It had been six months since we found out that Simeon had gone to be with the Lord. I had started feeling nauseous, and it seemed like overnight my stomach had tripled in size. It wasn’t surprising when the pregnancy test was positive.
I was such a mixture of excitement and anxiety. We were so grateful to once again be adding to our family, but the reality of loss was still so close to our hearts that I was constantly aware of the possibility that we would miscarry again.
When I went in to see the doctor for my first appointment at eight weeks I was knotted up with nerves. The last time I had gone in for an ultrasound was when we were told that Simeon’s heart was no longer beating. I had been praying all morning that God would help me to trust in Him no matter what His plan was for us and this tiny babe I was carrying.
As soon as our little one was picked up by the sonograph, I heard the technician say, “There is the baby. And there is baby’s heartbeat.” I’m sure the slow exhale that followed those wonderful words was the first normal breath that I had taken all day. I could feel tension leaving my body as I praised God through tears for this gift of life before us.
The weeks that followed were filled with dreaming about our future. I frequently took out the ultrasound photo of the baby and just stared at the words “fetal heart rate.” I was overwhelmed with gratitude every time I thought about the life God had chosen to place within me. We started to make plans for what our summer would look with another precious life being welcomed into our home. I felt nauseous all day long week after week. It was a strange experience, as I had never had morning sickness with any of my other pregnancies. But as awful as I felt each day, I welcomed the constant reminder that new life was inside of me.
A few weeks later I went in for my next check-up. The midwife came into the room where I was waiting and started searching for the heartbeat with the Doppler. I was so excited. Although I had seen the heartbeat at our previous appointment, I was thrilled for the opportunity to hear it! It was a sound I had been longing to hear for the nine long months since we were told that we would never hear Simeon’s little heart.
But every time the midwife thought she had picked it up, she would lose it again. She tried for what seemed like a decade and finally suggested that I use the bathroom to see if listening for the heartbeat with an empty bladder would yield better results. They finally brought in a bedside ultrasound, hoping that would make it easier to find the heartbeat. The midwife assured me that this happens all the time—that when babies are small they are able to hide from the Doppler. But those words didn’t do anything to comfort my anxious heart or still my shaking body.
Finally, almost an hour and a half of searching later they were able to pick up the image of our tiny one’s pulse. Relief washed over me again.
I was so thankful that I had left that appointment with the assurance that our little one was healthy and strong, because I wasn’t sure if would be able to survive the loss of another child. I begged and prayed that God would continue to protect this little one and increase my trust in Him. But, I was convicted by how quickly I had allowed worry to take root in my heart. I knew that no matter what God had in store for me I didn’t want to be consumed with worry and fear. Over the next few days I poured over Scripture and poured out my heart to the Lord as I bit by bit replaced the ache of worry with the steadfastness of His peace.
The night following that appointment, as I was lying in bed, I began to feel our little one move around inside of me for the first time.
A week and a half later, I went in for another ultrasound. My midwife thought that I was measuring a few weeks ahead of schedule and wanted to verify that the due date I had been given was accurate. I was glad to have another chance to see how our sweet baby was growing and to finally hear the sound of that tiny heartbeat.
When I went in for the appointment, I held my breath as I saw the sonographer tense as she tried in vain to pick up the heartbeat. I felt a wave of dread wash over me as I realized that I was on this road again. This newest addition to our family would not grow up on earth. Here was another birthday we could never celebrate. Another hand that I would never hold on this side of eternity. The weight of the pain was crushing and excruciating.
I drove home in tears. When I arrive home I sank into our couch and wept with my husband. We only had a short time together before he had to head back to work and I had to pack as we were heading out on our High School Winter Retreat in a few hours. Together, we told our other children the news that our baby had gone to be with the Lord. Our daughter, Jayden, hugged me tightly and said through tears, “Oh mommy, I am so sad that my sister baby will not be born to our family. I miss her with all my heart. Can we pick a name for her that means ‘My Lord is singing?’ I will always love her.”
