Is miscarriage God’s will?

… and what I believe about the valley of the shadow of death

As I trudged back to our rented flat along two miles of frozen city streets, my furry hood giving my face its only protection from the wind and my fists stuffed deep into my coat pockets, I thought, “the valley of the shadow of death. That’s exactly where I’ve been.”

In my last post, I mentioned that I’ve been meditating on Psalm 23 lately. Yesterday I realized how very relevant verse 4 is for someone who is grieving a miscarriage. 

I have been walking through an emotional valley since the second miscarriage. Some days are lighter than others, but I still feel the vague shadow of loss. There should have been life growing into our family, and instead there was death. It’s strange to think of the angel of death coming so close to us, to me– even into the deepest, “safest” part of my body. (Into the “covered,” which apparently can also be translated as “innermost parts” or as “womb”– see my last post.)

It’s disturbing to realize that death has come so close. It’s a beautiful feeling to be pregnant and to sense the reality that there’s another human spirit and life budding within my body. But to the same degree, in the opposite direction, it’s a heavy and sad feeling (almost dirty, even) to realize there was a dead person, no matter how small, in my womb. 

The virgin Mary was overshadowed by the Holy Spirit, and life was left in her womb as a result. I was overshadowed by the angel of death, and death was left in his wake. It’s sobering. 

But the verse moves on, and so will I. 

EVEN THOUGH I walk through this valley where I feel the shadow of death, its nearness and its consequences, I will fear no evil. 

Possibly the worst part of the miscarriage is how it creates fear for future pregnancies. My second pregnancy was much more worrisome than the first, because I heard those lies and at times I gave into that fear. (See my post on “four lies…”)

As I was trying to grieve the second miscarriage well, I made a list in my journal of things we lost and things we gained through this experience. One of the things highlighted on the “lost” side was “some of the joy and hope in being pregnant, at least for the first trimester.” It’s all too easy now to give in to fear-  either to believe the lie that we will never have children, or to succumb to worry about every little thing as a sign that we’re about to go through this kind of pain again. 

But the verse says I don’t have to fear evil. I can resolve not to concern myself with possible bad outcomes or anyone’s malintent toward me or my children. 

Why not?  Because God is with me. It says it right there: “You are with me. Your rod and your staff, they comfort me.” 

As I was processing the miscarriage early on, a good friend said to me, “Remember, this might not be God’s will.” Those words really bothered me, and now I’ve figured out why. 

(Before I get into that, let me say this. Friend, you know I love you. I am so grateful for how you were there for me through that hard time. You jumped into that valley with me, and you even brought amazing food. I am so grateful for you. I am also grateful for what you said to me. Even though I have since decided I disagree with my initial interpretation of your words, please don’t feel criticized by my analysis. I’m glad you said them. They came from the overflow of your heart, which I know is full of love for me and desire for me to be comforted, and I receive that. You have loved me so well. I’m also glad you said what you did, because it gave me some good grounds for thought, and I believe I’ve ended up even closer to God through the process of thinking about that. Thank you.) 

If my miscarriage was not God’s will, that means it either happened when he wasn’t looking (?) or the enemy WON that arm-wrestling match with God to be allowed to do it (!?) or worse. But the God I serve is ALWAYS with me, and his attention is always on me. Nothing can snatch me from his hand, so no one is allowed to hurt me except when God has decided to allow it, and in that case he promises to use it for his glory and my good (I do believe Romans 8:28 applies to me through Jesus)–  it gets fully redeemed, and whatever pain I go through won’t even compare to the weight of glory that it’s achieving for me (2 Cor 4:17). 

Pause. Am I saying that suffering, disease and death are God’s original will? No. I think he had a Plan A will which was all beautiful and good, and included us living in a garden in perfect fellowship with Him where we had everything we needed. Even the tree of life. There was no death in that plan. But then humans jacked it up, fell, got kicked out of the garden, and now we’re onto Plan B, where we have to go through a lot of crap (genetic abnormalities, cancer, war, and the whole bit) but God’s will is to redeem it all, through Jesus, and get us back to the same end goal as Plan A. Back to the tree of life, with its fruit every season and its leaves for the healing of the nations (Revelation 22:1-3). 

So when I say “my miscarriage was God’s will” I don’t mean “this was God’s Plan A when he created the world,” but I do mean “right now in our Plan B world, this is absolutely the best path for me and God is redeeming it in all the best ways.” 

If I accept the idea that God actively didn’t want this to happen to me but it happened anyway, somehow, then I feel unsafe.  I feel afraid. What will happen next time God doesn’t want me to have a miscarriage? What other evil forces have rights to my mind and my body? Who else is out there calling the shots? 

But Psalm 23 makes it really clear to me that I don’t have to be afraid. God was always with me. His rod and staff comfort me: he won’t let me stray from him, and he won’t let any wild animals come too close to me and harm me. (Yes, I can feel pain and I can suffer, but I am not in danger of any real eternal damage.) 

Furthermore, his goodness and mercy follow me all the days of my life. There wasn’t one day that God turned off his goodness toward me or stopped looking at me with compassion. And there will never be a day like that. He can shepherd me through scary valleys, but he will always be there with me, and I can trust his plans. I am with him, so on the deepest levels, where it counts, I am safe.

Photo credit: The Dark Valley by Martin Sercombe, Flickr