Kindness & Jeremiah (A Personal Update)

When we had our first son over a year ago, I praised God for such an easy pregnancy and birth. While there were minor complications here and there, the usual aches and pains and morning sickness, overall it was a joyful experience. Pregnancy came easily, birth came as naturally as possible, and we brought Levi home healthy and thriving with no fears of otherwise.

I assumed because my first was so easy—I chose when his life began and he came nearly on his expected day of arrival—the rest could be ordered as simply as well.

But this past November, we lost our second baby within the first few weeks of her life in my womb. I never knew grief so great or so long until the doctor pronouced the word “miscarriage,” over us. We chose to name her Kindness, as a reminder that despite this tragedy God’s kindness had not left us as his children. 

I learned that many, many women know the grief of miscarriage. They are as common as 1 in 4 known pregnancies. My experience wasn’t unique.

But while many women experience at least one miscarriage in their lives, they go on to have beautiful, flourishing families. Why should I expect anything different? People reassured me, “You’ll get to be a mother again,” or, “You’ll have another one.” While I knew better than to hold onto such false hopes, a part of me did. 

And so, three months later, we rejoiced at the sight of another positive pregnancy test.

Despite how early it was, I began planning again. Fears of miscarriage tingled in the back of my mind, but I continued to reassure myself that I would go on to have as many healthy pregnancies as we wished. I planned the bedroom colours, the announcement, the to-do lists, the gender reveal, and even day-dreamed about my son meeting his sibling in the hospital. 

But a few days following the positive test, I began to miscarry. We had no words or feelings, only numbness.

We didn’t know what to do or say, but we named this little one Jeremiah. Jeremiah means, “Yahweh will raise,” and I wanted to be reminded that God would raise my baby to eternal life with us. The name Jeremiah also reminded me of God’s words to the prophet: “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you,” (Jeremiah 1:5 ESV, emphasis mine).

We’ve been public about the lives and deaths of these babies not to draw attention to ourselves but because we want to acknowledge their lives. Though these babies never breathed the air we breathe, though they never cried, and though they never grew beyond such a tiny size, they are life. And life lost should always be a life acknowledged and grieved. They, no matter how small, were image bearers. They were dearly loved by us, and even more loved by their Creator and Heavenly Father who carefully knit them together in my womb knowing how short their lives would be. He knew each of them better than me.

I hope not to shame any mothers who chose not to share about their lost babies. Instead, I hope to encourage you that whether or not you shared about their lives they were loved by God, known by him, and created in his image as well.

We love and miss these babies. I wish I could hold them and whisper to them like I did my first son, “You’re safe now.” But I know they are safer than I could ever keep them, in the perfect hands of God. But it doesn’t make it any less hard.

Friends and family, please keep us in your prayers. 

And for those of you who know this pain so well, here’s what I am learning to pray based on Psalm 42:

Heavenly Father,

Teach us to run to you in this pain. Let this pain bend our hearts closer to you. Teach us to look at you. We need your comfort and the embrace of your people to carry us through this despair yet again. Our grief feels so deep; we shed many tears. And Satan tempts us with thoughts of doubt and questioning where you are in such devastating grief. 

My soul is downcast, Father, and in turmoil within me. Give me courage to put my hope in you. I’m so tempted to put my hope in so many other places (like another baby), but I know we need to fix our eyes on you. Remind me of my many blessings for which I can praise you, the greatest being our salvation by grace alone through faith alone in your Son.

Remind me, God, of your past faithfulness. Remind me of what your Word proclaims about you to be true, not what my downcast soul is tempted to believe. Remind me of the powerful, steadfast love that has remained with your people for thousands of years, and of the same steadfast love that saved your people, including me, at Calvary. You are my rock God, do not let me drift away in my despair.

We are downcast, God, and in turmoil. Help us hope in you, because we will again praise you, both in this fragile life and in eternity. Amen.