Miscarriage.

I feel like every time I sit down to write this post my mind goes blank. I can't remember the words of the English language (or any other language known to mankind for that matter) and the constant background chatter that constantly fills my headspace quiets down and all I'm left with is..

Silence.

To put it simply, words fail me. They fail to communicate the depth of emotion and grief that accompanies miscarriage. They fail to communicate the shock and horror at some of the comments that I got...

"Count it a blessing! you wouldn't have been able to handle twins."
"Everything happens for a reason!"
"You only miscarry unhealthy babies."
 "At least you still have one!"
"Miscarriages are super common.."

All of these things said with the speaker thinking they are somehow easing your pain or granting you some previously unknown perspective on your situation.

All of these things made me want to SCREAM.

Most often though, another woman who had suffered through losing a pregnancy would say nothing to me. Just give a hug, or warm smile, or small nod of understanding. And I appreciated her. There are no words. Only time. And the comfort of Jesus. Those are the only things that heal those wounds.

Within moments I dreamed a lifetime for that little one.

And then it was all over-- and to everyone else, since there is no physical evidence, it's like it never happened. Most of the time I feel like I'm carrying around this giant invisible weight.

How to curl my hair with a wand, and other things I can't figure out.

K guys..

I cannot for the life of me figure out how to use a wand to curl my hair. I get the theory. I can do it in someone else's head--  but I get the wand in one hand and my hair in the other and I just can't figure it out. I've watched tutorials, I have had people show me. But when it comes time to do it, I can't. What's going on it my head just doesn't make it to my hands.

I also can't figure out how people get out the door with two kids. Like there's no way. I don't have enough arms for the diaper bag, the soothers, blankets, loveys and my TWO babies, who together weigh 45 pounds (yes, I regularly carry them both.. WHO NEEDS THE GYM?!). Forget locking the house and opening the car door. I need four arms. Maybe six.

I also can't figure God out.

You know those results I was waiting on? Negative!

So I start texting close friends and family to fill them in and all everyone could say was "Praise God!" "Isn't The Lord faithful!?" "Aren't you so happy!"

Here is a deep down secret bottom of my heart confession: all I wanted to say was NO.

I wanted to say: "No. I'm mad. I'm angry. I'm (insert choice expletive here) PISSED. What was the point of all of that!? Of three weeks of stress and worry and exhaustion. Haven't we been through enough this year!? I don't want to learn any more freaking lessons. I want to get to the end and have normal, easy days. I'm tired. This is stupid."

Sidenote: I know "normal, easy days" don't really exist. And I don't mean to complain. But I'm straight up burned out. Weary.

Don't judge me?

I get SO buffeted around by every day life. My heart is tossed around by the waves of  things going well, and things going badly. I'm fickle in my faith. So fragile, frail, foolish, childish. So...human. So hopelessly human.

I also know SO much Scripture-- about hiding my soul in the rock, and about how in Christ we find rest and peace-- and I love how in these moments they pop into my heart, ease my breath and my spirit. I have so so much more growth to do in this area-- to come to a place where the ups and downs of life don't drag me up and down with them. To anchor my soul to Christ, in His steadfast, gracious and abounding love, to His consistency.

Get it together.

So I live in this headspace called- “Worst Case Scenario.”

Have you ever visited? I’m basically a permanent resident. The TINIEST thing goes slightly awry and all of a sudden my wildly vivid imagination takes me to this place where the universe is ending. I occasionally dream of living (read: ALWAYS CONTEMPLATE HOW TO CREATE) in an underground self-sustained, shock proof underground bunker, with it’s own spring well, because.. oh my goodness what if there is a HUGE earthquake and we get trapped in here and we all get crushed and the windows get blocked and how do I get my kids out and what will I do to feed the baby because Wal Mart will get wrecked and we are going to need formula AHHH.. I’m working myself into a right state now.


The other day I did this hard thing—there’s this mole on my leg. And it’s freaking me out. EVERY time I’ve looked at it for the past year (yep. I procrastinated for a year)I get this ache in my gut.. I finally made the appointment to have it looked at—and I’m right on the money.. The thing has got to go. I have to have it removed. Talk to a derm. Then we find out if there’s an issue.. but in my “Worst Case Scenario” world I’ve basically already died of cancer and I’m trying to figure out how to pack a lifetime into the next few days because OH MY GOD MY KIDS.. there are so many things left to teach them, so much love left to show them. And I shouldn’t have gotten that babysitter that one time I should have just stayed home because that is time that I should have been with them and I wanted to take them to Discovery Cove so we could snorkel with the manta ray.. (Yes, I’ve seen Blackfish. I’m also not interested in being eaten by a shark so I will do this in a controlled environment thankyouverymuch!) do I write them letters? Record videos?! What about Michael?! I don’t’ want him to be alone. It goes on.. I can’t even write where my head is going. It isn’t funny. It’s frightening.

My family……….

The worst part? I don’t have some stupid little clear cut lesson for how to fix it. I really struggle with staying out of this awful world of terror in my head and staying present in the real one.
I struggle with keeping my focus on Jesus.

OH YEAH JESUS
Ugh. I need to get it together.

The boat.

It’s no secret that the past several months have been challenging in our home—we learned of a twin pregnancy, then learned that we will get to meet one little one on the other side of eternity, and of one tough little boy that we will get to meet in May. Michael lost his job, and began his walk into ministry. These past few months have been filled with lessons that I didn’t anticipate learning a year ago.

 That somewhere in the middle of grief and loss, somewhere in the middle of the murky waters of miscarriage, there is a loving God. Somewhere.. some days it’s easier to find Him than others.

 

That somewhere in my empty bank account is a God that knows my needs and is in control of my family’s future.

See God is God, and he is still good, regardless of my circumstances. I sob out of anger and confusion and hurt, worry, panic—but He is still God, even when I can’t see it.

And some days I can’t see a way out of all of this pain and stress. When our needs feel so great that I dare only whisper them in prayer. When my fears feel like they paralyze me. It’s a lonely road to walk, but He stoops low and meets me where I am and whispers words of encouragement—ones that I hope will encourage you too.

 

Matthew 8:24-26

“Suddenly a furious storm came up on the lake, so that the waves swept over the boat. But Jesus was sleeping. The disciples went and woke him, saying, “Lord! Save us! We’re going to drown!” He replied, “You of little faith, why are you so afraid?” Then he got up and rebuked the winds and the waves, and it was completely calm.”

 

Jesus is in the boat, in the middle of the storm with me. “You of little faith..” As I sit here and cry out to God. I’m not alone, and we are in this boat because we have been CALLED somewhere, with a purpose. We have not been put in the boat to drown and die.

And neither have you.

Remember that today, we all have storms, and none of us is in the boat alone.