When There Just Aren't Enough Words

Sometimes, words do not do justice to how we feel. 

Sad.

Broken.

Empty.

When even crying seems like a hollow expression of how you truly feel or of what the situation deserves.

To my great joy and disbelief, Memorial Day weekend, I discovered that Jordan and I were pregnant. Pregnant! I had a little baby growing inside of me. A baby that I did not ask for, did not plead God for, did not spend time daydreaming would come. I had told God that I would be content in whatever circumstances we were in, and He was helping me be true to that. I liked our life.

But, oh...if He wanted us to have a baby, then who was I to argue? If His timing could surprise me, then I love surprises! I went into my extreme planning mode, and quickly thought how I could tell my husband of four years that he was going to be a father. I decided to go back to the beginning:  five years ago, this July, Jordan asked me to marry him in the dusky twilight at a lighted swinging bridge. Five years ago, he gave me a ring as a sign of his sincerity and a promise to indeed make me his wife. I wanted to take him back to this place where we had one of our beginnings. To make him walk me through what he did, what he was thinking, what made him nervous. Then, right where it all started for us, I wanted to get down on my knee, and nervously ask Jordan if he was ready to start a family with me because he was going to be a daddy!

This seemed like the perfect plan, so a few days later I sent off his wedding ring for some engraving. I wanted it to say:  One hope. One life. One family. 

A week-and-a-half they said. That is how long you will have to wait for your husband's ring. That is how long you will have to hold this secret inside of you, just like you hold this baby inside of you. And, while I was bursting at the seams, I had an appointment to find out when my baby was expected to enter into the world--another thing I could tell him during our special moment!

Friday, June 3rd, I got to see my Little One. I saw the sparkle of its heart beating and heard the fast-paced whooshing of those beats. Oh, the tears of joy that came when I realized that the God of the universe had begun to form a real person inside of me! Seven weeks and three days! That is how old my baby was already--I could not believe we were that far along.

Yesterday, the ring finally came in. It was perfect. It said everything I wanted it to say, perfectly summing up the vision I saw for our family. Only...I wasn't so sure our family was going to be three anymore. I had had a lot of pain over the last few days, pain that reached its crescendo early Friday morning at about 3:00 a.m. When I woke up, I felt like I just knew. Knew that it was just me. No one was sharing my body any more. 

I had an ultrasound late that morning to see what happened. Thankfully, I was okay--nothing scary on that end.  However, the very nice ultrasound technician confirmed my thoughts and feelings. Eight weeks and three days. That is as far as my baby made it. Eight weeks...such a very short time; yet, a lifetime for my Little One.

How do you describe the emptiness? The destruction of hopes and dreams? Plans made...gone. How do you tell your husband that he was going to be a dad, and in the same moment tell him his baby is gone? Ineffectually, I guess. Everything about this situation makes me feel ineffectual and confused. On the one hand, I am relieved that I finally get to share the last few weeks with my other half. I am relieved that my pain is gone and my body feels good again. I am relieved to just know how things turned out, when the last few days, in the back of my mind, I had already started preparing myself for this possibility--battling between hope and despair. On the other hand, I am angry at myself for being relieved. For making my stupid, stupid plans that forced me to tell Jordan everything in the span of an hour. And angry, too, at my body for betraying me and not letting me do the one thing I wanted to:  protect my child.

The whole situation is confusing. How can I grieve openly when no one knows I have anything to grieve about? One thing is sure:  I never, ever want to pretend like it did not happen. It did happen. I will always, always remember. That is why I want to get this all out--all at once. Rip the band-aid off. Cleanse the open wound.

The name of God I was going to write about next was Jehovah-Rapha, The Lord My Healer. 

God knew. 

"Rapha means 'to restore', 'to heal' or 'to make healthful' in Hebrew. ...Jehovah is the Great Physician who heals the physical and emotional needs of His people." After much traveling in the wilderness and complaints  from the Israelites, God reveals Himself to them in Exodus 15 as their Healer. In Hosea 11, God said this of Israel:

When Israel was a child, I loved him, and out of Egypt I called my son. The more they were called, the more they went away; they kept sacrificing to the Baals and burning offerings to idols. Yet it was I who taught Ephraim to walk; I took them up by their arms, but they did not know that I healed them. I led them with cords of kindness, with the bands of love, and I became to them as one who eases the yoke on their jaws, and I bent down to them and fed them.

Even when we are faithless, He is faithful to heal us! If there are two things that are clearer to me now then ever before, it is that, one, I love my husband more than I ever have or could have thought possible. I rejoice and am thankful that he is simply amazing, and we are two pieces of the same jigsaw puzzle that fit perfectly together. And, two, God is near me. He is everything to me. He loves me--and my child--more than I will ever be able to comprehend. He is The Lord My Healer.