2013 rolled in, and I was ready to make a change. I knew that if I was ready to try and have another baby, I was going to have to make peace with my past. I was going to have to put on ‘armor’ if I was ready to run the risk of miscarrying again. I was going to have to get myself together, if I was going to become a mother.

I made a vow with myself that I was going to make a change and become more positive. Think of the good things, ignore the negative; boy did people notice! I was fine with not having ‘friends’. I was fine with working on my relationship with Mr. I was fine with being told, “You’re fake.”

I can’t tell you where this epiphany came from. (God!) I just knew that if I were going to be a good mother, I was going to have to have a good attitude. I was going to have to stop gossiping. I was going to have to apologize to ladies whom I was jealous of because they were expecting. Most importantly, I was going to have to make peace with God.

Can I tell you that it’s hard to put your pride aside to do the right thing? I needed to ask for forgiveness. It wasn’t easy, it was embarrassing to go to ladies and be honest with them about how envious I was. It was hard to separate myself from ‘friends’ who let me gossip (old habits die hard). It was hard to come before God after being so rude to Him, and ask Him to forget what I had said and done to Him.

I had to ask God to forgive me for being such a brat. I was absolutely hateful to Him. I didn’t deserve His forgiveness. I didn’t deserve what He was about to give me.

(Can you see why people thought I was ‘fake’? I was trying my best to get back to the real me, and the devil still wanted to put obstacles in my way. I didn’t care though- I needed to not only be physically healthy to have a baby; I needed to be mentally healthy as well. Being more positive was the one thing I really needed to work on. Getting back into The Word, reading my devotional- that helped too.)

February rolls in, and I find a huge surprise. I was pregnant with our second baby. I couldn’t believe it. I mean, were we trying- yes. Did I expect it- no. It had been five agonizing months of negative pregnancy test after negative pregnancy test.

Mr. and I were elated. I thanked God for blessing me with the opportunity to be a mother. I thanked Him for giving me a second chance.

April 27, 2013 was a day I was dreading. It was Baby One’s due date. With strength that only God could give, and the fact I knew a little brother/sister was growing inside of me- I made it through the day. I silently sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to them, and was happy to know that they were celebrating their birthday with Jesus and my Papaw.

With the silent celebration over, it was time to let everyone know that Mr. and I were about to become Daddy and Mommy.

I bet you’re thinking that since God ever so clearly showed me Grace, I repented and everything went back to normal for me, right? Heck no. Friends, I come to you with this testament that I am a sinner. I raged a war between my Heavenly Father and myself. I let the devil get the best of me and turn me into a hateful, jealous, and spiteful woman.

I lost something that was so precious Labor Day weekend. Something that I thought I deserved because I had been a ‘good girl’ all of my life. From that loss, I turned into someone I didn’t even know. I become a gossip. I became envious of every pregnant lady I knew. I was very bitter.

I formed friendships and lost friendships with the way I behaved. I was mean, nasty, and ugly. If someone complained about being pregnant, you best believe I talked about her behind her back. I couldn’t understand why you would complain about being pregnant. You still had a baby growing inside you.

I declined baby shower invites because I didn’t want to see someone who was pregnant. My heart was black. So black that even my Mr. didn’t recognize me, and did not like the person I was turning into. I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything but my lost baby.

I was in such a dark place. This place I was in, I hope I never visit it again. I felt empty. I felt alone. I felt lost. No one could say anything to me to make me feel better. I felt like Dr. Jeckle and Mr. Hide. I would go to work, teach to my best ability and come home and hate myself. It was tough. It was hard keeping up a front for my third graders. I did though. I was not going to let them suffer because of something that happened in my personal life. My co-workers saw through it though. Some cared and some didn’t- and I’ll just leave it at that.

At the end of 2012, Christmas was approaching and I was looking forward to time off. I wasn’t looking forward to spending two weeks alone though. I needed a break. I needed to try and get myself together.

I remember a conversation I had with my Dad over the holidays about how I wanted to find the old me again. I was fed up with the negativity. I was fed up with the bitterness. I was ready to give it all up. He said to me, “Ok- go find her.”

Boy was I ready to go and find K. But, as I embarked on this journey- I found a more interesting Kimberly along the way.

“It’s OK.”

These are two very simple words with one powerful meaning for someone who is struggling with some deep-rooted issues. Ladies and gentlemen, I was struggling with some deep-rooted issues. I had run away from God, was filled with resentment towards Him, and demanded He answer my questions about why I miscarried.

When you read that, doesn’t it come across as a spoiled little girl who didn’t get her way? Does it come across as someone who looks at herself and thinks she is entitled to something? Does it look like someone who loves The Lord and is thankful for what He has done?

But, let me tell you about how He showed me Grace, even with the behavior I had showed Him. I headed back into work one full week after losing my baby. I had not told my third graders why I would be absent before I had left. When I walked into Room 109 on Monday morning, I had several “I miss you notes” on my desk. We hadn’t even been in school for a month- and these children had missed me?

A former student, who was in 5^th grade at the time, came up to me and said, “Where have you been? I missed you.” This particular student and I have a very special bond.   I couldn’t lie to her, and she was one of the very first people I told that day about my absences. I looked at her and said, “I had a baby in my belly and they died.” Do you know what this 5^th grader did? She hugged me. She hugged me and didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to. In that moment, I knew things were going to be OK. It wasn’t going to be an easy road- but I knew I was going to be OK.

God had used a 5^th grade girl to let me know that things were going to be all right. I was able to face my class as they all raced into the room, the exact same thing when they asked why I had not been at school. Do you know what these sweet third graders did? They hugged me. They said they were sad for me. They said, “You would be such a great mom.” I will never forget that Monday morning. I was surrounded by love- in the form of 8 year olds.

