their sister’s name.
Each of my children was so intricately woven within my heart, and she was no exception. She was the one that I just knew was going to survive. But God. That baby had a far greater purpose than I could ever dream. Faith forged in the fire of the years before had created in me a need for my Savior like I have never known.
Eventually, I did heal physically. Although I suffered a great deal of health complications that weakened me to the point of dependence upon my husband just for the day-to-day, that weakening also showed me my complete and utter dependence on Christ.
- “Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful.” (Heb. 10:23)
Hold fast. That is what my babies taught me. To test every emotion against the Word.
- “… but test everything; hold fast what is good.” (1 Thess. 5:21)
Hold fast. That’s what Jesus did for me in each moment of the years of drought.
Because His goodness didn’t falter, not when I brought home healthy babies and not when I brought home remains.
- “You shall fear the Lord your God. You shall serve him and hold fast to him, and by his name you shall swear.” (Deut. 10:20)
We are saved not by our works, nor are we kept by a far-off master, but we are known deeply by a loving Father to whom we can cling. To whom it is no mystery and who graciously holds us fast.
- “For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them.” (Ps. 139:13–16).
— Ashley Landon is a member of Abner Creek Baptist Church, Greer, and works with the music and children’s ministry. She and her husband, Brian, have been married almost 15 years and have three children.
