He Will Rise Up to Show You Compassion

God’s Word is filled with rich promises for His children. How do these “precious and very great promises” inform and direct your grief? How does keeping your eyes fixed on these truths anchor your hope in the Lord? In this series, we write about how God, through the promises in His Word, comforts and strengthens us in our sorrow.

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In four years, I suffered four pregnancy losses, gave birth to my healthy daughter, Lily, was diagnosed with cancer, underwent a total hysterectomy, and consequently lost my ability to conceive and bear more children. And hot flashes. 

I’d like to say I held fast to verses like James 1:2-4 throughout, that I considered my diverse trials a joy because they were producing perseverance in me. But I didn’t. It’s hard to get that 10,000-foot view of sanctification when you’re crying on your closet floor in the middle of the night. Outside of rejoicing over Lily, much of that time was defined by self-pity, bitterness, and envy.  

But now, on the other side of it all, I see so much evidence of the truth of James 1:2-4. 

“Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.”

I’m not complete (and won’t be until I’m with Jesus), but my faith is definitely more mature. When I look back on the specific trials, losses, and dark days and nights of those four years, I see the lessons He taught me—the songs and Scriptures He put in my heart to sustain me. I see His grace in action and His character accumulating in me. 

When we began trying to conceive for the first time, I became pregnant right away, but it lasted just a few days. Clinically, it was deemed a chemical pregnancy. Emotionally, it was the loss of a child I’d already fallen in love with, and it set me up for anxiety as we continued trying afterwards. I aimed to control every aspect of our efforts to start a family—as if I could make myself pregnant. If a fertility blog or message board mentioned it, I tried it. Month after month I grew angrier and more jealous of others. God’s will and timing didn’t even occur to me. I wanted my will on my schedule. Finally, God led me to Isaiah 30:15:

“This is what the Sovereign Lord, the Holy One of Israel, says: ‘In repentance and rest is your salvation, in quietness and trust is your strength.’”

Rest. Quietness. Trust. I read it over and over. It was like a cool drink of water. God had me. He was not only holding me, but He was holding my future, and He had plans for any of my children, too. 

I relaxed after digesting that verse and did eventually conceive and give birth to a healthy daughter, who is now close to four years old and such a light in my life. But I have also had three more medically diagnosed miscarriages. I’ve been pregnant, trying to get pregnant, or physically recovering from a pregnancy loss more often than not the past few years. 

The rest of Isaiah 30 details how Israel was fighting its own fight with “swift horses” and its own ideas of how to be victorious over enemies, even though God was waiting the whole time for them to rely on His strength and power. I did that, too. My “swift horses” were my diet, buckets of supplements, avoidance of physical exertion, and a long list of rituals I’d adopted in order to get pregnant, and more importantly, stay pregnant. 

But in each distinct phase of that odyssey, every time I wrapped myself around the axle trying to control the situation, God was faithful to lead me back to Isaiah 30 and quiet my soul, especially with verse 18:

“Yet the Lord longs to be gracious to you; therefore He will rise up to show you compassion.” Isaiah 30:18

He longs to be gracious to us, and He will show us compassion. 

I learned the miscarriages I suffered after having Lily were caused by fibroid tumors impinging on my uterus, creating an environment in which our babies couldn’t thrive. I underwent major abdominal surgery to have them removed and one turned out to be malignant—not a fibroid, but a cancerous growth. It only took a few Google searches to figure out that I would need a total hysterectomy, and my oncologist confirmed it. I had the surgery, and, praise God, I am cancer free today. 

Sometimes I watch my daughter play and I am so overcome with gratitude I have to leave the room to avoid alarming her with my bawling. I am grateful I am here. I am grateful she’s here. I am grateful for the brief time I carried her siblings in my body. And I am grateful we will all be together in heaven. I wanted a big family and I have one, it just doesn’t look like everyone else’s. That is the compassion of God—the compassion He longs to rise up and show to us. It is so big, so mysterious, so awesome, and so unpredictable. 

Mama, whatever the battle is that you face, you can cling to the promise that God is for you, He loves you, He’s not going to let you be defeated, and He will pour out His grace and compassion on you, even if it looks different than you imagined.

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Rachel lives in Austin, Texas with her husband and daughter and has four babies in heaven. She has completed a memoir about her experiences with pregnancy and fertility loss, and hopes to publish it in 2021. Connect with Rachel or learn more at RachelDawnHayes.com.

We would be honored to share your story as a Hope Mom on our blog. On Saturdays we feature Hope Moms’ stories in order to showcase God’s faithfulness even in the midst of such deep sorrow. If you would like to have your story shared on our blog for this purpose, learn more and submit here.

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