A Call to His Side

(Read the post below or click the photo above to hear the audio version.)

On January 16, 2023, I cried in the shower while cradling tissue in my hand. Sadly, the tissue I’m talking about was not from Kleenex or whatever generic brand I may have been more likely to buy. I’m talking about tissue that came from inside my womb which once housed the embryo growing inside of me just a few weeks prior.

As I stood in the shower softly stroking the tissue with my hand, I tried to figure out what I was holding. Was this where their hands would form? Maybe their feet? Perhaps their head? Was my baby going to be a boy or a girl? Two days before, the ER physician told me that there was no heartbeat. Did their heart ever beat inside of me, but I never got a chance to hear it for myself? It was gut-wrenching. All I could do was just sob at the realization that these are the physical remains of my baby. My baby that died before I ever saw them smile, or nestle under my breast for comfort, or cry because I didn’t feed them fast enough, or crawl or walk for the first time, or fight with their older brother because he won’t share his toys. My baby died. My baby died inside of me. 

There are so many stories I can share about my journey and what happened after my miscarriage, but in this post I want to share my most surprising discovery. I am what I would call a recovering perfectionist. I have wanted to know everything. I have wanted to be right about everything and to do things the right way. If things are not perfect or right, it can be anxiety-provoking. In my head, imperfection was not just synonymous with failure, but that somehow I was not good enough. I never do anything right. People are going to think I’m an imbecile. Now I’m going to have to do MORE to show that I am competent and worthy even though I don’t quite believe that’s true. You probably can imagine the amount of pressure it must be to think or feel this way. 

Though that’s often how the perfectionist in me feels about herself and in relation to other people, it is not much different from how I have interacted with God in the past. Therefore, it wouldn’t be surprising to me that after having a miscarriage my thoughts would be something along the lines of:

“This was my fault.”

“I should have…”

“God is punishing me because I…”

“Why didn’t I just…?”

On the other hand, it’s possible that I would have transitioned from blaming myself to blaming God. David would have nothing on the Psalm I would write. 

Surely the Creator of all things could prevent a miscarriage? Surely I didn't have to be introduced to labor pains by birthing a dead baby? Surely I didn’t have to expel tissue of this baby and meet their unformed body in the shower? I mean I didn’t even ask for this pregnancy, but there I was pregnant and where were You? Is it that You couldn’t get me through 28 more weeks or You didn’t want to?

I may have even done a little head tilt and WAIT for the answer, straight-faced. Jonah, Habakkuk, and Moses are just a few who showed anger at God in the bible and they would’ve had nothing on me. While some people reading this may not be able to handle someone approaching God in this way, I believe God would be able to handle it. 

However, he did not have to because, for some reason, none of that happened. The perfectionist in me did not try to look for the wrong I did to cause this miscarriage nor did she try to tear my character apart. I didn’t blame God or become angry with Him. Surprisingly, I never felt more close to God than I have during this grieving season and I believe the answer lies in this scripture I want to share with you. 

Matthew 5:4 says, “Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted.” 

There is a lot to glean from this scripture even at face value, with an American English understanding of those words. However, before I give you my takeaway, I want to re-share that scripture with you, amplifying it with some of the Greek definitions of these words. 

Blessed (positioned to receive God's favor, grace, and/or benefits) are those who mourn (properly grieve over a death; grieve a personal hope or relationship that dies/ends; feel guilt about one’s sin). For they shall be comforted (consoled; strengthened; encouraged; called to or for; called to one's side). 

There are three main lessons I’ve learned (and practiced) from this verse. Firstly, it is important to take the time to properly grieve whoever or whatever was lost. Secondly, when we take the time to properly grieve, we place ourselves in a position to receive God’s grace and favor. Blessed are those who mourn doesn’t mean we’re going to be happy while we mourn or that we’re going to receive some great inheritance we could've never imagined and it’s going to make all our problems go away. No. It means that God is waiting for us to make the first move and as soon as we start to mourn/grieve, He says, “Bet. Now I’m going to give you what you need to go through this grief journey.”

But He doesn’t stop there. The verse concludes by saying that those who mourn place themselves in a position to receive what they need for the journey AND God is going to comfort them. I understood comfort to also mean console, strengthen, and encourage, but what WOWed me was that it also means a call to one’s side. How loving is the God who gives us what we need, but He doesn’t leave us alone to our own devices (or vices)? He understands the depth of our grief and its weightiness so He calls us to His side. It’s like a reminder of His promise in Matthew 11:28-30 (NLT):

Then Jesus said, “Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you. Let me teach you, because I am humble and gentle at heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy to bear, and the burden I give you is light.”

These lessons. His Word. His call to His side is what kept me in 2023. The loss of my baby still triggers an utter feeling of sadness that often grips my throat and lays heavy on my chest. Nonetheless, I know that I do not grieve like those who have no hope (1 Thessalonians 4:13). Not only do I know with my mind that God is with me, I feel Him near. He calls me to His side and keeps calling me to His side and to His side I keep going. It is there I find my refuge. It is there I find comfort. It is there I find my identity. It is there He affirms me and reaffirms me. It is there I meet the woman He created me to be and I become more and more like her. Still the mother of two and so much more. 

I write this to those in their mourning journey. Will you join me in embracing the call to His side?

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