Summer storms, Hope & Grief

It has rained off and on the past couple days. Familiar waves of late June thunderstorms form clouds that take on a life of their own. With the right elements in place, eventually they spill out some combination of hard rain, thunder and lightening. These storms make me feel small it the best kind of way. Blue skies become ominous and eventually clear again, sometimes leaving behind a rainbow, always leaving a pattern of clearing that takes my breath away, especially at sunset. I find myself staring at storm clouds as they form. It as if they are collecting something from the earth and displaying it above. They form with a confident sort of purpose, knowing their inevitable ending. Days turn dark, and the rain falls. Eventually they move on in the direction of the wind. It’s almost like clockwork during the humid summers in the south.

The rain these past few days have been telling me a different story. A story of joy, heartbreak, and grief. Last month, Chad and I found out we were pregnant. If you don’t know our story, this is really the only thing that you need to know. This was not supposed to happen. I don't hesitate to call it miraculous. For a short while, we basked in a kind of joy and assurance that we had never felt. In the midst of a time in our world where so much hope feels lost, where so much is being put to death, here was new life. We knew the risks, but we clung to the joy of the moment, embracing it without hesitation.

Just short of one month later, on Father’s Day weekend, we lost our baby. In the days that have followed we have experienced a grief that we have never felt. This is new loss, new territory, new grief. Like the waves of storms that have come through this week, deep sadness wells up, sitting heavy in my chest, until it spills out down my cheeks.

I’ll never pretend to understand the ways of God. This has been something we spent years hoping for, and yet for almost as many years, it has been a healed wound. The morning I found out, my body went into what I can only describe as clinical shock. We hadn’t even been praying for this, we certainly weren’t expecting it, and quite honestly the plans we had made even a few months out didn’t include it. But God. His ways are higher than our ways.

I will never forget the moment I told Chad. His reaction was one of the most pure things I have ever witnessed. I captured it on video, and watched it last night through blurred eyes. I'm not sure I have ever experienced deep joy and deep grief all at once. I felt a different kind of capacity in my soul. Maybe it is more capable than I first understood. There is beauty, even in the midst of heartbreak.

This year I have done a lot of writing that may never see the light of day. I’m not sure yet if this one will, either. You see, the last four years of my life, God has transformed my heart in ways I almost can’t put into words. He has taken broken pieces that I had tried to dump, collected them, and put them back together in ways I couldn’t even imagine. He took my shame and gave it an entirely new name. He showed me that letting people in isn’t a danger, it’s a necessary as the air we breath in order to survive.

One thing I can see clearly is how God prepares a way for us, especially in the times that are hard. When we found out our news, even knowing the risks, we let some people in. This is the vulnerable path, and the very thing that hast transformed our lives in the past few years. We knew this could end in loss, but what is a friendship if you can’t share in both the triumph and the tragedy? When loss did come, and it came quickly, the people who cried tears of joy with us, cried the same tears of grief. He prepares a way, and it is through the people we desperately need to navigate our lives. If there is one thing this has shown me, it is that this may be more true than ever before.

There is this thing about hope. It isn’t hope, really, if you can see it. The truth is, I hadn’t even been hoping for this as a way to grow our family. When it happened, it lit that fire inside me again, though. It reopened a piece of my heart that had been stored away, given to God, made peace with this side of heaven. It took me back to the time when this was all we are hoping for. It had me believing that this had to be the will of God. I had been praying that our family would grow in a way that would surprise me, only in my mind this surprise wasn’t an option. The day I found out, shock turned to a quick moment of fear. Then to hope. It many ways, as much as my mind could grasp, this actually made sense. I think the words ‘perfect timing’ were spoken more than once. We had a renewed sense of hope. In part because we have a history with God. We have seen Him work. We have watched Him rescue, redeem, restore. We have seen Him heal. It is that history, and His promises alone, that give us hope.

“Therefore, having been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom also we have obtained our introduction by faith into this grace in which we stand; and we exult in hope of the glory of God. And not only this, but we also exult in our tribulations, knowing that tribulation brings about perseverance; and perseverance, proven character; and proven character, hope; and hope does not put us to shame, because the love of God has been poured out within our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to us.” (Romans 5:1-5)

The first thing out of our doctor’s mouth after sharing the news went something like this. “Julie, I want you to know that you did nothing to cause this.” Our doctor is a kind, empathetic man. What a job he has, literally delivering life and death, joy and grief. Though much of those moments are a blur, I can picture His eyes and hear his voice as he uttered those words. I saw God in that moment. Our hope does not put us to shame. It could be easy, especially for me, to fall into shame. The shame of telling people with a kind of hope that believed for a different outcome. For allowing them to see this part of my story unfold. To share out loud what God has done in our lives over the past few years, and how this was the best surprise that we could have ever received. To put that out there, knowing full well the story still had to be written. The shame of allowing myself to feel that deep in the soul level of joy and peace that only God can give. The shame of thinking I did too much or too little. The shame of leaning into hope. But hope will not put us to shame.

People have asked often how I am doing. I sort of walk around with a baseline of sadness. This is still new. It will take some time and how long is not for me to know. Last night I went for a run, heading out when I knew it was about to rain. It helps me to see nature as a metaphor. After all, it one of our most tangible gifts of God’s creation. As I was running, and the rain was falling, last night I pictured the collective grief that many of us are feeling this year pouring down from the sky. I saw it watering the earth, sustaining the grass, seeping down deep into the soil, helping things to grow that we cannot yet see. So how do I feel? Incredibly sad, and with a few questions, but knowing that even this is will bring about something that may not have otherwise been there before. We hope in the things that we cannot yet see.