My heart broke again.
The doctor had said that because of how far along I was and because my body did not respond at all to our previous miscarriage, it was unlikely that my body would be able to respond this time, and if it did, the amount of blood I would lose would be so excessive it would be hard to tell when it might reach the point where it would require “life preserving surgery.” It was decided that a D&C was the safest option for me.
Two days before my surgery, I began having contractions and I realized that my body had indeed recognized the loss. It was sudden and scary and almost midnight. A dear friend came over to stay at our house so we could keep the kids asleep while Jesse and I drove to the hospital. By the time we got there I had lost so much blood I could hardly walk. They printed out a band for me in the ER and when asked to verify that my name and birth date were correct I was so light-headed I couldn’t even read it.
I was wheeled into a room where my blood was drawn in order to determine how much I had lost, and I was given an IV to replenish my fluids. Within a few minutes of arriving I had delivered our little one, and the nurse brought her over for me to hold.
As I beheld my daughter and gazed in awe at God’s exquisite handiwork, I was overcome with gratitude that He had seen fit to bring her into our lives for those few short months. I didn’t think I would ever be able to stop stroking her cheek or counting those beautiful fingers and toes. And I knew that even though I would not be able to bring her home and watch her grow I loved her completely.
It was one of the most devastating yet treasured moments of my life. My time with her couldn’t last forever, as I still had to go into surgery in order to stop the bleeding, but I know that cherished time of holding my baby in my hand is something I will never forget. I would never have chosen for the circumstances of our miscarriage to unfold as they did, but in every detail it was so clear that God was doing what was for our good and His glory.
We chose to name her Odelle. I had been searching for a name for several weeks that would honor Jayden’s precious and thoughtful request. In Hebrew, Odelle means “sing praise to the Lord.”
While my heart doesn’t always feel like singing these days, her name is such a dear reminder that our God is so worthy to be praised. Day after day I will choose to sing praise to the Lord despite my circumstances and pain, because, “He is my chosen portion and my cup. [He] holds my lot.” And I will choose to believe as David declares in Psalm 16 that “the lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; indeed I have a beautiful inheritance.” He is my God, and I have no good apart from Him. Therefore, my heart is glad and my whole being rejoices.
and pain, but rather to purify me and empower me to place all of my hope fully in Him. My Lord was beaten and killed so that I could be made whole, not so that I would be free from sorrow, and He has called me into a life of purpose in Him, not a life of comfort.
This is not the path that I would have ever chosen, but it is the path that God has laid before me. And while each step deeper into His presence has been reached at great cost, I am starting to see just how true it is that dying to myself is the only way I can truly live. And in so doing my heart is learning to treasure His presence above everything else that I’ve let go of.
face fall as she searched for what wasn’t there…while my heart was screaming, “I know You have the power to do things differently, to choose a different plan, to accomplish this work in my life in another way!” I remembered that You asked for those same things in the garden “with loud cries and tears” (Heb. 6:7) before Your death, yet still surrendered to the Father when the answer was no. And because Your cries and tears preceded my own, I know that through You, Man of Sorrows, I can arrive at that same place of surrender.
Some of the most intimate and precious moments as a mother have come while daddy and I snuggle up with your sister and brothers and together raise our voices to sing praise to our Almighty God. Oh! How I love worshipping the Lord as a family. So to know that when we are approaching the throne of God in worship you are there as well — lifting your voice in praise for all eternity — I am blown away by such a gift. A gift made possible through HIS wounds. What joy there is in knowing that I am still able to experience this intimacy with you, that together we can be ever crying, “Worthy, Worthy is His name!”
Throughout this pregnancy there was always a part of me that felt as though God had a different plan for your life than I would have chosen. And while I did pray continually for your salvation, health, and future life here on earth, I felt burdened each morning to start off the day by thanking God for each moment that He had allowed us to be together. Knowing that each day with you was a gift. You were our gift.
Beyond Undone 