There is a photo hanging in our hallway. It’s of my husband and I on my birthday, two days before one of the happiest days of our lives. Two days before we found out that I was pregnant. And a few short weeks before we knew any level of grief.
Sitting in that picture, I remember feeling happy and excited to take a pregnancy test. Excited at what was in store. Hoping beyond hope I’d receive for my birthday a gift I’d always wanted: the gift of motherhood.
Sitting in that picture, with my husband’s arms around me, it never occurred to me that less than a month later I would be in the ER hearing the words that permanently cut a hole in my heart and to this day make it hard to breath at times.
Sitting in that picture I was so blissfully ignorant, because it was before I ever knew. And sometimes that picture makes me cry, because I remember with mixed feelings the joy of one day, and fear of how quickly things can change.
Sometimes I think I wish I could reach into that picture, back in time, and hug that young girl. I’d squeeze her close, and tell her the things she wouldn’t understand for some time. I’d hold her husband’s hand and tell him he was going to have to be strong for her, and experience a new level of leadership he hadn’t known. He was going to have to hold her heart, while trying to stop his own from breaking. I’d tell her about her disease so she could have treated it earlier.
Then sometimes I think I wouldn’t have said anything. I would have just made sure to give her an extra hug or a squeeze of the hand as if to say, “He’s got you; He’s got you and your whole family in the palm His Hand.”
Or maybe I would have simply urged her to treasure those days even more than she did. Encourage her to foolishly buy a crib right away, shop for onsies, and design the nursery, because two years later, she still wouldn’t have a reason to do those things. And even if pregnant, it would never be the same as that very first time. Because that very first time was before she had to worry, before she had to work so hard for it,
before she ever knew.
I guess I just feel sorry that the girl in the picture, and the man holding her close, was so caught off guard.
But the more I think about it, the more I realize I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. I wouldn’t have wanted to know, because I would have lost even more. I would have lost the gift of lessons learned, people’s love, and being able to reach out, because I don’t know that I would’ve had the strength to try again. It was because I believed there was hope that we tried three more times. Had we known, we would have lost being able to have four more babies in heaven.
And even though the me of two years ago wasn’t sure, who I am today is:
I wouldn’t change a thing.
I would not change a thing.
For every tear we shed, every piece our hearts broke into, every sleepless night, they were worth it. We might not be together yet, but we will be, and I’m grateful to have that hope and joy. Those little babies gave us so many gifts, and around my birthday I did receive the gift of the title “Mom”.
That picture was before I knew. Before I knew the love of a mother, before I saw that look on my husband’s face when I told him the test said ‘pregnant’, and before we knew we were a family of three.
I’m glad we didn’t know everything, because life is full of moments. Moments of fear, and pain, and sorrow, but also moments of pure joy, gratitude, and bliss. And throughout it all, God is shaping the events in our life to give everything we need to accomplish the works He has laid out for us. In that picture, life was exactly as it should be, just as it is today. Today, I am where I need to be. And though I didn’t know, God did.
‘The night before your world changed, you had been busy about your day with an effortless smile, laying your tired body down to rest that evening. Moonlight spilled from the windowsill. You straightened the folds of your quilt, felt the coolness of the pillow, heard the purr of the fan. Your breathing slowed to the even pattern of sleep.
Then the Lord knelt beside your bed, looking on with tenderness.
He knew what would happen tomorrow. He knew your heart would be broken. He knew that the phone call would come during breakfast or that the accident would happen in the afternoon. He knew how your doctor would phrase it or how your boss would explain it away. He knew where you’d be when you picked up the note and how it would feel in your trembling hand. He knew what you would find on the screen. He knew what you would see when you opened the door.
He knew that this would be that last night you would sleep for many, many nights ahead.
With a gentle hand, He touched your face.
“Tomorrow,” He whispered, pain in His eyes. “Tomorrow, when it happens, I will be there with you.” ‘
(*These paragraphs in quotations were written by Nika Maples in her book Hunting Hope, Chapter 7.)
Looking at the photo, I realize that even if it were possible, there would be no need for me to go back in time to be with the younger me. I wasn’t alone. God was there, watching over me. The night before September 22, 2015, He knew we were about to be filled with joy. He saw that little baby in my womb before we ever knew they were there, and I believe He smiled on with joy.
The night before October 13, 2015, He knew I’d spend the next day in the ER hearing the words, “There is no baby in your womb.” He knew my stomach would squeeze tight and my husband’s face would crumple as he tried but couldn’t hold back the tears. He knew we would never be the same.
And today? Today He knows that this time of the month is extra emotional and my heart is even heavier than normal. He knows that while my husband seldom cries anymore, his heart is heavy too. He knows we want His will to be done, but He also knows we want to be parents. He knows us.
I find comfort in that. Knowing that not only does He know, but He directs our life, our steps, and our path. He not only knows, but He cares. It hurts Him to watch us hurt, but He provides strength and grace and hope. He never lets us go, but walks with us every step of the way.
And I’d like to think that someday, should He ever allow us to have children here, He’ll sit beside us the night before with a smile on His face, as He feels joy on our behalf, knowing what we tried to trust all along:
His plan is for our good and His glory. He is good, all the time. He is doing something with eternal value. He has us in His hands.
‘ “If you love me, you will keep my commandments. And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Helper, to be with you forever, even the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees him nor knows him. You know him, for he dwells with you and will be in you.
“I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you. Yet a little while and the world will see me no more, but you will see me. Because I live, you also will live. In that day you will know that I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you. Whoever has my commandments and keeps them, he it is who loves me. And he who loves me will be loved by my Father, and I will love him and manifest myself to him.”
“These things I have spoken to you while I am still with you. But the Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, he will teach you all things and bring to your remembrance all that I have said to you. Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.” ‘ John 14:18-21 and 25-27
‘ “Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me. I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing.” ‘ John 15:4-5
I’d encourage you to sing the hymn “Abide With Me”. If you’re a Christian, you can read those verses and sing that song with great joy, knowing that the Holy Spirit dwells within you, and God is always with you. You can sleep in peace knowing, without a doubt, that He is there.
© Grace Baeten 2020
The Misplaced Mom 
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