Miscarriage and the goodness of God in the land of the living.
Note: viewer discretion is advised for the photo of a preborn baby.
The Lord gives and the Lord takes away.
Blessed be the name of the Lord.
Job 1:21
I woke on Sunday morning 16 weeks pregnant.
Then I started bleeding.
I bled a lot.
Around 7 pm, the baby was born.
I went to bed Sunday night no longer pregnant.
But there was no baby to hold.
His soul must have been frolicking in heaven for the last week or so, but I didn’t know that until Sunday evening.
He appeared to be a boy.
His body measured just under 3 and 1/2 inches, so somewhere around 14 weeks gestation. His fingers and toes were perfectly formed. He had eyelids. His spine looked perfect under the thin skin. I could see no defects, though the head and neck seemed full of fluid. He didn’t have the classic family nose, not yet. But the little nostrils were symmetrical and perfect over the thin line of his serious mouth.
We buried his body today at the back of our property. Josh slid unmarked slabs of granite that he’d dug from the side of the stream across the dry brown dirt that covered the little box he’d built for the purpose, staining it with tears.
It looked so small under the spreading arms of the ancient oak.
I cried.
I have only seen my husband cry a few times in the life we’ve shared for 21 years. Over the gospel. Over our infant son born with a disability. And over the little box that he placed in the ground today. It’s hard to bury your child.
It’s not like the death of a child I have known and loved for years. I would not compare it to that. We don’t cry for this one who will never know pain or sadness, who will never know evil. He’s in a wonderful place. And I know I’ll meet him there someday. I will go to him, but he will not return to me.
But I cried for myself. My arms feel empty.
I carried this child for 16 weeks. I have planned for him. Counted the days and weeks till birth. Felt the stretching of my body as it accommodated the growing being, separate from me, but dependent.
I considered what I ate, how active I should be, and which cravings were wise.
And now. Suddenly. He doesn’t need me anymore.
I’m left with a void.
It seems so much larger than his little physical frame could possibly have left.
I wonder why.
Did I do something to cause the miscarriage?
Could I have done something better?
Did my body fail this child?
Why?
Coincidentally, I've been reading a book of the Bible that wonders the same.
Job questioned God too.
Everything he owned was destroyed. All his children were killed. His health was painfully depleted. He was left with a despairing wife. And misguided friends.
Why?
What’s the reason for the pain?
Why not give pain and suffering to a drug dealer? A child molester? A politician?
God never gave Job an answer.
God simply reminded the man that He is worthy of trust.
Life and death are His to give.
God is good and does good. Always.
Today I lean, heavily, on that fact.
Even when I don’t know why He does what He does.
We were considering naming him after John Knox- a Scottish preacher and reformer who changed his country from the inside out by teaching the Bible.
This boy will not have the chance to speak on earth. But his presence has changed me nonetheless.
I am thankful to have played a part in his existence.
He has made everything beautiful in its time.
He has put eternity in their hearts, except that no one can find out the work that God does from beginning to end.
Ecclesiastes 3:11
Little Knox.
Born into heaven. August 21, 2022.
3 and 1/2 inches long.
2 ounces.
Till we meet again.