Today was busy from beginning to end, and the productivity was welcome. I woke up feeling fine and for the first time in more than a week the feeling didn’t disappear by the afternoon. Meetings and prep work for the school year, a meet and greet with students and parents, cleaning the house, and dinner with my parents kept the day flowing from one activity to the next. Little thoughts and emotions floated their way in and were firmly pushed to the background. I’m thankful that I managed to get through today without a tear. I’m thankful that I was able to talk to my baby while I walked Bella without getting choked up. I’m thankful that I have the time now, before bed, to sit in my thoughts a little bit.
I was in a dry season spiritually before all of this happened. I hadn’t prayed or read my Bible in a month and a half unless it was asking for God to protect and encourage someone in dire need. I understand even more clearly now why it’s important to put reading and praying into practice when things are not extraordinarily difficult or even extraordinarily good. When those extreme events happen, you need to have something to turn to out of practice because you won’t want to do it willingly. That’s where I’m at right now…unwilling to pray and nervous about what will come out of me if I do. I’m trusting that my baby is with God and that they are loved, and also unwilling to be vulnerable with God. Funny how the two can coincide.
People ask me if I’m angry with God or if I blame myself for the miscarriage. My gut reaction is “no”. I’m not angry or feeling guilty. I’m mostly sad that my baby struggled to live and then never got the chance to experience life. It’s grief over my baby’s lost potential and my lost potential to give them love. Maybe the anger will kick in later. I don’t know when all of these feelings are supposed to appear…it’s not like I’ve experienced something like this before.
One thought that has started to itch at my brain is that I won’t be able to let this miscarriage rest until I’ve made peace with God. I can ask Him to take care of my baby, and believe desperately that I’ll see my baby one day, but still distance myself. It’s hard to be vulnerable with God right now. When I try to pray it goes one of two ways: either I feel so disconnected from what I’m praying that I just stop or the tears start coming and I stop. I’m worried that when I start praying all of the emotions that I’m unconsciously suppressing will make their way out. What if I really am angry at God? What if I really do feel guilty? Can I handle all of those things mixed together with the sadness I feel? As I write that last question, I hear a quieter thought trying to poke it’s way through. ‘What if facing all of it will heal you?’ It’s a thought worth considering. I’m sure it’s correct. Maybe I’ll give prayer another try…but for now I have brothers and sisters who are praying on my behalf. That’s what true love in a community looks like–they carry you when you don’t have the capability of moving yourself. They’re carrying me with their prayer and love, and that’s all I can ask for right now.
God, You know my heart better than I do. Be patient with me. As You always have been.
Drops of Jules 