Reconciliation

On May 15, 2011, I sat at my window, feeling numb from the whiplash of events and emotions I had experienced in just twelve short weeks. I was tired, beaten down by the guilt that was racking me, and exhausted before the day had begun. “WHY?” I know there are no answers to this question. Nothing will change or make sense of the last three months. My mind races backward, reliving those roller coaster moments for the thousandth time:

Brian and Sandy Ballenger

On the first day of March in 2011, I celebrated my 42nd birthday. I was on top of the world, a joyful mother of three beautiful daughters, 20, 16, and 12. We were approaching spring break of our 15th year of homeschooling and my physical and mental health had turned a corner. I felt healthier and stronger than I had in years.

Three weeks later, I extended a shaking hand to my husband to reveal a positive pregnancy test. My voice cracked as I searched his face, pleading for an answer to the only question that permeated my mind: “why is this happening now?” I pummeled him with my angry bullet points: a pregnancy this late in life was certainly not in my life plan; I was nearly done raising children; I didn’t want to start over; I was too old for this; My plan did not include this. He reminded me that our lives are not our own. We don’t know God’s plan for our lives, but we’re called to trust Him and be reconciled.

I wasn’t reconciled with this. I was angry, scared, and sad. I cried for days. I felt every emotion which was contrary to what I knew I “should” be feeling, and the guilt over this negative reaction to my pregnancy was nagging at me. While the tears flowed, I prayed for reconciliation. I wanted to be reconciled to God’s will for my life.

I wanted to trust His plan and not be afraid. I wanted peace. A portion of a Bible verse I learned as a child came to mind repeatedly: “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart.” I decided to cling to this verse. I didn’t have to understand, I had to trust. The days passed at a snail’s pace, but each day became a little easier.

On a beautiful sunny Sunday in early April, I felt the last of my gloom recede and feelings of gratitude and joy take root. After days of questions and denial, I finally felt a glimmer of hope. I cried again that day, but this time it was tears of joy.

I found myself writing a letter to our unborn child soon after. I had to explain why I had struggled with four weeks of anger, fear, and sadness. I needed my baby to know that while he was a surprise, and while I had been unsure for a season, he was loved beyond measure, and so many people were excited to meet him.

The next four weeks were so different from the first four. I was exuberant as we shared our surprise with loved ones. Our daughters were overcome with excitement. Experiencing their joy first-hand was thrilling! Our friends and extended family were incredibly supportive. I felt so loved. How could I have felt so much sadness before? How silly it all seemed now. How grateful I was to have this opportunity at this stage in life! What an enormous blessing!

On Mother’s Day, Sunday, May 8, 2011, something in my body began to change. A few days later my hopes, plans, and excitement all crumbled as I learned of our impending loss. The doctor looked at me with concern and questioned my lack of emotion. I simply thanked him and prepared to leave the exam room. He placed his hand gently on my shoulder and said “this news is a shock. You don’t have to be strong. It’s okay to be sad.” But what he didn’t know was that I couldn’t allow myself to be sad. I didn’t deserve the blessing I’d been given, and I certainly didn’t deserve to grieve over this loss now. He didn’t know how I had pleaded with God before my first pregnancy test. He didn’t know how angry I was at God for weeks before this moment. He didn’t know how I had hoped, even wished, I wasn’t pregnant, or how many times had I cried out to God demanding to know WHY.

No, I wouldn’t grieve now. I didn’t deserve the happiness I’d felt for those brief weeks, and I didn’t deserve one morsel of pity. The heavy weight of guilt descended on me as I left the doctor’s office. This was all my fault. Another week passed before I miscarried, and another week later I was still enveloped in that dense fog of guilt. I was guilty of everything: of not trusting God immediately; of not instantly desiring the baby that I will never hold; of delivering the news that my husband and children celebrated and planned around for weeks only to watch them fall headlong into their own grief; of telling all of our loved ones far too soon, and having to retract it all; of not crying when the doctor told me there was no hope of saving the baby in my womb. Ultimately, I was guilty of whatever I did or didn’t do that caused or didn’t cause this loss.

The guilt glued me to my chair that day, unable to go backward to change anything, and unable to move on from it. I had nothing left within me. I had channeled every ounce of energy into consoling everyone around me, and I was an empty vessel void of all emotion. I couldn’t even pray for a single glimmer of hope. I knew I needed light to be shed on my path. I knew I needed the fog to lift. I needed to know that the emptiness wouldn’t last forever.

Again, that passage in Proverbs called out to me:

“Trust in the Lord with all thine heart…” TRUST. “…and lean not unto thine own understanding.” RECONCILIATION. “In all thy ways acknowledge Him…” PRAISE. “…and He shall direct thy paths.” PEACE. The fullness of that passage resonated within me and the building blocks to forgiving myself began to take shape:

Trust. Reconciliation. Praise. Peace.

Thirteen years have passed since my miscarriage. It took time, but I eventually became reconciled to God’s will, and that path helped me forgive myself and release my guilt. Now I view my loss as less of a tragedy and more of a lesson. My trust and reconciliation in and to Him has deepened with each loss of unborn grandchildren.

Was my experience meant as a buffer to aid me in these moments? Was it a lesson to teach me how to minister to my daughters in their time of need? I don’t know the answers to these questions, but God does, and I’m at peace knowing that through it all, He will continue to hold us all in the palm of His hand.

XOXO

Sandy