Resurrection Day

Easter fell two days before I officially found out I lost my baby.  I say officially because in my heart I knew the truth long before that.

But up until Easter Sunday I had been daring God to give me a miracle.

I don’t know if you noticed but in my previous posts God was mentioned only briefly, many times in reference to my husband. That was not on purpose but the gravity of what that means is not lost on me.

After much reflection I realized that I never leaned into God during those two weeks when I was at my lowest, and most scared, and most confused. I chose to let others lean into God for me.

I let my husband say genuine prayers for the two of us, asking God for a miracle but letting Him know that we trusted His will for our baby’s life and thanking Him for the outcome no matter what.   I let my mom and sister be pillars of strength, praying over me constantly, praying for my baby, but also ultimately giving my baby to God in order that His will be done.

I remember cringing inside during those prayers.

In my head I was screaming the opposite sentiments.

“No, God, you can’t take my baby.”

“I thought you loved me, God.”

“If you really love me you will give me this baby.”

“If you’re really God you’ll prove it to me by giving me a miracle.”

Those kinds of thoughts were endless. And only became more shameful. I was attempting to bully God into giving me what I wanted. With each passing day my doubt grew bigger and my faith grew smaller. . . until God met me right where I was on Easter Sunday of 2015.

I woke up that morning, put on my Easter dress, forced a smile, and went to church.  We grabbed our seats, Mitch on one side and my sister on the other. I remember feeling so heavy. How was I supposed to stand and sing praises to a God that didn’t care about me or my baby? How could I worship a God who boasts miracles but can’t do this one thing for me?

The worship team started to play and sing.  I mouthed the words, detached and going through the motions.

And then I felt God surround me. The best way I can describe that moment is the feeling when you’re little and you get hurt and you hold it together so that no one can see how bad you’re hurting but then your mom says your name and bends down to hug you and just like that you lose it because in the safety of your mom’s arms you can’t hide it anymore.

There, in church, surrounded by hundreds of people, God bent down, wrapped me in a hug, and told me who He was.

He told me He loved me.

He told me He heard me.

He told me He knew what it felt like to lose a child. 

He told me that death couldn’t hold Jesus.

He told me that death didn’t hold my baby.

He told me He held my baby.

He told me that one day He will wipe every tear from my eyes, there will be no more crying, no more pain (Revelation 21:4).

He showered me in His promises. He showered me in His love. As I cried I could feel the weight being lifted. In the safety of God’s arms I gave my baby up.

The mourning would continue.

The pain would linger.

But there was hope in my Savior.

And it was well with my soul.


The Final Word

After about an hour and a half of hiding in my mom’s bedroom I managed to make my way out for my step dad’s birthday dinner. At that point the bleeding had slowed and the worst of the pain had subsided.

That’s not true, actually.

The worst of the pain wasn’t physical. And it would be months before it subsided.

An appointment had been made for me to have blood drawn at my OB-GYN’s office in a couple of days and until then I just had to wait.  Mitch still had no idea anything had happened. I didn’t want to tell him while he was on the road.

It wasn’t until much later that evening that Mitch finally walked in the door. My mom would later tell me that she could visibly see the calming effect Mitch had on me. She could see me start to breathe again just knowing my husband was there and I wasn’t going to walk through anything alone.

I remember smiling and hugging him, letting him wish my step dad a happy birthday and say hello to the rest of the family before taking him by the hand and leading him upstairs to the room where we were staying.  As I climbed up on the bed I noticed a box with our names on it. My parents had left us a gift for our baby.  His or her first tiny little outfit. I started to cry when I saw it knowing that I could no longer be sure I would ever get to see my baby in them.

I shared with Mitch what had happened. He is ever the optimist so I had to give him all the gory details in order to convey the gravity of the situation.

Like how my mother, my sister, and I had fished a large mass out of the toilet with a spoon trying to see if my baby was inside of it.

Mitch didn’t do much crying that night. He became strong for both of us.  He held me while I cried. He held fast to God for both of us.  He prayed. He asked God to save our baby. He asked God for His will to be done.

A week and a half later at 5:03 pm on Tuesday, April 7, 2015, after three different blood tests, inconclusive results, an ebb and flow of doubt and hope, and a phone call from a nurse with a nervous laugh, God’s will was done.

And I was devastated.

The Worst Day

Those initial weeks of pregnancy seemed to fly by and stand still all at the same time.   We spent our days doing life as usual but it seemed like there was more purpose to each moment.

