Lauren’s Story
My husband and I were married on a crisp, sunny autumn day in October of 2006. As I saw my beloved standing at the altar, I knew I was walking towards my forever future. After we declared our love and commitment to each other in front of our dearest family and friends, we grinned our way up the aisle to Dean Martin singing, “Good morning life! Good morning sun! How are your skies above? Gee, it’s great to be alive and in love!” As we danced up the aisle to these words, my twenty-year-old heart soared with possibilities of a beautiful future filled with sunny days and happiness with my soul mate!
Fast forward a few years later to me sitting in my bathroom staring at another negative pregnancy test in my hand, heart heavy with yet another passing month that I wasn’t pregnant. I had always wanted to be a mom, and in my mind, getting married so young meant that I should be bouncing around a baby on my hip by now. I knew I had endometriosis, but my doctor had been relatively confident that it shouldn’t inhibit me from getting pregnant given my young age and general good health. The negative test in my hand was not a part of the happy future I had envisioned.
After many such months of disappointment, and the constant flow of pregnancy announcements from my friends, I battled hard to believe that God cared for me in my brokenness and tears. I had loved God since childhood, and I had seen His faithful hand throughout my life, but the devil’s ancient whispers from the garden swirled around my heart like a storm. There were moments where I felt tossed like a tiny boat on a tempestuous sea.
I knew God could let me conceive. I knew His plan was always better than mine. But it was a daily battleground for my heart to functionally believe what I knew to be true. So I fought with tears to trust in His goodness and kindness even when I couldn’t see it and certainly didn’t feel it. Charles Spurgeon’s words were a life-giving reminder to my soul during this time: “God is too good to be unkind and He is too wise to be mistaken. And when we cannot trace His hand, we must trust His heart.”
After over two years of unexplained infertility and several unsuccessful infertility treatments, my husband and I decided to pursue adoption in May of 2011. We had come to a peaceful place where, while we still hoped to conceive one day, we envisioned starting our family through adoption. This gave purpose and hope to the long road we had traveled and still saw stretching before us. We began the process of interviews, meetings, and lots of paperwork.
Probably because it was more habit than hope, I took a pregnancy test on an early, hot afternoon in August, around the time my period was due. I had been busy with adoption to-dos and hadn’t realized I was a day or two later than normal. When I saw two lines on the test I couldn’t believe my eyes. With a pounding heart, and through gasps of laughter and tears, I drove to my best friend’s house to show her. Could it be true? After laughing and crying together, and her assuring me that two lines meant a positive test, I planned how I wanted to tell my husband. Later that afternoon, I surprised him with the news at work, and for the next few weeks we glowed with the joy of this unexpected blessing.
Our social worker for the adoption process let us know that their policy was to pause a home study in a situation like this. So, while we were disappointed, excitement won the day at the prospect of our baby’s due date in the spring. I was definitely nervous about the possibility of miscarrying the first few weeks, and asked my doctor if I could have an early sonogram to make sure everything was okay.
At seven and a half weeks, my heart burst with love for the little gummy bear I saw on the sonographer’s screen. The steady heartbeat and measurements were normal, and I left the office ecstatic. I began to genuinely dream of the future with excitement and a renewed hope that the Lord had finally answered our prayers in this little baby’s life.
We scheduled our first official OB appointment after we got home from a weekend getaway to the beach. My husband and I were giddy with excitement to see the baby together. I’ll never forget the moment when the room went quiet and I looked at the sonographer’s face, which had gone from smiling to serious and concerned. She calmly said she wasn’t finding the baby’s heartbeat and that she was going to get the doctor.
In the moments that followed her exit, I experienced the soul-wrenching agony of a mother losing her child. For the first time, I understood the crushing pain of real, raw grief. Even though I had only known this little life for a few weeks, I wept over this precious baby we would never meet in this life. I wept at the pain of losing this answer to the prayers and dreams my husband and I had fought for together.
Yet as I wept, I also experienced the truth of Psalm 34:18 for the first time, which promises that, “the Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” I wept, but my tears were not without hope. I felt the arms of the Lord strong around me through the kindness of the nurse who came into that room, took me in her arms, and rocked me like a child as I wailed in anguish. I felt them in the doctor’s gentleness and care as he walked us through our options. I felt them through my husband’s tender love and shared grief with me. I felt them in my family’s and dearest friends’ tears and hugs. I felt them through the nurses’ understanding as they prepared me for my D&C the following day.
As I was prepped for the procedure, I knew I was being carried by many prayers and experienced a tangible calm that surrounded me like a shield. As I walked into the sterile and cold operating room and saw the operating table, grief welled up and threatened to undo me. I began to cry as the nurse helped me lay back. The lights above me, and the sounds of the nurses around me, faded to the background as I felt a wave of peace wash over me. As the medicine took effect and my eyes grew heavy, I saw a figure standing above me and felt the assurance that my Savior was near—near to my broken heart and saving my crushed spirit.
Everyone’s experience after a miscarriage is different. My way of grieving was unique to my story. But in the days and weeks and months following, the Lord brought healing to my wounded heart.
My story doesn’t end here, and in His beautiful timing and perfect way, the Lord gave us our hearts desire to have a family. But I wouldn’t trade this part of my story for anything, because as devastating as it was, I truly experienced the promise that God would be with me in the darkest moments of my life. Yes, I miss my baby, and even nine years later I long for the life he or she could have had. But through the pain and the grief, my God proved Himself to me, and I have learned to trust Him more fully. I wouldn’t have my four other children without His sovereignly orchestrated storyline for my life.
God’s faithfulness led me in the happy, sunny days before losing my baby. And He has proven again and again that He will be near, so very near, when I walk through the valley of the shadow of death. Like the Psalmist, I can truly say, “But for me it is good to be near God; I have made the Lord God my refuge, that I may tell of all your works” (Psalm 73:28).
- Lauren
Hope Mom to Baby Rohwer
Lauren is an undeserving and grateful follower of Jesus, wife to her beloved Paul, adoptive and biological mom of four (+ 1 glory baby), suburban housewife turned farmer’s wife and COO of her family’s farming enterprise. She’s currently homeschooling three of her children and in her free time loves to read, write, and hang with her girlfriends.
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