Lauren’s Story
My husband and I and our three small children moved from Nevada to Texas in the summer of 2014. Soon after, we were thrilled to learn I was pregnant with our fourth child. Our other three pregnancies and births had been so straightforward and we had no reason to think this one would be any different.
On November 14, 2014, my husband and I went to our 20-week anatomy scan. During the scan, my husband and I happily chattered away, totally oblivious to how long the doctor was looking at our daughter’s brain and heart. After the doctor finished the anatomy scan, she first told us our baby was measuring small. We absorbed the news, but even then, my husband and I had no idea what she was about to tell us. She continued to tell us that our baby had a major brain abnormality, and her fists were clinched in such a way that the doctor thought she likely had a chromosomal abnormality such as Trisomy 18 or Trisomy 13. She said that if it was Trisomy 18 or 13, or even if it was another diagnosis, our baby was created in such a way that she would not be able to function outside of the womb.
The doctor spoke slowly and gently to us, and it all felt like a dream. I remember laying there thinking, He hasn’t changed: Jesus is the same as He was before we walked into that room. I kept repeating that to myself as the doctor continued on with what we were facing. We had an amniocentesis done that day (Friday) and we expected to hear back from the doctor on Monday. We spent the weekend crying and praying. Even though we were praying for something different, the phone call we received on Monday confirmed our baby’s Trisomy 18 diagnosis.
The year before, our oldest daughter’s preschool teacher had given birth and then quickly said goodbye to her first child that also had Trisomy 18. We attended the baby’s funeral and talked to our children about how the Lord made baby Snow differently and that He had taken her home to heaven. Again, the Lord had paved the way for the difficult conversations we had to have with our children about why their sister wouldn’t be staying on this earth with us. Telling our children that their sister probably wouldn’t come home from the hospital with us was almost as gut-wrenching as finding out ourselves.
We decided to name our daughter Rebeccah Faith and call her Faith. We didn’t name our other children until they were born, but we knew our time with Faith was limited and we wanted to talk to her and pray for her by name. Faith survived to full–term, and on March 9, 2015, we brought her into this world. We so desperately wanted to have some time with her alive. We had a photographer, a videographer and our whole family ready and waiting to meet Faith when she was born. She never took a breath on earth and that is still something I struggle with. But we still had time to hold her, bathe her, share her with our families, and try to memorize ever inch of her tiny little body. Our kids got to meet their sister Faith, and the memory of all six of us snuggled together on my hospital bed is something I will always cherish. The day was bittersweet—there was so much joy and so much hurt all at once.
In the months following her birth, we were so well taken care of by our family and friends. It was a beautiful picture of how the body of Christ is supposed to work. Dinner appeared every night on our doorstep, our 3 living children were cared for and driven to school, and most of all, people sat with us in our grief. Friends remembered Faith’s birthday every month and it was such a good reminder to me that people hadn’t forgotten our daughter. When I was pregnant, I was worried that my relationships with my friends would never be the same again. However, the friendships with the people that entered into our grief with us have changed but have changed in such a beautiful way.
Faith’s life has changed our family. Heaven feels like such a tangible place now and somewhere we long for. Our children talk about Faith and about heaven often, and they know that one day they will spend eternity with their sister. Our family will always be incomplete on this side of Heaven, and I will forever be reminded of that every time I see my living children together.
I have shared how faithful the Lord has been and how He went before us in so many different ways and made His presence known. That being said, I can’t wrap up our story with a nice little bow. Even two years later, I still have days that I feel angry and confused. I doubt the Lord, and I wrestle with how a loving God could allow this to happen and not intervene. If He loves us, why didn’t He answer our desperate cries and miraculously heal Faith? There are still Sundays that I stand in church, and I just can’t quite bring myself to sing some of the words to worship songs. And most of all, I struggle with prayer. I know the Lord doesn’t promise us health or safety so why do we even pray for that?
But, I haven’t given up. I press on to know Him more even in my questions. I am trying to distinguish between the fact of God’s presence and the emotion of that fact. I might not see Him or feel Him but I am going to trust that He is there. I am going to trust that He can handle my wrestling and that, regardless of if I ever get answers on this side of eternity, He has not left my side.
“I would have despaired unless I had believed I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord; be strong and let your heart take courage. Yes, wait for the Lord.” Psalms 27:13-14
– Lauren
Hope Mom to Rebeccah Faith and Baby Turnbull
We would be honored to share your story as a Hope Mom on our blog! Every Saturday we feature a Hope Mom’s story 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:
Lauren Turnbull is from Dallas, Texas where she currently lives with her husband and 4 living children who are 7, 5, 4 and 5 months. She is a Hope mom to her daughter Faith who was born with Trisomy 18 on March 9, 2015 and to Baby Turnbull. Lauren enjoys spending time with friends and family, running, and being outside.
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