Recently, during some much needed quiet time, I ended up having a look-back-and-thank-God moment while combing through the pages of one of my 2012 journals. It happened to be my favorite purple, butterfly covered journal – the one in which I poured out my heart during the loss of our baby. There was one entry in particular that sent me straight into the Lord-I-never-would-have-made-it-without-You ugly, hyperventilating cry. You know, the cry that has you gasping for air in between sobs. Yeah, that one. I was a mess, but I had good reason.
I’ll share the September 24, 2012 journal entry with you:
Today is an extremely emotional day. It’s been two weeks since learning that I lost the baby; ten days since having the D&C, and four days since going through the excruciating pain of miscarriage. This is all still so fresh on my heart and mind, and I feel inexplicably broken, empty, sad, overwhelmed, and dejected. To be quite honest, it still feels like a horrible nightmare, and I’m just waiting on someone to wake me up. This can’t be my life right now, can it? Unfortunately, it is. It’s real. And the pain is even more real.
How can you go from being happy, excited, literally filled with life, eagerly anticipating one of the most amazing blessings of life, to completely hurt, sad, empty, and feeling like a huge part of you has died, all in a matter of minutes? How can you go from feeling so sure, to doubting everything you thought to be true about your life, all in one day? How is it that life changes so quickly, without warning, and there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it?
This all just seems so unreal. How can my baby be gone? How can it no longer be growing inside of my womb? How am I supposed to cope with knowing that I’ll never see its face, hear its cry, hold it in my arms, watch it grow up? What am I supposed to do with all of these emotions that consume my heart and weigh me down?
How am I supposed to move from this pain when it’s so deep?
God, this is hard. I’m not this strong. I feel so helpless…so shattered…so discombobulated…so hurt…so disappointed…so let down…so forsaken. I need your help with this one, Lord. I can’t do this without you.
Help me. Comfort me. Hold me. Strengthen me. Heal me. Restore me. Give me Your peace…Your grace…Your strength…Your love.
Help me to believe that it’s going to be okay…that this will somehow work for my good…that there is indeed purpose in this pain…that I will recover…that You will remain faithful to do what You’ve promised.
Help me, please! I feel like I’m dying in this place…
I absolutely did not think I’d make it through that valley. I thought that I’d sink in the quicksand of my pain. But as I sat reading those words, I realized something. I made it, and I’m still standing.
Stronger.
Restored.
Healed.
Alive.
I did not drown in the river of difficulty, and neither was I burned up in the fire of oppression. God was with me through the deep waters, and kept me from drowning. (Isaiah 43:2) When I doubted my ability to survive and was unaware of my own strength, He knew all along that I could handle it.
He knows that you can handle it, too.
I’ve heard it said that the Lord gives the hardest battles to His strongest soldiers. The fact that He’s allowed such tough circumstances to befall you means that He already knows you have the strength to survive it.
Yes, it may have caught you off guard and knocked you off your feet, and it’s taking every ounce of tenacity you have just to make it from one moment to the next, but know that you can do all things through Christ’s strength. (Philippians 4:13) Because the Lord will not give you more than you are able to bear (1 Corinthians 10:13), be assured that you have already been equipped to make it through the toughest, seemingly life-ending circumstances.
If the same power that raised Jesus from the dead resides within you, you’ll soon have your own look-back-and-thank-God moment, rejoicing that you, too, are still standing.
You’re a survivor, more than a conqueror, and victorious through Jesus Christ. Hang in there.