Three weeks ago I was pregnant. I was excited. I was nesting and daydreaming about what the coming months would hold. I would hold my tummy and talk to the child inside. My husband Leighton and I had picked out names and a nursery theme. And.. even though that baby wasn’t in our plan, it was in God’s and we loved that baby.
Two weeks ago, I was bleeding and cramping… and getting quite worried. I spent one sleepless night and the next morning with bursts of pain every five minutes. I went to one class, caught nothing of that lecture and then went straight to the emergency room with Leighton. They quickly wisked me away to a room where they took my blood and gave me an ultrasound. My hcg was low they said… and the baby too small with no heartbeat. “These cramps you’ve been feeling are your body trying to expel the non-viable pregnancy.” So. That explained the every five minute pangs. I was in labor with a very small and very dead baby. My baby. I loved that baby.
I’d thought I was safe. I took prenatal vitamins and ate healthy and rested when I needed to. I was two days away from leaving my first trimester behind. In fact, a few weeks before, my morning sickness had gone away, I was showing more than I thought I should, I was feeling flutters… I thought maybe I was further along. I went into the emergency room thinking they would tell me the bleeding was from stress and the cramping was actually a bladder infection. They’d give me something to make the infection go away and everything would be fine. They’d tell us how far along we actually were and whether it was a boy or a girl… or at least how long until we could find out… But none of that happened…
Being pregnant taught Leighton and I how to love one another again… but with a choosing love rather than a butterflies in the tummy love. It taught me how to love God again and run after Him. Loosing the baby taught me that life is short. It taught me that anything God creates, He can take away. It’s up to Him. This earth and this life are incredibly temporary and it is the next life that we should be concerned with. It’s the next life that counts for anything. Loosing the baby allowed me to see God’s grace in a way I never had before. There’s something about having the body of someone who is now with Jesus… inside of you. As the I passed the baby in the bathroom the size of a postage stamp, at a friend’s house… I thanked God for the time I had with that child. I thanked Him for the time I got to be a mother and care for a tiny life. I didn’t deserve such a beautiful gift.
I don’t deserve the gift of a relationship with Christ… but I get to experience it. And it’s wonderful.
I take comfort in the thought that my baby is up in heaven playing with all it’s little cousins that were miscarried. It’s not alone. My baby is with Jesus. My baby was a gift from the Creator and has gone back to live with Him. My baby’s life was lived for the sake of glorifying Christ… and for that I am thankful.
Leighton didn’t want to name the baby because it would make it more difficult to let go and move on. I wanted to name the baby because I knew it would help me to move on. When we were on our honeymoon, Leighton told me that he wanted to name a baby Khava (the Hebrew word for Eve) because of how beautiful it sounded. Even though it wasn’t a name we had earlier chosen, I named my lost child Khava Grace. It was because of her existence that I learned to love. It was because of her that I experienced Grace.