I wish I could find the words to write something poetic and deep about our miscarriage last week, but honestly, I struggle to form complete sentences right now. In short, some light spotting took me to the doctor’s office. An ultrasound confirmed my pregnancy and a beating heart. The baby was measuring about 1 ½ weeks smaller than my calculations, but I left hopeful and with a follow-up appointment. The next day, however, the bleeding got heavier and by the time I got the doctor’s office there was no question as to what was happening.

The height of my miscarriage happened at the doctor’s office. My blood soaked pants and uncontrollable sobs told everyone in the waiting room what was happening. Tears filled their watching eyes. I just wanted to get home where I could be uninhibited and cry my ugly cry. Another ultrasound confirmed I was having a miscarriage and that our sweet baby, whose heart was still beating, was now positioned to exit my body forever. So I went home to wait on my baby to die.

Less than 30 minutes later, our sweet baby opened its eyes and the first thing it saw was the face of Jesus. I joined a special sorority of women my husband calls the sorority of sorrow. We’re a tight-knit group. We’re the kind that hug strangers in waiting rooms as we welcome them with tears. February will come and I won’t be holding my sweet baby. June 19^th will forever be etched in my mind. It will, as one of my fellow sorority sisters has told me, be the day I remember that Jesus called the 4^th Mitchell baby to Heaven. He chose to spare our sweet child from pain, disappointment, and heartache. He chose to give that baby 6 weeks of life abundant. He gave. He took away. There is grace, even here. I know this, even now. And our story is His to write.

As God works to heal our hearts, we are resting in His promises and faithfulness. He has been faithful to draw near, to sanctify, and to equip. He has reminded us to hold our sweet children loosely, and that this world is not the end. He has reminded us that our story is His to write and that it is our privilege to bring Him glory in it. He has once again proven to be enough. He brings joy in pain and strength in weakness. He is good, always.

Though You slay me
Yet I will praise You
Though You take from me
I will bless Your name
Though You ruin me
Still I will worship
Sing a song to the One who’s all I need