Brave
Sometimes I think the word miscarriage, and whatever follows after it is the Voldemort of the fertility world. The, "he-who-must-not-be-named" so we use every other euphemism we can think of to avoid saying it. We call babies who are born after miscarriages, "rainbow babies" like we were Lisa Frank unicorns pooping neon colors. We call them our, "losses" to soften the giant hole of despair we feel. You lose your keys. Your tax returns. Your mind, on occasion. One does not, "lose" a baby. You break in half for a baby, you wrestle and torment over a baby. But you never lose it. It never goes away.
I've learned a great many things over the past few weeks about what it means to be a part of this "club" I wouldn't wish on anyone to become a member of. There is a band of women, of friends, who have suffered as we have and I wish with everything I have that we could have found common ground in Cooks Illustrated or public versus private Kindergartens rather than to be bonded together by death and grief and the absence of hope and the clinging on with bloody nails to the God we can't see, and perhaps, don't really want to in the moment but know He is the only one that saves. It's the grieving believer's dichotomy.
But at the same time, I am so very, well, proud is weird to say, but that is how I feel, of the boldness, the audacity, the faith, and yes, even the hope of some of these members. Their courage to call it what it is-MISCARRIAGE- is like breathing fresh air, like someone holding my hand. It's as if they are honoring the heartache it is, it was, by being unafraid to say it out loud. It's a slap in the face to the evil one who longs to break spirits, tear hearts in pieces, keep us shrouded in shameful silence, alone. Lost in pervasive hopelessness. For too long woman, and men, have been silent about what this means, what this does to a family. I am so glad to be even a small voice among the many of my loved ones who have shared with me.
Which is why I'm sharing with you something from one of my friends today. Lisa and I went to college together. I was her RA, in fact, which is a joke for certain because she guided me and cared for me in ways I could never have done her. When I, for a plethora of reasons this is still not the platform for, ended up getting extraordinarily sick my sophomore year- too sick to even leave my room- it was Lisa who cooked for me, checked in on me, prayed for and over me. She is one of the most spiritually sensitive people I've ever known and happens to see God in everything- everything. Even baked goods. And if you ever had anything that came out of her oven, I will bet that you'd see God in them too. She's gifted in a great many ways, baking only one of them (which also happens to be her business, so if you're in the market for some sweet treats, she ships!:) But she is also blessed with words. Lisa talks about the "comfort of hopelessness" and what it means to actually put one foot in front of the other, leaning in toward our Abba during such a time as this. I'm privileged to be her friend.