The Valley of the Shadow of Death

“…even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me.” ~ Psalm 23

A little note – This blog is much more on the long, serious, and even graphic side, but it’s also been a very long time coming, and it has just been our very real life.  Lately, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about some of the most sobering things that have happened to our family this year.  I’ve been thinking for quite awhile now that I need to write about them, but just hadn’t felt like the time was right, like my words or thoughts were ready, and they still may not be. All I know is that I feel particularly compelled to share our journey through “the valley of the shadow of death” in hopes that our story may bring hope to someone going through something similar.

*************************************************

I have been thinking a lot about October 15^th & 16^th, 2014.  Last year, around that time, Greg & I realized we were losing our 2^nd sweet baby.  (We are currently blessed with our fun-loving, almost 3-year old, Hannah, and waiting to welcome #3 into our little home in about a month, little Madeline Austen, a gift we are so grateful for.)

We had been trying for about 7 months to get pregnant, and we were OVERJOYED when, a few days before we left for our Indonesia mission trip, that little blue plus-sign popped up on the pregnancy test.  We never had a worry about traveling across the world while pregnant – people do it all the time, I wasn’t feeling sick at all, and Greg and I had traveled to the Middle East when I was 3 months pregnant with Hannah with no issues, so we proceeded as planned.  Greg, Hannah, and I spent a wonderful couple of weeks in Indonesia, then visited some good friends in Malaysia for a few days.  We had a few issues getting home, an unexpected night spent in Tokyo on the way back, but it wasn’t until the flight from Tokyo back home (October 15/16) that I really started noticing that something was wrong.  I was bleeding.  Not a little.  But a lot.  To the point where, as soon as I hit a wireless signal on the tarmac in Houston, I called my doctor’s office and scheduled an appointment for the next morning.  I just knew that something was wrong with our little 7-week old munchkin.  Greg was sweet, trying to keep me calm – his approach to crisis is not to assume anything before it’s confirmed, which I love about him.  Mine is to assume the worst is a possibility, so that I can prepare myself ahead of time – then if it doesn’t turn out to be so, all is well and life turns out better than expected. 

At the appointment the next day, I tried my best to hold back the tears.  The doctor came in, and he was very compassionate and sweet.  He did an ultrasound, but assured me that everything was probably fine.  He could see a gestational sac, a yolk sac.  He couldn’t hear a heartbeat yet, but He wasn’t worried. He just wanted me to come back on Monday to make sure.  I still wasn’t convinced.  I went home, and over the next couple of days, the bleeding worsened and the intense abdominal pain began.  Early that Sunday morning, the pain woke me up and I just cried and cried.  I think I knew then that our little one wasn’t going to make it.  I was absolutely heartbroken, and Greg just held me while I sobbed.  We had prayed and prayed for this baby.  I waited for the “Why, God?” questions to start playing over and over in my heart, but they didn’t come.  Just grieving.

I went in for my appointment on Monday (October 20), and Peaches, the ultrasound technician, ran the ultrasound while I stared at the screen.  She looked for a minute, and then I looked at her face, and I still remember her speaking to me so gently, “Honey, I don’t see a baby. It looks like you are in the middle of a miscarriage. I am so sorry.”  She explained some more to me, but I honestly don’t remember all the rest of what she said.  Basically, that it would still take time for the process to finish, and that it could happen anywhere from immediately to a few weeks from then.  I remember being so sad, feeling a heaviness in my chest, but I didn’t cry. 

The next day, I wrote this to the Lord:

"God, I am so sad.  But…I feel like you are protecting my heart.  My heart isn’t as burdened and pained as I know that it could be.  I feel like you are enfolding it in peace and rest and gentleness.  I don’t cry a lot, but I cried the other day with Greg.  I trust you.  I know you have a plan.  And it’s not just intellectual – I really trust you and know that you are in control.  I’m not asking why.  I know you love me.  I know you love Greg.  I know you are faithful and good and true.  I struggle with how I should feel, though.  I feel like I should hurt more, shut up in my room, in a puddle on the floor, inconsolable.  Part of me wonders if I’m an unfeeling mother because I’m not, but then your Spirit tells me that it is you, not me, that is lifting the burden and whispering words of rest into my ear.  Listening to worship music makes me cry.  I feel overcome with love and gratefulness to you, but again, I wonder at that response.  I feel like normal humans have a different response.  Like I should be mad at you.  Furious.  I shouldn’t be talking to you.  I should feel further from you.  But I feel so close to you and so, so loved." 

I couldn’t understand this response.  I was expecting a complete and utter breakdown, a withdrawal from society. I was expecting to not be able to celebrate pregnancy or newborns for a long time without pangs of anger, hurt, and jealousy.  I kept expecting it to hit me out of nowhere. But it never came.

I spent time clinging to Scripture.  Now, I wish I could say that it was normal for me to be in the Word every day, but it most certainly wasn’t.  God, in His graciousness, had placed me in a Bible study in the very beginning of September, and had started me memorizing Scripture in a way I hadn’t in quite some time.  I was camped out in Ephesians 1.  “Praise be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ who has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing.”  Those words replayed over and over and over in my head.  Even in the midst of a mother’s worst fear, I knew those words were true.  He HAD blessed us.  With an unending list of so many good and perfect things.  I could not even think to question Him now.  Those words (that can seem trite so often) – “He has a plan” – I truly believed in my heart of hearts.  And I know that He has had one all along.  He certainly doesn’t need to prove it to me. I went to my women’s Bible study and this strong, totally fierce, godly woman spoke Isaiah 61 over us – I took it to heart. 

The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me,

    because the Lord has anointed me

    to proclaim good news to the poor.