Pregnancy seemed to suit me. I did not have any morning sickness. I was definitely tired but that was a small price to pay. I had no symptoms that couldn’t be explained by the nature of pregnancy itself.

Mitch and I decided we would tell family in person so we started planning our announcements.  We decided to wait for the end of the first trimester before spilling the beans to too many people outside of our family simply because that seemed to be what was expected of expecting parents, not because we believed anything would happen.  Come the end of March we had already told my sister and her family, my sister-in-law, and all of our parents. The only ones left to tell in our immediate family were my brother and his girlfriend and we would be seeing them to celebrate my step-dad’s birthday.

I went up to Roanoke alone because Mitch had a wedding to film and he was planning on coming up after the wedding. I had already told Mitch that I wasn’t going to be able to wait on him to make the pregnancy announcement to my brother – I was just too excited!  In fact, they had barely walked in the door when I handed over a gift bag to my brother. Inside was a bib that said something like “coolest uncle ever.” Brandon was confused because he was already an uncle to my sister’s three kids. I think he thought I was just confirming what he already knew!  With some help from his girlfriend, Heather, he was able to figure it out!  Brandon was excited to be an uncle to a fourth little one.

The conversation started to drift to other things and in that moment I was hit suddenly with a relentless pain in my core.  I sat down quietly to the side of everyone and reassured myself that this was normal. This was pregnancy pain. No big deal.

But it wouldn’t let up.

My mom seemed to notice the change in my disposition and walked over to see what was going on. I told her what I was feeling. She assured me it was probably just implantation cramping or something like that. She gave me a heat pack and told me to go rest in her bed. For all her words of encouragement, though, I could see the worry etched in her face.

I followed her instructions and made my way back to her bedroom.  I used the restroom first and it was then that I realized something was horribly wrong.

I think I actually felt the life go out of me.

In that moment I went from whole to empty.

In the place once filled with hope, love, joy, and my little precious and perfect baby, there was now only fear, panic, anxiety, and a sadness that weighed heavier than anything I had ever felt before.




Ignorance is Bliss

Mitch had just left for a two week trip to LA when I found out I was pregnant. I had to wait an agonizing week and a half before I could tell him we were having a baby. Thankfully I had a trip planned of my own. I was headed to New Orleans to spend some time with two of my favorite people from college, Jen and Robin.


Robin, Jen, & Me. Please ignore the crocks, they were Robin’s. I hadn’t packed appropriate shoes for swamp exploring.

I landed in New Orleans, found my way to their car, and immediately announced that I was pregnant. Their sweet excitement over the news is something I will remember forever. We spent the weekend doing everything there was to do in New Orleans while dreaming about what my baby would look like and who my baby would be. We even snagged another pregnancy test and rejoiced when it claimed I was still pregnant!


Celebrating the fact that I was legit pregnant! Ignore our orange smiles, we had just eaten snowballs!

Among all the talk and dreaming with them I do recall a conversation where Jen asked me when I was going to tell people. I told her that I would tell family and close friends but that I wanted to wait to announce to the world just in case something went wrong.  We all decided that was practical but none of us believed it would be an issue. It was just protocol, really.  The conversation was brief and felt pretty meaningless at the time. We quickly changed topics and moved to more important things like how I was going to tell my husband.

That trip to New Orleans was one of my favorite trips ever, but I couldn’t wait to get home and FINALLY tell Mitch. When it came time, I picked Mitch up from the airport and insisted we go straight home before dinner because I had a gift for him there. Once home, with shaky hands and a pounding heart I handed him a box and a card. The card read “Roses are red, violets are blue, inside of me two hearts beat for you.”  As Mitch read it I could see the wheels turning but he didn’t seem to fully understand. Then he opened the box and found two baby onesies, one for a boy and one for a girl that each had a sweet sentiment about daddy on them. Mitch immediately began to cry and wrapped me in a hug. Any apprehension on my part was completely unwarranted. My husband couldn’t have been more proud and excited to be a daddy.



Yes, I took all those pregnancy tests. And no, not all of them are pictured!

{Side note: Mitch told me later that he thought we were having twins since I had given him two onesies. I could totally understand his confusion, but it also made me realize just how much we had to learn before having a baby!}

Once Mitch knew, time started to fly. We set an appointment for my first OB visit, we told our parents, we rejoiced with some close friends. Our community group at our church prayed for us and with us. I had many phone calls with my mom and sister just because I couldn’t stop talking and thinking about it.

