Morgan

Last summer was an interesting time. School was starting, and we were working hard as usual to keep our heads above water. Malachi was eight months old and just starting solid foods (my kids never took to purees), still nursing day and night. Toby was potty training. Things were hectic. There was one week in particular, though...

We had severe flooding in May, and August was threatening the same. One night when it was raining particularly hard and the news was broadcasting flash flood warnings, I went outside to check the water level in the storm drain. As I was heading back inside, I went down, feeling my ankle snap on the way. Laying on my couch, I called my boss and told her I wouldn't be able to make it in the next day, because my ankle was pretty badly sprained.

The next day, I was sitting on my porch while the boys were napping, and I realized something: My period was late. I had a pregnancy test in my bathroom, so I took it, and surprise! I was pregnant. Quite a shock, and I was a bit terrified. We were so broke. We had trouble providing for our family as it was. I couldn't imagine adding another child to the mix. I called Nathan and we agreed not to say anything to anyone for awhile.

That Sunday at church was special. The choir had been preparing a worship concert, and God's presence was palpable. We sang songs of God's provision and awesome power. We lifted our voices in praise and adoration. And I knelt at an altar and gave God my burden. I remember praying, "God I am so scared. But I know you are in control. I know you have it all taken care of, and I'm just going to trust in you. No matter what happens, I will trust you." Little did I know.

The next day, I had an appointment at the health department for a confirmation of pregnancy. I had scheduled it as early as possible so that I could get it done and get to work at nine a.m. I went in to give the sample and started bleeding. I wasn't sure if something was wrong or maybe I was just starting my period after all. When the nurse came in, she said, "Oh, about thirty percent of pregnancies are lost like this. It's not a big deal." They sent me to a doctor in Lebanon, where I gave a vial of blood and had a transvaginal ultrasound done. I was told it may just be too early to see anything, or it may be that I was miscarrying. They wouldn't know till they checked my hormone levels and then checked them again two days later.

It was a big deal to me. I had barely resigned myself to not having anymore kids because we couldn't afford it, and then I found out I was pregnant and might be losing a baby before I even knew for sure how I felt about being pregnant. I was a basket case. I had to call my mom, my mother in law, and my best friend with the news that I was pregnant, but I might not be for very much longer. I told God, "I know I said no matter what, but this wasn't what I meant." The response, "Peace, my child. I'm still God." I still had hope. After the initial blood at the health department, I didn't bleed anymore that day.

I went to work after I left the doctor's office to let the ladies know what was going on. I worked with some pretty interesting women at the time. They all liked to think they were my mother or grandmother, and had all kinds of advice for me. Mrs. Gari, one particularly interesting lady, said to me, "Why would you want another one?" As it turns out, those were her last words to me. I was sick the next day, and when I called in to work I was told she had passed away that night. Tragedy, but I was too focused on my baby to mourn. I'm not sure still what I was feeling at that time.

Wednesday, I went in for the next blood sample. I waited all day for the call telling me whether the levels had gone up or down. It never came. I went to church that night and told our choir and worship pastor what was going on. The prayer that was prayed did not ask for healing or the baby's health, but that God's will would be done. I resented that a little bit. I was beginning to think I was the only one who wanted this baby. That hurt.

Thursday morning, I got a call from the doctor. I was miscarrying. I cried for the rest of the day. But strangely, there was a kind of peace. God was still whispering in my ear, "Peace, my child. I am still God. You are still mine."

That weekend was an all church retreat. We went to the campground and spent time together. It was wonderful and peaceful. I lost my baby on Saturday.

I am so grateful for God's peace. Throughout that week, as hard as it was, God allowed me to know that I was firmly in his hand, that nothing was too big for him to handle. I never once questioned that I would someday get to meet my baby, that he or she was in the presence of God from the very beginning. I was surrounded by friends and family who have been through the same thing, who knew how to comfort me.

It's popular in these situations to say things like, "Everything happens for a reason," or "God wanted another flower in his garden," or "Your baby is an angel looking down on you from heaven," or "God took your baby because he knows what's best for you." None of these things are true or biblical, and I am thankful that I know that. Sometimes bad things happen, and there is no reason. And sometimes God allows it, even though it breaks his heart to see us endure so much pain. I don't serve a God who steals children from families because he wants them for himself. I serve a God who hurts when he sees his children hurting, who longs to give them peace and comfort if we will only let him. While I have grieved over the past year, I have for the first time known what it is to truly know the Peace of God.

We named our baby a couple of weeks ago. Morgan. It means "bright sea dweller." Fitting. In the Chronicles of Narnia, the bright sea is the sea that is at the end of our world, just before the land where Aslan comes from. Maybe one day we will meet there.