Hope doesn’t always show up the way we think it should. Three years ago, we announced a pregnancy in the first trimester. We were thrilled to have the privilege of welcoming another little one into the world. Things went pear-shaped not long after that when we discovered I had a missed miscarriage. The baby died weeks before we knew about it. The body of Christ came around us to support us in our loss.
From then on, I decided we’d keep pregnancies a secret from most people until we reached the 12-week mark. Because it’s apparently more “safe” to do so and I won’t have to then go and tell everyone we lost a baby. But our son Titus taught me that nothing is safe or certain. We never know how long we’ll be blessed to be the parents of our children. Does that mean we need to keep our joy a secret for a certain amount of time? Why not let those around us share in the hope we have?
Well, I’ll let you in on the secret I’ve kept for a little over a month now–a glimmer of hope in our lives.
About a month ago we were surprised to find out that we’d be expecting another baby in January. I was due just days after the anniversary of Titus’s death. I can honestly say I am not ready to entertain the thought of another pregnancy after all we’ve been through in the last 12 months. I begged God to give me joy over this pregnancy, and He is slowly changing my heart. After all, this is a “year of hope.” A new baby would definitely bring hope into our family.
Then things changed in an unexpected way.
We went in for the routine 12-week ultrasound ten days ago. Imagine our shock when we saw the screen light up–with no baby in sight. The midwife’s words echoed in our confused minds, “I’m very sorry. There’s no foetal pole (no baby; just an empty sac). You’re going to have a miscarriage.”
We went home confused. How could I have a miscarriage if there’s no baby? I waited for my body to start doing its thing. Last Saturday, things happened in a dramatic way. I was admitted to hospital after losing a lot of blood and fainting a couple of times. I miscarried in hospital, and I lost enough blood to need a transfusion on Sunday before going home Monday morning.
Where is the hope in that story? Year of hope, indeed.
But here’s the thing–there is hope. There’s hope knowing God will work this for good. There’s hope knowing that God is with me in my sadness, anger, disappointment, relief. There’s hope in knowing that we live in a world affected by sin, and that we will one day be made whole in Heaven.
Yes, I’m grieving the loss of a pregnancy. I’m still deeply grieving the loss of our Titus-boy. We still have lots of unanswered questions about all we’ve been through in the last year.
But there is still hope. Even though the world comes crashing down around us, we still have hope. We cling to hope.