I took prenatal vitamins.

I drank more water.

I thought about eating healthier.

We bought onesies.

We bought toys.

We started budgeting.

I felt great.

Mitch felt great.

We loved our baby.

We loved each other.

Life was good




until it wasn’t.

First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes. . .

Mitch and I have been together since high school. We continued to date into college and got married on August 4, 2013 right before our senior year of college.  We had years to get to know each other and at some point we just started to grow together. As we grew together the plans we had for each of our lives became one. We knew we wanted kids, we both wanted me to be a stay-at-home mom, we wanted to live close to family, and we both wanted to be super involved in a community of people who loved Jesus and people well.


Prom, Circa 2009

Come March, 2015 we were just starting to get our ducks in a row. We were starting to feel like North Carolina and the church we found were home. We were both settling into careers. We were in a prep stage of our life. I had always wanted a baby but at that time I was experiencing a new feeling of longing for one that I hadn’t had before.



Wedding day, August 4, 2013

And when I expressed that desire to Mitch. . . well he said no!

I distinctly remember the conversation we had about it and how upset I was that I was going to have to wait on him to be ready since I literally couldn’t do it alone!

I didn’t have to wait long, though.  Just two days after that conversation with my husband, the one where we decided we were NOT ready for kids, I took my first positive pregnancy test. Looking back now, that overwhelming desire to be a mother probably stemmed from the fact that I was now actually a mother!

When I saw those two pink lines I was flooded with a thousand and one emotions. I remember thanking God in the bathroom at work. I cried by myself in the stall – tears of joy, excitement, anxiety, fear.  Mitch was out-of-town so I called my sister, Erin. She was also in tears. I don’t remember the conversation, just a lot of squealing!


Me and Erin the morning after I found out I was pregnant! (My sister is going to hate me for this!)

I got off the phone, headed to the floor for the longest 12 hour shift of my life, all the while planning everything about my baby’s life out in my head. By the end of the day I was still on cloud nine and was also equipped with a Pinterest board full of everything from baby names to books about how to parent a teenager and how to save for college!  Those two pink lines weren’t just a baby, they were a lifetime.

A lifetime that my husband still had no idea about!  Sorry, Mitch, but you know what they say – “we plan, God laughs!”


I remember having my mouth washed out with soap as a kid for calling my brother an idiot (sorry, bro).  In our house there was a lengthy list of “bad words” that we couldn’t use.  Idiot was one of those words.  I realize that the list of words not allowed in our house paled in comparison to the language that is readily used in our culture today. Had I ventured to say any of those more creative words in front of my God-fearing mother, a good mouth scrubbing would’ve been the least of my worries!  Thanks to Jesus and my mother, I have always been very conscious of the language I use and how I use it.

But in 2015 I stumbled hard, ungracefully, and innocently into another bad word – “miscarriage.”

It wasn’t until that word flipped our family’s life upside down that I realized the response that word could elicit.  Some of my friends would immediately hush their voices into a whisper as if to say, “Hey, now, you shouldn’t be talking so loud about these things.” Others would put an immediate end to the conversation, finding reasons to be anywhere else in the world instead of having a conversation with me about “that.”  And those that would have a conversation with me rarely used the word miscarriage, and if they did, it was used in a way to separate miscarriage from the actual loss of a child, essentially stripping my baby of any value in this world.

That’s not to say we didn’t have an incredible support system. Our families were amazing as we grieved, and we had a close-knit group of friends that cried with us every step of the way.   Unfortunately I can’t erase some of the not-so-uplifting comments from my memory, such as, “Well at least you know that your baby wasn’t like real or anything.”

Perhaps that’s why it’s taken me a year and a half to share the details of our story despite feeling Jesus’ subtle but persistent nudge to do so.

As I write this I am very uncomfortable.  It’s scary to be vulnerable in this way. I pray that God will use our story.  I pray that our story will resonate with those who share similar experiences. I pray that our story will help to assuage the feelings of guilt and shame that are associated with this type of loss. And I pray that God would reveal Himself to others in the way He has shown himself to us over the last two years.

And a side note: Praise God my baby’s value is not in the hands of this world but in the hands of an all-powerful, merciful God who assigns value to all.

So pardon my language, but here comes our miscarriage story.