I had no reason to hope.
I had several very large fibroid tumors in my uterus and my hormones were all over the map. We’d just lost a precious little one before we even got a chance to spread the blessed news. And I was 44 years old. I was too old.
There was no earthly reason to hope.
But I named her Hope anyways.
I didn’t realize it, but it was the first day of Advent—the Sunday of hope. With sleep still lingering in my swollen eyes, I whispered to my husband, “I want to name her Hope.” When it finally dawned on me what day it was, my heart skipped a beat.
Surely, God prompted me to name her Hope on Hope Sunday! Surely, He had a plan in all this pain.
That day, a seed of hope was planted in my soul.
Sweet friend, if you are suffering from a loss too great for words, you can find hope too.
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The shortest verse in the whole Bible tells us that “Jesus wept” (John 11:35). Our Lord grieved over the loss of a dear friend named Lazarus. If you know the story, you know that Jesus was about to raise Lazarus from the dead, so why would he take the time to grieve?
It seems… unnecessary.
And yet, when Jesus saw all the people weeping, “He was deeply moved in spirit and troubled” (John 11:33). Knowing all the good that was about to come, Jesus still took the time to grieve.
Sweet sister, if you are suffering from the loss of a precious little one, know that your pain moves God. Know that He weeps with you. Let Him be close to you in this heartache.
Psalm 34:18 tells us that “the LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”
Allow yourself to grieve in the arms of your Heavenly Father, knowing that He is grieving with you. And know also that He has a plan to redeem your pain.
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This step may surprise you. It did me. As I sought the Lord to make sense of my pain, I found myself getting angry. Righteously angry.
Scripture tells us that Jesus came to give us abundant life (John 10:10). He is the author of life. Life is always God’s plan.
But that same verse tells us that the enemy has come to steal, kill, and destroy.
God doesn’t end life. The enemy does. I realized that something precious had been stolen from me. And I got mad.
My friend, if you have had a miscarriage, you have a right to be angry at the one who stole that promise from you. You have a right to be mad at the devil.
But too often in our grief, we target our anger at God.
Why did He allow this loss?
Why didn’t He prevent this pain?
Sometimes we find out the why in life. Sometimes we don’t. Anger is a natural and justified response to loss. But we must target that anger at the one who deserves it—the author of death. Not the Author of life.
Righteous indignation at the enemy has fueled many a holy pilgrimage. Let a little righteous anger fuel yours.
Five days after we lost our precious child, I had a dream that I was traveling through Iraq and Iran. I was standing out in the open air in front of an enemy compound. The building was filled with foes staring at me through dark windows.
I had no cover, no place to run or hide. I was completely vulnerable.
Then suddenly—a table appeared before me, and a hidden compartment opened up underneath it. I hid in that table in front of my enemies. And when the threat had passed, I climbed out and stood beside the wooden fortress.
When I woke, I immediately thought of Psalm 23. “You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies” (Psalm 23:5). The New Living translation says, “You prepare a feast for me in the presence of my enemies.” The Lord was with me in my pain, and He was hiding me from my enemy. He had provided a table to protect me.
BUT—I had yet to receive my feast.
At that moment, I realized that I had a choice to make. I could accept what had happened and try to move on, or I could fight back and demand redemption. I could demand my feast.
I chose to fight.
I chose to stand on His word and insist on His promises. I chose to believe that I would see God’s goodness in the land of the living (Psalm 27:13). I chose to trust that one day, that table I was standing next to would have a feast on it—and my enemy was going to watch me eat it.
Sweet friend, keep moving through these steps, and you will fight for redemption too.
I had a precious friend, Mary-Carol, who was eight months pregnant with Joseph when I lost our Hope. But earlier that year, she had lost a baby girl, Rosy, at five and a half months.
How had she come from such a devastating loss to a place of such victory?
It turns out, I didn’t know half the story. Rosy was the fourth child Mary-Carol had lost in a row, all very late miscarriages. Two were nearly viable.
“How did you find the faith to believe for Joseph?” I asked her.
