It’s Friday evening. Usually I don’t start writing until late Saturday night, and sometimes not until Sunday afternoon.
But I called out of all of my QVC shows for the day, and I have all the time in the world to sit and think and write. To consider how to write this week’s post, if at all. And to dwell on how peculiar life is, and how it is that God’s timing is perfect, but sometimes unfathomably so.
We’ve all been there: When the normal grind is suddenly disrupted by unexpected circumstances. When your hold on the future is gripped by the throat and shaken to the core. When you’re brought to your knees from the weight in your chest and refuse to get up until given answers.
Josh and I lived there this week. And in the midst of the chaos, no, he did not dress me.
I have no cute pictures of flouncy dresses to show you. No witty remarks about marriage or my husband stylist. I have no style advice to give you this week, because I spent it in sweatpants of my choosing and sweat-soaked t-shirts.
For the past three weeks, our little home has buzzed with joy and celebration following finding out I was pregnant. Three weeks crawled by as we anticipated entering the “safe zone” so we could tell our parents. We knew the chances of a miscarriage were higher than normal because I have PCOS, a hormone imbalance which can complicate getting and staying pregnant. We knew the risk but rejected fear, choosing instead to hope and pray.
In my heart, I believed God wanted me to keep the pregnancy to show the world that He’s bigger than statistics. I knew He was there when I told Josh angrily that “I would hate to get pregnant at this stage in our marriage”, referring to a rough patch in our marriage that we couldn’t seem to get past. And I know He delights in irony and grace and making beauty from ashes.
I cautiously reminded myself the same would be true were the outcome of the pregnancy a miscarriage. I’m reminding myself of that truth now, as I wonder how the pain of this loss fits into His plan.
This week, I was dressed in gray shades of uncertainty.
This week, Josh adorned me with the gentle, comfort of his touch and unshakable peace.
This week, the only picture I took was a picture of me laying hands on my womb, flat and aching.
This week, I dwelt upon the beauty of community, knowing Josh and I would be overwhelmed with support and prayers and words of encouragement for future children.
This week, I prayed- hard- for you mothers and fathers who have also experienced this kind of grief. I thought of the women who have strongly gone before me, fiercely pursuing wholeness and hope, like my own Mother. I, too.
And finally, this week, I held on to my husband. My best friend, my rock, and the father of my someday children.
I share this information from a place of total vulnerability that I know may come across to some as TMI. Not to mention that sharing personal, sensitive information on a platform as vast and unforgiving as the internet is super scary. But I share with a longing for all to know that God’s love is so huge and beautiful and his plan for you so perfect and intricate, that fear is pointless.
You probably didn’t expect to read such a heavy post today, nor be preached to. So if you made it to this point, thank you for taking a moment to sit with us. It is beautiful and comforting to feel surrounded and supported by loved ones and friends.
Next week is moving week. I’m not really sure how to transition from this week’s unexpected tumult, but somehow, life goes on. Sometimes before I’m ready, and at times with a substantial limp, but it goes. And that, my friends, is a reason to hope.
“Of one thing I am perfectly sure: God’s story never ends with ‘ashes.'” – Elisabeth Elliot