{Not As Strong As You Think You Are}

Supermom.

Strong.

Brave.

Capable.

Amazing.

All words people have so generously and kindly offered when they describe me and the way I have handled the past year {plus} navigating the health struggles of our sons Teddy and Will.


I welcomed the kind words, but inside my heart they didn't mesh with the way I truly felt. I didn't feel  all that super, or strong or brave. I felt like I was pushing through, grasping the bare essentials of sanity to make it through each day. I told myself I needed to own those words, to be those things...at least on the outside. I had to keep it together, for my kids, my husband...everyone else.




I needed to be ok. I needed to be strong.


And then I miscarried.


And it wasn't ok.


Any strength I thought I had was emptied out. The mask was off.

In those days after losing our baby, I felt a weakness unlike any I have before. There was absolutely nothing I could do to change what had happened, nothing I could have done to prevent it. A blow I never saw coming.


A reminder of how truly weak we are in our human frames, wearing masks of strength, power, capability.


We see weakness as a fault, a shortcoming and strength as a barrier against all the hurt the world throws at us. And then there are these moments, when your helplessness confronts you...and suddenly you're not as strong as you {or anyone else} thought you were.


And it's ok, to not be strong. Because, He is strong, His power made perfect in our weakness.


"But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me." {2 Corinthians 12:9}


I will boast in my weakness, because when I am weak, then I am strong. Not exactly what the world around us says, but in this truth I am resting- I am clinging on to the things that are true, when right now nothing feels ok.


It is not me who is strong, but Christ in me.


Beauty in my mess.


Strength in my weakness.


Hope for the hopeless.

{The Child We Lost: Making Sense of Miscarriage}

A little over month ago I experienced a loss I hoped I would never have to navigate, the loss of our child, one we never got to meet face-to-face.

Miscarriage. A word I have used to describe a loss that is indescribable. A word that has defined the grief and numbness that has coursed through my heart and mind for the last month. How do I mourn a child I carried, but never held? How do I talk about someone I loved so deeply, but never spoke to? It's a loss unlike any I have experienced and at times I find myself so overwhelmed by the complexity and senselessness of it- why, why, why?


It just doesn't make sense. There are no answers. We are left, like so many who lose a loved one, blindly reaching through this darkness, wondering how to move forward, how to live with the not knowing. I think any time you lose someone, the shock and confusion and pain of it all can overwhelm and undertake you. But, then you look at photos, you have memories, you realize that, yes, they really did exist- you have something to grasp on to, even if it feels loose and distant. You have people to share that pain with, the heaviness of the loss, the memories. But, with pregnancy loss, you don't have any of that. Yes, my husband very much feels the depth of our loss, he aches and struggles and wrestles with the whys. But, it's just us. It's isolating and confusing and unbearable at times.


We've been so blessed to have a couple very close friends wrap their arms and prayers around us and family that has stepped in to lighten our burden as well. All of that has held us up and kept us pushing forward in hope. There are not words to describe our thankfulness for them.


A close friend asked me in the midst of my miscarriage, was I mad at God? I thought, that would make sense, but I never once felt that. In the senselessness of it all, I never once questioned or blamed God-and for me, I guess that was my comfort, my hope...that even in the greatness of this loss, my God was still good, still loving and still with me. It was the only thing that DID make sense.


As I wake up morning after morning, finding joy has never been more within my reach. The contrasting pain that aches deep reminds me with a glaring joy to seek out the goodness before me, to hope for and seek out the eternal, lasting things before anything else. To know that I have such a treasure waiting for me in heaven, that is a sweetness unlike any other. While it does't make sense in this life, I have the assurance of a God who is in complete and utter control, who makes sense of the senseless and brings beauty from the mess. One day death will be no more, one day our tears will be dried and we will be together, no more hurt, just the fullness of Love surrounding us. I can't think of anything more valuable and hope filled than that.


I share all of this, because I know miscarriage is a silent pain shared by so many women, and if my story can be healing to one woman out there than it was well worth it. He's with us, in our hurting and in our rejoicing. When nothing makes sense, he remains, solid and eternal and always good.


As I move through this grief, I plan to write and share more and hope that my story will speak to someone. We aren't alone in this senselessness, this water swelling up, the pain threatening to take us under-- we are held up, by each other, by a God who will never let us drown when we reach out to Him.

Much love,

Sarah