To the Child I Will Never Hold

My sweet, sweet child,

You were the first. You were in my consciousness for just a few short days last year. Today is the day you were due to be born, but you left us before you even looked human. I never saw you. Your short life taught me so many lessons. When you left, you taught me about grief that comes in unpredictable waves. You taught me how to rejoice with people who had what I wanted. You taught me about the sustaining power of God. You taught me how to surrender my dearest dream and sweetest possession to the Wisdom that ordained the sun to rule the day. It was that last lesson that brought us to name you Micah – “Who is like YHWH?” You are no longer with me, but you remind me every day that I am not like YHWH. My wisdom is not supreme. Everything about you made sense to me, but YHWH knew better. Better for you. Better for my idolatrous soul. You are with the One who loves you better than I ever could.

Today, there is tension in my mind. I wanted you. I want you still. I still mourn your loss and dream of what might have been. Today, there is another baby growing inside me – your little brother or sister. I love and want this baby just as much as I loved and wanted you. I revel in its growing life and dream of what will come. You cannot both be here. Your earthly lives are mutually exclusive. And yet, you are both part of me. You are both so near to my heart. Today, I wish I were meeting you and the sorrow spills over into tears. Today, I rejoice in the growing child in my womb and the joy spills over into tears. I wonder how I can feel both emotions so strongly. How can I feel sorrow for loss and joy for gain, when it seems that one emotion should cancel out the other? I think it is love that makes these tensions possible. Love is capable of wishing you were here and of embracing the new life that is growing in the womb you left behind. You are both my children. I love you both.

I am a mother because of you, Micah. I miss you. I so looked forward to meeting you and watching you grow up. Thank you for teaching me important lessons. Someday, I hope that we’ll meet one another in heaven.

All my love,

Mother

Weeping, Rejoicing, and Generosity

Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep. Romans 12:15

I cut my theological teeth on this verse. Buried in the middle of many beautiful, practical, challenging instructions for how to interact with others, these words have convicted me over and over again. The idea of the last half of the verse is generally well accepted, regardless of religious affiliation. That we ought to weep with those who weep, to side with the oppressed, to reach out in solidarity with those who suffer is undoubtedly an important message that is surging through our world. I’m thankful for it. I dream, like many do, of a world in which oppression ceases, in which kindness and generosity reign, and in which the downtrodden are raised up. I have wept with those who weep; yet, that is only half of the instruction.

I have done much of my own weeping since October 19, 2017 – the day we found out that we had lost our first baby. Many have wept with me, reaching out in solidarity. Some reach out because they have felt the same pain. Others reach out though they have not, yet they weep for my pain. When you lose a baby, there are many painful things. The sight of pregnant bellies is painful. Pregnancy announcements are painful – especially when the due date is within weeks of your own. Baby shower invitations hurt. And, there’s the rub. In the midst of my weeping, others are blessed with times of rejoicing. Their announcements are not flaunting – they are simply joyful. Their changing bodies are not flaunting – they are simply the signs of blessing. Baby showers are not flaunting – they are opportunities for rejoicing.

I am struck by the lack of a qualifier in Romans 12:15. The apostle Paul does not say that we have no responsibility to weep for another in the midst of our own rejoicing. Neither does he say that we have no responsibility to rejoice with another in the midst of our own weeping. He simply tells us to rejoice and to weep with others. That, I think, is where generosity comes in. To rejoice from a place of neutral emotion costs very little. To rejoice from a place of weeping costs much. To weep from a place of neutral emotion costs very little. To weep from a place of rejoicing costs much. Strong relationships are forged in the generosity of sacrifice. When God blesses one woman with a full womb and at the same time withholds or removes that blessing from another woman, He provides an amazing opportunity for some of the strongest bonds to form between them – if they will each provide a generous sacrifice to the other. It will cost them both dearly, but the rewards will be incalculable. If the rejoicing woman will generously reach through the awkwardness she feels in the presence of weeping to comfort and to weep with her friend (and I have a few friends whose names come to mind who have done just this for me – thank you), she pours out a sacrifice of love into the relationship. If the weeping woman will generously reach through the pain she feels in the presence of rejoicing to congratulate and provide support for her friend (I hope that my friends have felt me at least attempt to do this, however imperfectly), she also pours out a sacrifice of love into the relationship. The bonds between these two women strengthen with each woman’s sacrifice, and the beauty of that friendship shines Christ’s love and redemption to the corner of the world near them.

In my life, I have had more lessons in reaching out of my rejoicing to weep with others. In the last few months, I have had opportunity to learn more fully how to reach out of my weeping to rejoice with others. It costs. It hurts. And then, it heals. If you are weeping, you will be tempted to withhold your rejoicing from another because of the pain. Let me encourage you – resist that temptation. The pain doesn’t go away, but it is made beautiful by the bonds of love. It is lessened by those who reach out to share it with you as you share in their rejoicing. Rejoice and weep generously.