He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,

    to proclaim freedom for the captives

    and release from darkness for the prisoners,^[a]

² to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor

    and the day of vengeance of our God,

to comfort all who mourn,

³     and provide for those who grieve in Zion—

to bestow on them a crown of beauty

    instead of ashes,

the oil of joy

    instead of mourning,

and a garment of praise

    instead of a spirit of despair.

They will be called oaks of righteousness,

    a planting of the Lord

    for the display of his splendor.

⁴ They will rebuild the ancient ruins

    and restore the places long devastated;

they will renew the ruined cities

    that have been devastated for generations.

And on it continued.  So many promises in this passage! So many encouragements to me where my heart was.  A crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.  Somehow, the Lord would still display His splendor.  He would rebuild ruins and restore what was devastated. And let me be clear-- I certainly did not know if He would give me another child.  But He is a God in the business of restoration.  He is faithful. He is just.  He is sovereign. He is good.  And my soul could rejoice in Him.

Looking back, I can see God's preparation of our hearts as we got ready for our Indonesia trip. The only talk that Greg and I were asked to prepare together was for a fellowship of mothers at the church in Jakarta.  Our topic?  How to live as a woman of integrity in the midst of trial.  The reference from Scripture we were given?  Job and his wife.  We spent a very rewarding couple of hours teaching and talking with the women of the church on what it looked like to live differently than Job's wife.  Greg and I spent several hours preparing for that talk.  We had to live every bit of what we had taught within a week and a half of teaching it, but we were armed with spiritual armor.

Already, I have talked with so many friends and acquaintances who have been through and are even currently going through the same losses.  So many of us.  So many of them have spoken deeply into my life with wisdom.  I am reminded of 2 Corinthians 1. These words ring with truth more than they ever have in my life before.

³ Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, ⁴ who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. ⁵ For as we share abundantly in Christ's sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too.^[a] 6 If we are afflicted, it is for your comfort and salvation; and if we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which you experience when you patiently endure the same sufferings that we suffer. ⁷ Our hope for you is unshaken, for we know that as you share in our sufferings, you will also share in our comfort.

⁸ For we do not want you to be unaware, brothers,^[b] of the affliction we experienced in Asia. For we were so utterly burdened beyond our strength that we despaired of life itself. ⁹ Indeed, we felt that we had received the sentence of death. But that was to make us rely not on ourselves but on God who raises the dead. ¹⁰ He delivered us from such a deadly peril, and he will deliver us. On him we have set our hope that he will deliver us again.”

My takeaways?   

1)      He is the Father of MERCY and God of all comfort. Oh yes, dear friend, He is.  His presence is the deepest, most soothing balm.     

2)      We don’t live for ourselves.  We live in community.  And the Lord uses that community’s sufferings and afflictions to minister to one another and show each other the deepest love.

3)      There is burdening so beyond our strength that it causes us to feel as if we have received the sentence of death.  We are weak, but He is strong. 

4)      There is a great hope.  We will experience comfort.  We can rely on a God who RAISES THE DEAD.  He will deliver us again.

Now, I have to say that as I type that, I am a little nervous.  Even in the midst of surprising joy, I grieved (and still grieve) the loss of that little life.  I have several friends who have been through miscarriages and through having stillborn children.  Some amazing people who have been devastated, cried for months, gone through deep depression, not been able to lift their heads or feel they could breathe for days, weeks, and months on end.  My fear is that my own story sounds like an invalidation of other stories.  I certainly do not consider myself “closer to God” because that didn't happen to me.  In fact, I know that is not the case.  God revealed His glory so completely that I could never imagine it coming from anywhere but His hand.

The other thing I did not want was for anyone to think that the only reason I felt I could share this story is because I am pregnant again.  We are due with another little one, almost exactly one year after the miscarriage.  Perhaps some might think, “Well, obviously you can’t be that sad because you’re having another one.”  Little Madeline is due October 20^th, but I assure you, she is not a replacement to my second little munchkin.  I am overwhelmed by God’s gift to us in Madeline.  I am overwhelmed at God’s gifts to us even through the loss of our second child, though.  I experienced joy, yes, JOY, beyond all comprehension. Where on earth could something like that come except through a gracious and great God?

Besides Scripture, the most healing thing to me has been music.  I listen to music constantly. During this time, I immersed myself in words that spoke truth.  I was given an Ellie Holcomb CD by a new friend, and I am surprised that it still plays.  I listened to worship music and bawled my eyes out one day, sitting cross-legged on my couch during Hannah’s naptime.  One song really became my psalm.  Aaron Keyes sings a beautiful rendition of “Sovereign Over Us.”  I felt like it spoke words that I emotionally and spiritually could not at the time, but it was again, a promise of hope.

There is strength within the sorrow, There is beauty in our tears
You meet us in our mourning, With a love that casts out fear
You are working in our waiting, Sanctifying us
When beyond our understanding, You're teaching us to trust

Your plans are still to prosper, You have not forgotten us
You're with us in the fire and the flood
Faithful forever, Perfect in love
You are sovereign over us

You are wisdom unimagined, Who could understand your ways
Reigning high above the heavens, Reaching down in endless grace
Youʼre the Lifter of the lowly, Compassionate and kind
You surround and You uphold me, Your promises are my delight

Even what the enemy means for evil
You turn it for our good, You turn it for our good and for your glory
Even in the valley You are faithful
Youʼre working for our good, Youʼre working for our good and for your glory

My friend, if you are going through the valley of the shadow, know that He is there.  In the midst of tragedy and the deepest despair and disappointment, HE IS THERE in the fire and the flood.  

He has not forgotten us. And HE.  IS. GOOD.