I knew I was walking through my wilderness, and I was determined not to set up camp there. I am not a preacher nor am I a theologian, but I made it through my wilderness, and I’m hoping, by sharing my story, that someone else might find the strength and courage to find spiritual healing from miscarriage.
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My miscarriage was easily the worst time of my life, but I knew that spiritual healing from miscarriage would come in time.
In college, I studied the stages of grief. I was aware of them. I was quite surprised by how much I remembered and by how little it helped me to remember them. Different sites will order them differently and phrase them differently, but, in essence, they are 1) Denial, 2) Anger, 3) Bargaining, 4)Depression, and 5) Acceptance.
Grief doesn’t follow a set path.
People don’t always go through the stages in the correct order. We skip stages. We repeat stages. We repeat stages. We repeat stages, again. As horrible as grief can be normally, add postpartum hormones to the mix and you have a nasty storm raging within.
Now, I am not one who cries. I hate crying. I detest crying. I will avoid things that are likely to make me cry. I just hate it. Crying after miscarriage is to be expected. I expected it. I was not ready for the craziness of it. I would read funny jokes on the internet and cry uncontrollably. Funny things made me cry. Happy things made me cry. Sad things made me cry. I cried when I was angry. I cried when I was hurt… which was way too often. I cried when I was hungry. I cried when I was cold. You get the picture. I was a mess!
I knew I was a mess, but I couldn’t stay a mess.
I had to find my way out of the wilderness.
First, I had to get honest with God. I mean, like, ugly honest. There was a song from the ’90s by Margaret Becker that said, “God’s not afraid of your honesty, He can heal your heart if you speak honestly, Humble sorrow and the honest cry He will not pass by.”
You might as well tell God how you really feel since He already knows.
Getting completely honest with God was my first step to healing, but it was raw and ugly. I reminded God that His word said in Jeremiah 29:11, “I know the plans I have in mind for you, declares the Lord…” I told Him just what I thought about His plans for Wyatt.
Now, I have to laugh at that. Did I really believe that God’s plan was for Wyatt to die before his first breath? I cringe at the thought, but in my pain, I struggled with it. God is omnipotent. He is all powerful. If it weren’t His will then it must have been a problem with my faith. I seesawed back and forth from blaming God to blaming myself for far too long.
Eventually, I came to a place of enlightenment when I could once again see that it was neither God’s fault nor was it mine.
The “fault” falls squarely on the shoulders of sin. I know that God’s perfect plan was for all of us, Wyatt included, to live in the Garden of Eden. In the Garden of Eden, there was no sickness, no pain, and no death. Adam and Eve sinned, and with that sin came all the consequences of sin. Sickness, pain, and death are consequences of sin… not God’s will.
As I walked even in this enlightenment, I was still an emotional mess.
It was at this time that my relationship with the Holy Spirit became more intimate than ever before as He began to share His grief with me. You see, I wasn’t the only one grieving over Wyatt. The Holy Spirit grieves for our babies, too. However, His grief did not begin with Wyatt’s death and wasn’t confined to my one baby. His grief began centuries ago with that first sin, and He grieves for every life that ends too soon.
I wish I could say that this intimate experience gave me comfort. I wish I could say that I recognized the gift in what the Holy Spirit was sharing with me. Nope. It was the most terrifying experience I have ever had. You see, my grief made me crazy… like I didn’t know if I was coming or going most of the time. If the Holy Spirit is grieving with me, then this plane has no pilot.
Ah, you’re starting to catch on to just how crazy I was.
Like I said, the Holy Spirit’s grief is not new. The only thing that was new was Him sharing His grief with me. He doesn’t change. He doesn’t lose His omniscience nor His omnipotence because He is grieving. He is still all knowing. He is still all powerful. He was still very much in control of the cockpit.
Enough is enough. The crazy had to go! What I needed was a “touching the hem of His garment” moment from Luke 8:43. I knew what I needed just not how to get there. I prayed. I studied. I prayed. I studied. Nothing.
One day, as we were leaving church, an older gentleman said to me, “You need to be singing up there” as he pointed toward the front of the church. Noooooo! But the Holy Spirit said, “That’s it!” Every fiber of my being screamed again, “Noooooooo!” I suppose this was when I reached the bargaining stage, “Please, Lord, anything but that.”
Did I want healing or not?
The woman with the issue of blood didn’t give up and neither would I. I reminded myself that trunk huggers get nowhere. The real breakthroughs are always found out on a limb. Out on the limb, I climbed.
I wish I could tell you that singing up there was a magical experience followed by instant healing. Nope. It was horrible. I was really, really horrible. But… it was the turning point.
It was as though that was the moment that I truly packed up my tent and starting moving through the wilderness. The healing wasn’t instantaneous. It wasn’t even quick, but it started at that moment.
I wish I could tell you that I’m now back to normal. The truth is that my old normal died with Wyatt. I have settled into a new normal, and I am so grateful for the spiritual treasures I found in my journey getting here.
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