When I Forget To Breathe
I remember the sweet lady that brought me comfort food in the quiet hours of my second miscarriage. I told her how I wanted to trust God with a new pregnancy but I felt like I might set myself up for failure. I felt safe with her. She knew my pain well and I didn't worry about her judging me. She placed the chocolate cake on the counter and said with a soft and honest voice, "Your pregnancies will never be the same once you've gone through a miscarriage." I knew she was right and I appreciated her honesty. It was comforting to know that my struggle was a common one. I wouldn't walk this journey alone. I didn't have to feel ashamed, but I could walk alongside others.
As I wait to feel the first movements of this baby, my mind wanders. I find myself forgetting I'm pregnant and then wondering if I really am. A doctor visit scheduled two weeks away seems too long to wait for the comforting sound of a beating heart. I hold my breath for the heart beat. Some days I have to remind myself to breathe.
My mornings have been filled with God's word. I feel desperate for truth and God's faithfulness. The days I feel no movement and I can't hear a heartbeat, he helps me to breathe. My wandering mind needs the constant reminder of a steady path, guidance that no one else can give.
How sweet are the days of dependancy. The gripping reminder that I have no control. But God carries me, because I am weak and I cannot carry myself. I cannot breath on my own.
The lady who brought me chocolate cake and told me my pregnancies would never be the same again, she was right. Painfully right. But it is the pain that has drawn me into the presence of God. In my frailty I have known beautiful strength. In the most bitter of days I have been given incredible peace.