I hope people cry at my funeral. Now, before you go thinking I’m completely self absorbed, let me explain that. It’s not what you think at all.
There’s something so innocent about babies. Having had four of them myself, I know how sweet it is when a baby falls asleep on your shoulder. They’re so trusting and vulnerable, all at the same time. When a baby is fussy, all you need to do is hold them to comfort them. If you can persevere through their crying (or screaming), eventually they’ll calm down and be still. They lose this as they get older. Trust me, I know. My ten-year-old is much harder to reassure than is my almost two-year-old. He needs me to reason with him and explain things logically, which can’t always be done. My baby, on the other hand, only needs to know I’m there and that I love her.
“I’m bleeding,” I wrote in my journal six years ago. Those two simple words carried with them a world of pain and sadness. I wasn’t writing about a cut on my hand. No, this was a wound that wouldn’t heal so quickly or neatly. You see, I was pregnant. Well, at least I had been pregnant. I wasn’t really sure what to say anymore since the bleeding had started. This wasn’t just a bit of spotting, either. I knew right away what was happening, but I couldn’t even bear to write the word: miscarriage. Continue reading “Ministering to Miscarriage”