After she lost Rosy, Mary-Carol was given a list of Scriptures by some ladies at her church. These verses contained promises of redemption and life and hope after loss. They were filled with promises of a healthy pregnancy, delivery, and a full life span.
She lived and breathed these promises every single day. It was the only thing Mary-Carol did differently after losing her fourth child. Living on God’s promises was the only explanation she had for why Joseph survived.
“I need those Scriptures!” I insisted.
She gave them to me, and I added more of my own. I created a little pamphlet, which you can download here. I printed the verses and carried them with me everywhere.
I feasted on those promises in the face of every obstacle, disappointment, discouraging word, and lie of the enemy—and my faith grew.
God’s word is the sword we must use to destroy the lies of the enemy and insist on our promises. Feast on God’s word, and one day you will feast on redemption in the presence of your enemy.
You may not consider yourself a prayer warrior. Neither did I. But I became one, and so can you.
If you can’t string five solid minutes of prayer together, don’t worry. You can learn to pray. Simply meditate on the Scriptures. Speak those promises over your body and your family. In prayer, insist that they will be true for you. Join with your husband; have him pray over you and your family too.
I got very bold. I prayed like a Benedictine monk for eight months with my husband at my side. We commanded my body and our family to come in alignment with God’s will.
To be clear—this was not name it, claim it theology. God showed us that another child was His plan for our family. We simply prayed His revealed will over our lives. Boldly.
Ask God to show you His plan. Is it another physical child? Could it be an adoption? Is He calling you to foster or mentor?
If there is one thing our faith tells us, it is that life comes from death (Romans 4:17).
Life will come from your loss, from your pain, from every tear you have cried. Insist on life in prayer—and life will come.
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Despite our determination to see the Lord’s promise to us fulfilled, my husband and I hadn’t told our other children that we were believing God for a baby girl. I didn’t want to disappoint them. I didn’t want to raise their hopes and see them dashed.
But one day while down on my knees, I felt a prompting to tell them. I explained to the Lord that I needed to protect their tender hearts, and He said, “If you don’t let them participate in the journey, they can’t rejoice in the victory.”
I had never thought of it that way. My desire to protect my kids would prevent them from being victorious with us.
So, we told the kids that we were believing God for a sister, and we let them join us on the journey.
Be courageous, dear sister. Tell a faith-filled friend what you are believing God for. Let them join your journey and experience God’s victory with you.
After many months and countless hours on our knees, I was growing weary and a little discouraged. Why was it taking so long? How much prayer was needed?
One day, my husband said, “I hear God telling us to praise Him for the victory.”
I laughed under my breath. I was so tired and so old. The victory seemed further away than ever. But I knew that he was right.
So, through tense breath and tears, we entered into a season of praise. We praised God for a victory that we couldn’t see or feel, a victory that seemed impossible, a victory that hadn’t come yet. But in a spirit of praise, we insisted that it was on the way. We had no reason to declare victory—but we did it anyways.
Sweet friend, there may come a time when all seems lost, when the victory looks like it will never come.
Praise Him anyways.
Nothing aggravates your enemy worse than praising God in the midst of the battle, when the victory has not yet come.
I was encouraged by my friend’s miracle baby after loss. Be encouraged by mine.
In a moment of divine orchestration that only God could compose—on the very day our Hope was due, we found out that were expecting Evangeline Faith. What a feast we had that day!
Turns out, we needed that mountain of prayer to get her here. The pregnancy was harrowing, filled with dangerous twists and turns—but persistent prayer saw us though. Our baby girl was born, healthy and whole, three years ago on February 25th, 2017.
Our Hope lives in heaven. Our Faith resides here. Our redemption lives with us now.
Sweet friend, I want to see God’s redemption in your loss, too.
Grieve with your heavenly Father. Get some righteous anger. Fight for redemption. Gather God’s promises around you. Pray! Be courageous. Praise Him when all seems lost. Press through to victory.
For He is the God “who gives life to the dead and calls those things which do not exist as though they did” (Romans 4:17).
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