Rachel’s Story of Hope

We named her Halle. We picked it out as our future little girl name shortly after her daddy and I were married in 2012 and long before she was ever conceived. It came with ease and enthusiasm for both of us. We struggled through selecting the names of our first two sons, Weston in 2014 and Caleb in 2016. When we found out we were expecting for a third time in 2018, we assumed we would be struggling to pick out another boy name. If by some crazy chance God had given us a girl, it would be a no-brainer.

We went in to the hospital for our halfway-point ultrasound in April to check on the baby’s development and discover the gender. “I think I know, but I’m not going to call it quite yet,” remarked the ultrasound technician as she moved the ultrasound probe over my rounded belly.

Studying her non-dramatic non-verbals, and assuming it was a boy anyway, we felt we knew too, but we still had our fingers crossed that she may surprise us with the news of a girl. 

“Okay, I know! You have a baby girl,” she smiled. “I knew you would be excited.”

Yes, excited! Thrilled. Giddy. Gung-ho. Shocked. 

“Can you check again?” I asked her two more times. I needed to ensure this reality. Yes. A girl. She was a girl. A feeling of peace and gratitude washed over my soul.

“Well, this makes our naming decision really easy!” said my husband. Yes. Halle. We had our Halle. 

Shortly after this appointment, we received positive results from the rest of her anatomy report that everything was looking right on target with her development. We had a healthy little girl. As we rejoiced over the news, we began to make the connection that “Halle” was short for “Hallelujah.” It all fit together so beautifully. She was a sweet, unexpected, beautiful, gracious gift that we were being entrusted with. Hallelujah!

Fast forward to September 5. I was mildly contracting throughout the morning and going through the hustle of getting my boys to a babysitter so I could attend my routine OB/GYN appointment. I had packed my hospital bags the night before and was crossing my fingers for some early labor progress to be noted at this visit. 

When my doctor came in to the room, I told her about my contractions. I laid down on the table and lifted my shirt as she prepared her Doppler and squeezed goop all over my stomach. This is when my life began moving in an eerie slow motion.

She placed the radar down about three inches to the right of my belly button. There was a long pause. Silence. “Weird,” I thought, “she always finds it right away.” She adjusted about a quarter inch. Still, silence. She began sliding it to the other side. As it moved over my belly button in slow motion, I knew. Again, silence.

No heartbeat. No words from the doctor. Deafening silence.

I cupped my hand over my face. I can’t remember if it was over my mouth or my eyes. I don’t remember seeing anything. Not the ceiling. Not my doctor’s face. Nothing. All I remember is the feeling of the Doppler sliding back and forth, searching over and over again for something that was already gone, and the sound of the screeching silence.

“Where did we find the heartbeat last time, Rachael?”

“On the left,” I pointed.

Back to the left.

To the right.

To the left.

To the right again.

Horrible silence.

Dr. Olson lifted the Doppler, wiped off the goop, and said she was going to have the nurse wheel in an ultrasound machine. I think I nodded. I was frozen with my hand gripping my face. I heard the sound of wheels clicking and feet following behind. Silence. Searching. I couldn’t look at my baby on the screen. I couldn’t look at my doctor.

“Yeah, there is her heart. There’s no flickering.” Silence.

I can’t remember much after this. At some point I called my husband. At some point my doctor hugged me tightly and said, “This is not your fault, Rachael.” At some point, the manager of the office escorted me downstairs to the radiology floor to get a confirmation ultrasound.

Fetal demise. Our Halle was gone.

My husband and I headed to a local park right after we left the hospital. We made several phone calls to our family and friends to share our news. What I remember most about the park, though, was pacing in the middle of it in between conversations. I was by a large droopy tree that was standing alone, and my husband was a few feet away from me making his phone calls. The wind was beginning to pick up, and the rain was starting to trickle down. I began crying out to God. “Why is she Halle, God? Do we need to rename her? Where is the “Hallelujah” in this? Where is it now?” Not but a second later, the song “Praise You in this Storm” by Casting Crowns began playing in my mind and heart. Already, within two hours of our devastating news, God began teaching me. 

Sing My praises even in this storm. In every season of life, you can sing “Hallelujah.” 

I had a choice to make. Do I dwell on the “whys” and the “what ifs” or on His nearness and goodness amidst the trial? God had taught me beforehand through His Word that I needed to “take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ” (2 Corinthians 10:5). So I knew that even though it felt hopeless, the truth was that this situation really couldn’t be more hopeful. Halle had gone right into the arms of our Father (2 Samuel 12:23), and where else would I rather her be? I knew that even in the moments when it felt like God was so far away, the truth was that He was so very near. Scripture tells us He is “near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18). I knew that even though I felt like I was forever broken, the truth was that God could make beauty from these ashes. Scripture tells us that He “heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds” (Psalm 147:3).

I knew that I could either dwell on the fact that death robbed us of our daughter, or I could dwell on the fact that Jesus robbed the grave. My feelings aren’t invalid, and I do need to give them a voice, but in my pain I could continue to praise God for who He is, for all He has done, for His victory over death, for His nearness and concern for us, for His binding up of our wounds, and for the way His people tangibly loved on us from every angle.

There was still so much to sing “Hallelujah” about. I knew continuing to sing His praises in this season needed to not just be a heart decision, but a physical thing for me do. I could feel the Lord pricking at my heart.

“Do it, Rachael. Sing. Go do it, boldly. Stand up. Keep singing my praises. Hallelujah in every season.”  This would be my testimony.

So I did. I am not naturally an extraordinarily gifted singer. I like to sing, but choirs are as far as I would have ever deemed appropriate. Through God’s grace however, I was able to join my church’s worship team. I do it for Him. I stand for Him. An extra perk is that it’s something I get to do for Halle in a way too. And it’s the one thing I get to join Halle in right now while I’m on earth. I knew she always enjoyed music because I felt her respond with gentle movements to hymns and worship music while she was in my womb. Of course she loved music. God’s destination for her life was heaven, and His plan for our family was always “Hallelujah.”

Amen

I’m a child of the King, first and foremost. Additionally, I am blessed to be a wife to Joshua, a mom to Weston and Caleb, and a Hope mom to Halle. I live in Michigan and stay home with my kids, but coach gymnastics as a side gig as well. My degree is in social work, and I hope to get back into the field in some capacity once I’m through with this season of child-raising. I enjoy reading non-fiction, writing, traveling, singing, drinking coffee, socializing with my girlfriends, going to the lake, and staying involved with various ministries at my church home. My heart right now is particularly bent towards women’s ministry, and I am excited to see how God will mold me through this newfound passion both for my good and His glory.

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.