A Story of Hope through Miscarriage and Pregnancy Loss

Over the past two years my daughter Hope has asked a lot of questions about the siblings she’s never met.

“Were they boys or girls?”

“Did you name them?”

“How many times were you pregnant before me? Before Joshua?”

We’ve answered her questions as best we could, sparing her the intimate details. . .

Like how miscarriage #1 started after we’d heard a heartbeat. Even with the effects of PCOS, we’d managed to conceive naturally but fought through prayer for our child’s life when I started to bleed around week 7. I woke up to catch a plane to New York and saw life slip from my body and into the toilet early one morning. Despite my pain, we rushed to the airport because I had to leave; I had to keep moving. I learned that regardless of my escape, a miscarriage at 30,000 feet is as hard as a miscarriage on the ground {though perhaps a bit more difficult to navigate}.

Or how miscarriage #2 hit us by surprise when we went into the doctor with hope held high for our 12 week appointment. We’d finally made it to the “safe zone”. But when the ultrasound tech quickly left the room in silence and my doctor returned with tears in her eyes, I knew it was over. I tried to catch my breath as my husband held me close and my mom looked on through her own grief. “I don’t understand,” I kept saying, over and over and over again, searching my belief system for an answer to the looming question, “why?” I had a D&C the next morning only after one last ultrasound to look for a heartbeat, because even through the haze of confusion I believed my God could do the miraculous. We found out a week later our baby girl had Turners Syndrome, which can often lead to miscarriage.

I can always find the words to tell my girl what happened next. Although we were tired and weary and scared {really scared}, we continued to fight for our family and within a few months I carried Hope within my womb.

A few years later, miscarriage #3 happened so fast I barely felt any emotion. Multiple miscarriages can leave a woman feeling so tired and broken she’s numb to the pain and grief. It was as if I wasn’t surprised when I started bleeding the day after a positive pregnancy test. “Don’t get too attached to the idea,” my subconscious must have thought, “We’ve been down this road before.”

The final blow took us completely by surprise just four weeks later. An ectopic pregnancy, revealing a twin, nestled unsafely within my body, without the hope of life. My tube burst and I was left grieving yet another child. Miscarriage #4 left us feeling defeated. I was emotionally and physically broken to the point I didn’t know what I believed, what I wanted or what to do next.

I remember writing in my journal on our family vacation a month later,

I keep asking God to spare me any more loss because I want to know how deep my relationship with him will go apart from pain.

There was a sweetness that came with the sorrow of infertility and pregnancy loss. My brokenness brought me closer to God as I relied on him for daily strength. It brought me closer to my husband as we grieved and battled and hoped together.

But I longed to know if I’d ever be drawn further up to the Father and further in to my relationships in the midst of life’s pleasures. I wondered if I’d get the chance to experience his deep love on the heights.

Months later, after we’d tried seemingly everything {that we were willing to try at the time}, I was left wondering if we were meant to have another child. “I should be so thankful, God. You gave us the gift of Hope. If we’re not meant to conceive another child or if we’re meant to adopt. . .I just need to know.” I wrestled with our reality and all of my questions and as I tucked in the sheets and fluffed our pillows one ordinary day I declared aloud,

God, I don’t understand you. . .but I trust your heart.

My son’s conception was an absolute miracle that followed my complete and total surrender to God. I laid down all of my control; my tireless efforts to align every medical detail. When the doctor said, “Go home and rest. You will not be conceiving a child this month,” I turned my sorrow into faith, declaring that only God could do the impossible – and why shouldn’t he do it – for my growth and his glory? Weeks later when I called the office with the news, nurses and doctors were dumbfounded. Our Joshua’s life is a testimony to the faithfulness of God, despite the medical facts. . .even through the fear of loss.

But with God, all things are possible.

Our good God has redeemed our story allowing each loss to draw us toward him. He’s used our journey to encourage others and give our children a firm foundation of purpose on which to stand. As they grow, I will reveal more and more about how God walked with us and specifically destined their lives.

I’ve often said if I could, I wouldn’t change anything about our story. In the midst of the journey that would have been impossible to confess but looking back, I can see the hand of the Great Shepherd guiding us each step of the way. I can see how each moment of pain left its mark on my heart, and turned my eyes towards him. I know that I wouldn’t be who I am today without having experienced infertility and four miscarriages. And as much as I eagerly await the day I get to meet my unborn babies in heaven, I wouldn’t know the joy of the two children he chose for me to have on this earth without the pregnancy losses we experienced.

For my sisters currently walking through a season of loss, I grieve with you and when you can’t seem to find the strength, I will hope for you. There will be redemption through your story. I don’t know how it will end but I do know this – our God is good, he loves you with an everlasting love, he sees your pain and knows your longing. He grieves your struggle and he walks beside you as you stumble forward. He is making your feet like that of a deer so you may, one day, stand strong on the high places.

Have you experienced pregnancy loss? How can I pray for you and support you right now?

Quotes taken from the book, Hinds’ Feet on High Places by Hannah Hurnard {a beautiful allegory given to me by my grandmother when I was a teenager}. This picture of God’s protection as he journeys with us through sorrow and suffering has gotten me through many seasons of loss. I highly recommend it. {affiliate link}