It's been nearly 4 months since I sat down to write, and when I go that long without making a peep, making that first peep gets harder and harder. Because in my head, surely there's significant things to break the silence. You know, something worth writing. And I have had the urge to write several times, but I've found myself letting all of the things stop me. I think partly because I am not sure I have been completely honest with myself, so that can make it hard to be honest here. So, I am hoping that this is going to help me.
I am floundering in so many ways, and I think that will be evident in this post.
The last weekend of January, I found out I was pregnant again. We wanted another baby. This was not an accident on our part. Though every time we talk about the future of our family it is always with the word, "if," we did in fact think that we could have another baby. Elliana was the proof of that, so we thought. She is unbelievably cute and so healthy, and we look at her and marvel that she's a Tomberlin. We entered cautiously into the joy of another pregnancy, having been robbed before, but we did enter. Adam actually did talk to my belly. I did jokingly try to get Adam to acquiesce to my requests stating, "Well, I am pregnant." I did the math and saw I would be out of the first trimester just in time to go on the first Lighthouse retreat for spring break. Laughably, being due in October, I tried to figure out if I could still make my niece's birthday cake for her 5th birthday in early October.
And with essentially no warning, it all came to a screeching halt. I didn't even know of this little baby for two weeks before he or she slipped away. I had gotten up early to do my workout for the day, gotten Nolan ready for school, and before I got in the car to take him to school, I walked out of the bathroom with a knowing, heart wrenching feeling. Life inside of me was coming undone.
I quietly cried in the car, wondering if maybe, just maybe, this time everything actually was ok. But I knew.
I got home and went to the bathroom again. I knew.
I walked out, and Adam just looked at me with a questioning look on his face. He, too, knows. I silently and subtly shook my head no, and he came and held me in his arms as this familiar reality settled on both of us. Another baby we'll never know. Another baby we won't adore. Another loss.
The days and weeks and months that have followed have not been easy. I seemingly bounced back pretty quickly, knowing that my family couldn't have me spiral into a pit. I look at my three kids- I am unbelievably, immeasurably blessed. I look at them all as miracles at this point. I have savored Elliana's littleness all the more, feeling like maybe I didn't appreciate every day enough. Maybe this time around was my last, even though my heart longed for another about 5 minutes after we came home from the hospital with her.
I have felt myself sink into some pretty low days. I ache in ways that seem different than with my other two losses. My heart feels so tender, bruised almost. Like a part of me wants everyone to know that I've walked through the valley, and please be kind to me because I am hanging on by a thread. And another part of me wants to keep my head bobbing above water with a grin on it because I'm blessed more than I deserve, dang it. I will force myself into joy and gratitude, even though I have to FIGHT to stay in that headspace, if I'm being so honest.
When I first said the words out loud, "I had another miscarriage," I had let two weeks pass. I told my ladies group who had walked the darkness with me before, and this time I tried really hard to let them know they need not worry- I'm not drowning. I had just finished reading an amazing book, Gentle and Lowly, and for the first time of the three miscarriages, I really believed that God was sad with me. This was not punishment; I didn't lose another baby because I deserved it. His heart broke with mine. This shift in mindset helped tremendously this time around.
As time passed, my resolve to believe God's heart for me clearly weakened without me paying close enough attention. Without knowing it, my confidence in my good God was shaky.
I read Christy Nockel's book, The Life You Long For, and I was reading her chapter on her two miscarriages. She writes, "Do I believe that God had it in His heart to take my babies from me to teach me a lesson? No, not at all." And I just started crying. Because that's where I found myself once again. Clearly, I was a disappointment. Clearly, I needed yet another lesson on following Jesus. This is familiar mental stomping grounds for me.
This morning my brother preached from Luke 24 when Jesus encounters some of His followers after the resurrection. The Scriptures say in verse 16 their eyes were kept from recognizing Him. It sounds like they had a lengthy conversation with Jesus Himself as they walked, yet they could not perceive that it was Jesus. The Man the Bible says they "had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel (v. 21)." They knew Jesus face to face, and they were encountering Him face to face yet could not recognize Him. It says that Jesus explained all the things from Moses to the Prophets pertaining to Himself. When they finally sat down at the table to eat with this man they didn't realize was THE MAN, their eyes were opened. They recognized him. And then He vanished. Poof. Right before their eyes- gone.
My bother did a really great job preaching from this passage, and I felt my insides respond on both points that he presented.
1. These followers of Jesus were disappointed with how things turned out. You know, with Jesus being crucified and all. They thought He was coming to redeem Israel. Their hopes and ideas did not line up with the reality in front of them. But Jesus was literally walking with them. LITERALLY. In the flesh, he walked with them and talked with them. And their eyes could not recognize him. His voice was not familiar. I can raise my hand and understand. This loss, this loss does not line up with what I was hoping for. AND I cannot see Jesus right now. I cannot recognize His voice. I do not understand the why, and my heart is still grieved.
2. I had placed my hope in things other than Jesus, and my heart needed to repent. And I think that misplaced hope is part of why I struggled so much in the time after. Seeing as how that message was just a few hours ago, I'm confident I still need to sit in the conviction longer and ask God to search my heart for other misplaced hopes.
We very much still want to grow our family, but we know (we KNOW) that there are no guarantees. Sorrow and joy have been so intricately woven together. We look at our kids and are deeply grateful, and we ache for what we've lost and what may never be. We delight in our three very unique children. We went to the beach for a fake-out Lighthouse retreat (a story for another time), and we loved watching them be out there.
We also gave each other knowing looks and slid closer to each other in our spots in the sand. We see those three little boogers out there, and we want another. (Sidebar: It feels so indulgent to "wallow" that we may only have 3 kids, and I would never, ever, EVER talk about this with women who are begging God for their first. I know and recognize that I have more than some couples ever have). We thought my belly would be growing, and we would be making room in our home for another Tomberlin.
This little Joy Bean held my hand as we walked in the sand, and I quietly let a couple of tears roll down my face. She never holds my hand to casually stroll, and it felt unbelievably special to have my daughter's hand in my own as she experienced the beach for the first time not as a baby. And I also knew that this could be my last time experiencing a first stroll with one of my toddlers. That joy and sorrow that walk hand in hand- I see it more and more as I get older.
I do trust God is in this season, and my eyes have not perceived Him. Yet.
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