My Strength and My Song

Today I stumbled upon a box under my bathroom sink that immediately gripped my heart. I had forgotten it was there, but when I was looking through the cabinet under my sink for lotion, I saw it; and it stopped me in my tracks. It was the pink "First Response" (pregnancy test) box that I bought back in December. It contained 3 pregnancy tests when I bought it, and all 3 tests - though now used - were still in it. Each time I took one and it came out positive, I put it back in the box under my sink.

I took all three of the tests this time, even though I only took one test with each of my previous two children. I don't know why I took all three this time - it was as if I didn't really believe it when I saw the two lines appear. I remember the excitement that came over me each time I took a test and saw the positive result. My heart leapt for joy with each one. I had wanted that baby so badly. It was going to be my third and final child, and after two boys, I was hoping for a girl. I had names picked out, a stroller pattern picked out, and even a few pieces of infant clothes hanging in my guest room closet. I was thrilled. I was so busy making preparations for a new baby and coming up with creative and clever ways to tell our family and friends, and I had just tucked those positive tests away in a box under my sink and forgotten about them.

About four weeks after I took those tests and found out the joyful news that I was going to be a mommy again, I got the news that my pregnancy was ectopic. That meant my 7 week-old fetus was growing and developing normally, but in my fallopian tube instead of my uterus. An ultrasound confirmed that it was in the wrong place, and it could not survive there. In fact, it had to be removed or I would likely not survive either. So an immediate surgery was scheduled to remove my baby from my body.

The next couple days were a blur. An overwhelming emotional roller coaster ride left me confused, sad, angry, lonely, and empty. One day I was pregnant, and the next day I wasn't. One day I was nauseous and symptomatic, and the next day nothing. One day my body was intact and healthy, and the next day I was wounded and scarred. One day I had a working fallopian tube, and the next day it was gone from my body. It was one of the strangest experiences I've ever gone through. My baby was forcefully taken from me when I desperately wanted to keep it.

I honestly didn't imagine that it would affect me so deeply. I've been pregnant two other times, both of which resulted in live healthy children. And I never imagined that losing a pregnancy would hurt much at all. I never "bonded" with my previous babies until they were actually born and I was holding them in my arms. So I just thought that a lost pregnancy would be little more than disappointing. I knew I would be sad, but I didn't realize the turbulence of other emotions it would bring. I felt everytihng - from less of a woman to grief stricken and barren.

Almost two weeks have passed since I lost my baby. And I've been steadily getting stronger and better. My wounds - physical and emotional - are healing. Scars remian where the inscisions in my belly once were, and scars also remian on my heart that once housed the love and excitement for a new little life. Over the past week, I've been able to smile and even laugh at times. I've been comforted by the unlimitted love of my husband and great friends, who have cared for me so much during this time. I've been showered with love and prayer, and I've had a delicious homemade meal brought to my door from loved ones every single day since the surgery. I am blessed. And overwhelmed by the love of others. My strength is returning, and the past few days have been the best ones yet. I've even had times where I almost felt completely normal again. Until I opened the cabinet and saw that box under the sink.

The flood of emotions quickly returned and sadness washed over me. Tears filled my eyes as I remembered the excitement and joy that was contained in that box that has since been ripped away from me. I cried for a moment. My husband held me. And then I brought myself to throw the box away. It was a brief moment, and then I was back to caring for my boys and going about my day. I'm sure those moments will come and go as times passes, and they will get easier and easier. The healing process will continue thanks to the Great Physicain who heals me from the inside out.

Moments before I stumbled upon that box under my sink, I stumbled upon this verse: Isaiah 2:12 ~ "The Lord is my salvation; I will trust and not be afraid. The Lord is my strength and my song."

God's timing is so perfect. Right before I was reminded of my pain, He reminded me that He is my strength and my song. He fills my heart with music and because of Him I can sing. He holds me up when I am weak, and He puts a song on my lips when I don't feel like singing. One of my favorite worship songs has always been the song by Third Day that says, "You are beautiful my sweet sweet song, and I will sing again."

He is my sweet song. And He is beautiful. And I will sing again.