Due Date

Today is my due date. 

That was strange knowledge to wake up with this morning. It felt a little surreal. The drive to work was beautiful—a crimson horizon and cold, crisp aquiline sky, with temperatures below zero around me. 

I drove, thinking about what this day might have been like, had my pregnancy not slipped away last April in a storm of cramps and heartbreak and hot blood that wouldn’t stop. 

This might have been the day that my Asa Raye arrived, or perhaps, like so many other babies belonging to friends, he or she would have had other ideas. Asa might have arrived earlier, or I might have been sitting here, writing about feeling miserable and on the precipice of being overdue. 

But the truth is that I only know what this day has been. 

And today has been a gift. 

Grieving the loss of Asa has been devastating. Difficult. Dreary. It’s been a lot of work, and a lot of heartache, and a lot of unanswered questions. And it’s taken me almost all nine months since losing Asa to find a place where peace abounds and my sorrows are real, but they are not the only truth in my life. 

I began reading Ann Voskamp’s book, One Thousand Gifts, recently, and if you’re familiar with it, then you know that the book itself is a gift, filled with words of wisdom and faith and comfort in a world where heartache is rampant. Ann’s words have touched my heart in a way that’s surprised me, but they helped point me to this place. Her idea is simple: that faith and peace come from a heart that is attuned to giving God thanks for the many gifts he blesses us with each and every day. 

Today is a gift, even though it is one tinged with a bittersweet taste. 

I spent much of my day with Asa on my mind, thinking about the sweet baby that I love so dearly, without ever having had the chance to hold him or her in my arms. While I am sure that my feelings will change yet again when and if I am ever able to carry a baby to term, I do know that having become a mother has changed who I am. It’s taught me about how much love my heart is able to hold, and it’s taught me about why I need God so desperately. John Newton once said that “I remember two things very clearly: I am a great sinner and Christ is a great savior.” Being Asa’s mama has reminded me of why I need Christ, who is my great Savior, to live and breathe and have life. What a dark and lonely road this grieving has taken me down, and how much darker might it have been were I not walking with my Lord? How much more afraid might I have been? 

Ah. 

Fear. 

I’ve realized that’s it, the crux of the matter for me: fear. I have spent so much time afraid since Asa was lost to me. Afraid that I caused the loss, somehow. Afraid that God doesn’t really love me. Afraid I won’t get pregnant again. Afraid that I could miscarry again. Afraid Hubster will grow tired of me and my lack of fertility. Afraid that I will never have the chance to birth a child. 

Afraid, afraid, afraid. 

In One Thousand Gifts, Ann Voskamp says this: “Fear is like this piano wire cutting round the wrists, life-shackled, cutting deep, the hands spasm, fists of control. Fear keeps life small. The music dies and the joy drains…What if I opened the clenched hands wide to receive all that is? A life that receives all of God in this moment?” (145)

What powerful words those are, particularly to my heart at this moment in time. So much of experiencing infertility and pregnancy loss is wrapped up in fear, and what I am realizing is just what Ann says: “Fear keeps life small…the joy drains…”

The Lord and I did some real serious talking in the days leading up to today, my due date. We had the kind of conversations that Hubster’s own father would term an “office talk,” which was only warranted in their household by serious, heavy-hitting subjects. 

Me and God, we’ve been having office talks. 

And the result?

Peace. 

I finally feel some peace about my infertility and miscarriage, and that’s something that has eluded me for longer than I care to admit. 

So, today was a gift. 

It’s the kind that made you both happy and sad at once. Happy to face the day with peace, assurance, and gratitude; and sad to reflect on the loss of a baby that was and is so desperately wanted. 

But on this due date, instead of the crushing  I once anticipated, I instead close my eyes and offer thanks—for this day, for Asa Raye, for Hubs and my marriage, for provision and rescue and grace. 

Psalm 121:1-8

I look up to the mountains—

Does my help come from there? 

My help comes from the Lord, 

Who made heaven and earth.

He will not let you stumble;

The one who watches over you will not slumber.

Indeed, he who watches over Israel 

Never slumbers or sleeps. 

The Lord himself watches over you! 

The Lord stands beside you as 

Your protective shade. 

The sun will not harm you by day,

Nor the moon at night.

The Lord keeps you from all harm

And watches over your life. 

The Lord keeps watch over you as

You come and go, 

Both now and forever.