Faith

I noticed a call for bereaved parents to share their story of faith for the Share Pregnancy & Loss Support newsletter in March/April.  So, one day I just sat down and started writing.  I submitted this today.  Not sure if it will make it in the newsletter, but this is my story of faith after loss.

On the evening of November 25, 2012, we prayed.  About twenty close friends to be exact—including our pastor and several elders from our church, all whom we call great friends.  We prayed for my surgery, for the doctor’s hands, for the nurses who would be taking care of me, and for my baby girl who was snuggled up tight in my belly at 18 weeks gestation.  We felt hopeful.  A routine surgery to remove a large cyst in my ovary, except it turned out to be anything but routine.

Little did I know that only 24 hours later I would be rushed back into the operating room for a life saving surgery—another surgery that would save my life but not my baby girl’s.  But God knew.   He knew Norah inside and out.  She was His before she was ours.

Were all those prayers pointless?  This was not the way things were supposed to work out.  I was supposed to go home and resume my life as a “normal” pregnant woman.  My whole perception of life as I knew it had been shattered in moments. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen to me, to my family. 

Over the last year, I have cried out to God.  I have learned to lean on the cross more than I ever thought possible.  I have poured through my Bible just looking for reminders of God’s promises.  It never says in scripture that life will be easy.  We aren’t promised health and happiness all the time. God does not promise us that we will not suffer here on this earth, but He does promise to take care of us through those times.  Aside from my family and friends, God has just held me in the palm of His hands, especially on those days when I long to hold Norah in my arms, when I long to see her crawl, when I long to watch her play with her sister and brother, when I long to just have her here on this earth.

I have learned that my faith must be bigger than my brokenness.  The only way I can reconcile Norah not being here with us is knowing that she is perfect in heaven.    Even though I don’t know exactly why this happened to us, my faith must be bigger than my hurt.  I have seen God work through our loss of Norah over and over.  I have felt the abundant love and support of my church community.  I have been able to minister to other women who have endured loss.  I have shared Norah and educated people on the fact that a baby is indeed perfectly formed at 18 weeks.   

There won’t be a day here in this life that I won’t long to see and hold Norah, but my faith and hope in a God who “works for the good of those who love him, and who have been called according to his purpose” (Romans 8:28) outweighs my brokenness.  I may never understand why we had to lose Norah, but one day I will see how all His promises for my life fit together perfectly.