Shrouded

[Note: I wrote this in January. I’m posting it way after the fact, so this isn’t how I’m feeling today and some things I described are no longer current.] 

It’s very early morning, still dark, and I just walked outside to drop a letter in the mailbox. I could feel fog on my skin. I looked toward a street light to see how thickly the white mist had collected. There in front of the light I could just make out the silhouette of our neighbors’ baby swing, hanging empty and still from a tree. 

That baby swing captures how I feel today. Empty and still. Shrouded in mist. Just like our second child, whose body is still in my womb and whose little heart is not beating. 

“A man may have a hundred children and live many years; yet no matter how long he lives, if he cannot enjoy his prosperity and does not receive proper burial, I say that a stillborn child is better off than he. It comes without meaning, it departs in darkness, and in darkness its name is shrouded.”

Ecclesiastes 6:3-4

We grieved the first miscarriage well. We moved on. In December I suspected I was pregnant again, but it was too early to tell. Then we were on a road trip for Christmas and I asked Erik if he wanted a snack. 

“No, I’m OK,” he said. Then after a long pause he asked, “…do you?”

“Yes,” I said. “I was thinking I might really like to have some chicken tenders.”  He looked over at me in delighted shock. I’ve never seen his eyes so wide. Fried chicken is very uncharacteristic of me; I’m normally more of a trail mix and granola eater. Erik is my carnivore– the more meat, the better. 

Later he confessed, “that was when I knew. It was kind of a proud dad moment.” 

On Christmas morning, a test confirmed our hunch that we were pregnant again. We thought God was giving us the gift of a child,* but it turns out the gift was something else: a ticket to take a boat ride with Jesus out into deep waters. Out into the mist. 

* I do see the irony of this statement. God DID give us the gift of a child, his very own son, who is the reason we grieve with hope for our own children. We believe Jesus’s sacrifice was enough to reconcile them to God and we look forward to meeting these two affectionate little worshipers he has called directly to himself. 

This was another short-lived pregnancy, but different from the first one. I wanted to rejoice in it, but I was having some “red flag” symptoms, and I often found myself worrying about possible issues. I kept repenting of that– I really don’t want to be a worry wart mom someday, freaking out over every little thing! I kept struggling to lay down my fear. 

Then, in the weird way things happen, on the day when I really started bleeding, all my fear vanished. I felt so completely held by God’s hand and sure he was in control, no matter the outcome from our mortal perspective. I knew he was giving me peace. 

We had to wait a weekend before I was able to see the doctor. I talked to a nurse who said it didn’t sound good, but that I should rest in the meantime. We went to church and broke the news to a couple of close friends that we were pregnant and possibly losing the baby so they could pray with us. It felt so good just to have someone walk with us in that. Our church was doing three extra worship and prayer nights that same weekend to kick off the year, so we went back to church Sunday night and sang “there’s nothing that our God can’t do” and dared to hope that we might still see life. 

Monday morning I got an ultrasound and saw the baby. Our little bean, just a black smudge. The doctor and I both stared at it for a long time on the screen. Finally I broke the silence. 

“There’s no heartbeat, is there?” 

“I’m so sorry,” she said, slowly shaking her head. 

So that was that. They took a bunch of blood tests so we can rule out potential issues and decide on next steps. (They took SIXTEEN vials of blood. I know that for people who have been through actual medical stuff, that’s nothing, but I have never come close to that. The phlebotomist was having a hard time getting anything but a drip out of my vein, and I was kind of having a bad Monday, so I actually passed out during the blood draw. I’m going to count it as a victory that I did warn the guy before I went down. And also a victory that he had to call some more experienced nurses to finish my blood draw once I was lying down, so it got done quite a bit faster than it would have otherwise! I’m all about efficiency!)

We went back to church on Monday night and I stood there with a dead baby in my belly and sang again about how God is good. I hope the enemy feels thwarted, because he’s not going to win this one. We’re going to keep calling out his lies and fighting them. 

We know Jesus is with us, piloting our boat out in the deep waters, and He knows exactly where we’re going. This sorrow is worth it to Him. He sees the joy in the future and someday this will all make sense. I believe He’s redeeming every bit of this. Maybe 400 years from now we will look into his brightly smiling face and we will thank him for letting us travel with him on the path of trust. 

We weren’t made for easy lives; we were made to know God and be close to Him. We shouldn’t be surprised by the depths to which He is willing to take us to get us there. For now we will try to grieve this well. We will cling to Jesus’s neck and trust Him to hold us as we keep sailing the deep waters, shrouded in darkness and mist. 

This is a poem Erik wrote for our children. (Just a note: we never found out the gender of either of our miscarriages. For simplicity’s sake, he refers to them in the poem as sons.) 

“My Little Ones”
Erik Frost

 I lifted the hood and checked the oil
I found I wasn’t done
And then your mom came outside
All was not well under the sun

Our thoughts went back to your brother
Who had gone home before
We prayed for God to heal you
As grief approached  hearts’ door

We held each other as the tears flowed
“God, be with our little one!
Please bring him home to us!
We really want to hold our son!”

Two days later we learned the truth
That God had chosen you
To be next to your brother in heaven
As He wove His master story true

You see, my sons, as I write you now
You must understand
Our Great God in heaven above
Is still constructing His master plan

It’s in His sovereign grace alone
That He chose you both
To worship and sit before Him
So He could display His perfect worth

Your mom and I don’t comprehend
All the things He plans
We trust He’s at work in you and us
As He gently takes you from our hands

You ask “Why do you grieve, dad?
Why are you sad we’ve gone on?”
The answer is pretty simple and plain
We miss you being in our home

Many things, my sons, we wanted to do
To hold and kiss and guide -
To laugh, play, teach and comfort -
To show you how to be a light.

For now we must remain apart
We know you won’t come
And see us in our time here;
But we will, when we go home

For now our God and King has led
Us out into deep waters
We wait for His perfect timing
When we can be mother and father.

Know, my sons, He is not done
With your part in our story
He’s only finishing His work
In your mom and I to bring Him glory

For now we must pause our time
Before being together again
But know the love we have for you
Is as strong now as it was then

You are my little ones that
God chose to be at His side;
You are my little ones that
Will always play a part in our lives

One day your mom and I will finish
The voyage God has planned
Then we’ll both approach you
And say “He had it all in hand”

You are my little ones that
I wish I could hold
You are my little ones that
I’ll still miss when I’m old

You are my little ones that
Are the very part of me
You are my little ones that
Until I die, I will grieve

Oh my little ones - listen now!
Always worship Him alone
Oh my little ones - do not fear
For mom and dad will soon be home

Love, Dad and Mom

Photo cred: http://print.alvarezphotography.com/media/91dde418-fe54-11df-9454-873137b6c94b-a-rope-swing-hangs-from-a-tree-on-the-sewanee-campus-in-the-fo