I miss being naive. I miss being pregnant and having no clue what can go wrong. When I was pregnant with Benjamin I didn't have a clue what a miracle it truly was that he and I were safe. When I was carrying Henry, I started googling more stuff because I had a small intuition that something was wrong. By his pregnancy, bad things had happened to people I knew. I knew a sister of a friend who had a stillborn daughter. I knew of a former employee of my father who hemorrhaged and died. I girl at my church had a stroke. Never ever ever in my wildest dreams did I think I would be someone's friend of a friend. My dad is a doctor. I'm healthy. This is America! I slept more this pregnancy. I ate better. I wasn't working. But sure enough, it was no longer a friend of a friend. It was me. It was real. It's still real. And fresh. So very fresh. I hear my sweet son's name everywhere. I see him in things all day everyday. He is still so real and near to me.
God has blessed me with a third precious baby, and I'm more scared than ever. So scared, in fact, that many days I'm too afraid to even pray for my child. I do it, but not with expectation. I've yet to start a baby journal. I'm so very scared to connect. I also feel guilty. I feel guilty because I long for Henry, but I have another child in my womb that I know is here because Henry isn't. I also feel guilty that I'm not on my face begging God for this child. But how can I? He took Henry. Who's to say He won't take this one. And if I love this one as much as I loved Henry I may not survive another loss. Or another no from God.
I find myself googling all the things that could go wrong. This time, I tell myself, I'm gonna be prepared. Nothing is gonna blindside me. And the more I do that, the more room I give Satan authority over me. I know all these things, but my heart just won't act on them. I had some bleeding early on in this pregnancy. So many people tried to tell me it would be okay. That God is going to take care of the baby. But those words mocked me. I know God is in control. I know He is good, but with all due respect He took my last child. Who's to say He won't take this one? I'm not so shallow in my faith to miss the point that He does all things for my good. I believe that with all my heart, but when you hold your lifeless child in your arms, those words offer little comfort. And while I know God can move mountains, it's hard to get fired up about that when He can but didn't move mine.
I'm not trying to sound like an entitled, selfish, unbelieving baby. I'm trying to be authentic with my heart. Apart from a few close people, I'm a private struggler. I'm prideful. I want to have it all together because that's what a faith-filled child of Christ is, right? Someone who has it all together. Someone who believes God will save their child, cure their cancer, repair their marriage. But maybe not. Maybe the faith is in the struggle. Maybe I have dishonored God with my laissez faire attitude, but maybe He is being honored by my questions. Before I lost Henry I would be the first person to bust out scripture and tell someone God is good. And while I believe that, people who tell me to have faith after having lost a child make me wanna puke. It's callous. It's ignorant. Of course I want to have more faith, but when you're invested in something, I mean heart all in, and He takes it away, it's heart wrenching. It's almost more of a let down than that which you lost. I mean look at Jesus in the garden. He didn't lack faith, yet He begged God to take this cup. He was scared and anxious. And guess what? Peter didn't tell Him to have more faith. John didn't tell Him that God can do anything. Nope. He cried. He struggled. He begged, then He submitted.
Every time I go to the doctor I expect my baby to have no heartbeat. Every time I go to the bathroom I expect to see blood. People talk about my Christmas baby, but in the back of my head I don't even believe I'll bring this one home. Are these thoughts normal? Probably. Are they healthy? Maybe not. Are they from Satan? For sure. But I don't think they're wrong. They're real. I just need to take these thoughts to the right place.
I love that people have faith for me when I lack it. I love that I have people that honestly tell me they can't promise that everything will be okay. Because no one can make that promise. And that's ok. That's the faith journey. The sanctification process. And I'm okay with that. When someone at work tells me their dad has terminal cancer, I get it now. When a friend has a miscarriage, I can feel it with her. And as much as I want to change God's plan with Henry, I can't. I will never hold my child on this earth. Ever. And every day I'm sad about that.
I obviously have a lot of growing to do. I'm so fragile. And entitled. I feel like the most faithless, undeserving, scared little girl. But I believe God will use this journey and my weakness. I believe there are others that struggle the way I am. And I believe that eventually I will see what God sees, a beautiful, beautiful story.
I love you dear Henry.