If God using children in my life to show me love, isn’t a form of showing me His Grace. I don’t know what is. In the moment, I was so thankful for those third graders. They were with me, and cared for me, and didn’t judge me. Of course they went home and told their parents what had happened…

Can I tell you, those parents were just as supportive as my students had been. I received emails, notes, and cards. I even had a few parents stop in after school to check on me. Grace.

Simply put, I had lost my baby. I had been a terrible child to my Heavenly Father, and He showed me Amazing Grace.

I walked out of the sanctuary and knew I had heard God. I knew that He had worked on Mr.’s heart and made him “make” me go to church. God intended for me to be at church, that particular Sunday, to get my questions answered.

I couldn’t get what our teaching pastor said, out of my head.

“When you were in school, your teachers would do everything they could to prepare you for a test. They made up fun lessons. They let you work in groups. They had you complete individual work. They were always there; ready to help whenever you needed it.

Now, when test day came– they were silent. They never left the room. They were there watching you, and not saying a thing.”

Did he really use an analogy of a teacher and God? (I get goose bumps as I sit here and recall the events of that day!)

So Mr. and I did our regular Sunday routine of getting some lunch together, running a few errands and heading back home. As we were driving- my Dad called. He needed Mr.’s assistance on fixing a lawnmower, and wanted to know if he could come down and get some help. Of course I say it’s OK.

A little later that afternoon, Dad comes over. (Now, during this whole ordeal- I have only talked to my family and Mr.’s family. No one else knew of my situation and how bad I was. How mad I was at God). He and Mr. work on the lawnmower, and somehow my Dad finds a way to have some alone time with me.

All he says is, “How are you doing?” I was able to look him in the eyes and say, “A little bit better than yesterday.” Dad was an incredible listener, and let me share my story of the sermon I heard at church that morning. I shared with him how I felt utter rage at God. Dad didn’t say a word. He let me pour my heart out. He didn’t say, “Oh, K, you are not supposed to get angry with God.” Or, “You really are having some heart issues, you need to pray for forgiveness.” Or, “I raised you better- I can’t believe my daughter would act like this.”

My Dad (a former Marine and retired Sargent from the Army) sat without judgment in our driveway and only said a few, but powerful, words to me. Words that I will remember until the day I return home and meet Jesus (and my baby) face to face.

After all of my ranting, my Dad said, “K, how many times did you get mad at me as your Earthly father? Do you really think you’re not ever going to get mad at your Heavenly Father?”

Wow! Basically my Dad was telling me it was OK to be mad. It was OK for me to be feeling the way I was feeling. It was OK that I ran away from God, ‘slammed my bedroom door in His face’, and wanted nothing to do with Him.

No one had said those simple words to me…it’s OK.

I seriously couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that God let this horrible event happen. That was the question that I kept asking Mr. He didn’t know what to say to me. Not very many people did. I can tell you a lot of people said things that I look back on now, and think no one should ever say that to someone who miscarried. (That will be addressed in a later post).

So, here I am sitting in the sanctuary. Not signing any songs. Not participating in communion. I simply was a warm body sitting in a seat, waiting for this entire thing to be over with. I had wanted nothing to do with church this morning. I certainly wanted nothing to do with God. (Remember, I’m only here because my husband MADE me come with him.)

As communion is being passed around, I make a point to thumb through the bulletin to see what’s going to be going on within the next few weeks at church. (Habit) I look at the spot that gives a short summary of what the message is going to be about, “MUTE: Silence is when faith is the loudest”. I sat in the pew and thought, “Yea, you’ve been giving me the silent treatment. Are you finally going to talk to me? I’ve been begging you for answers, and you haven’t even attempted to respond to one.”

Just some background:

As a church, we had been studying The Bible in chronologic order. Our teaching pastor was going to be talking about the ‘silent years’. There was nearly 400 years that went by between Malachi (last book of the Old Testament) and Matthew (first book of the New Testament). Many people thought God was silent- on mute- to the people living during those years.

As our pastor starts speaking, I feel the room go empty. I feel like he is speaking directly to me. He opened his sermon with, “What to do when you think God is giving you the silent treatment?”

For the next half hour I sat, and listened. God was finally answering my questions. First, I learned that I was demanding God to answer me. I didn’t have my heart in the right place to even consider asking God why He called my baby home before I got to meet them.

I learned that God is still at work, while there is silence.

I learned that God still keeps His promises, while there is silence.

Isaiah 49:10 The Message

When the time is ripe, I answer you. When victory’s due, I help you.

Jeremiah 29:11 New International Version

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.

Revelation 21:4-5 New International Reader’s Version (NIRV)

“He will wipe away every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or sadness. There will be no more crying or pain. Things are no longer the way they used to be.” He who was sitting on the throne said, “I am making everything new!” Then he said, “Write this down. You can trust these words. They are true.”

Romans 8:28 New Kings James Version

And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose.

Philippians 1:6 New International Reader’s Version (NIRV)

I am sure that the One who began a good work in you will carry it on until it is completed. That will be on the day Christ Jesus returns.

I learned that God is still watching, while there is silence.

Job 23:8-12 New International Reader’s Version (NIRV)

8 “But if I go to the east, God isn’t there. If I go to the west, I don’t find him. 9 When he’s working in the north, I don’t see him there. When he turns to the south, I don’t see him there either.  10 But he knows every step I take. When he has put me to the test, I’ll come out as pure as gold. 11 My feet have closely followed his steps. I’ve stayed on his path without turning away. 12 I haven’t disobeyed his commands. I’ve treasured his words more than my daily bread.

This is how our pastor summed everything up, and I knew that God had 100% meant for me to hear this sermon. My pastor said, “Think about this. When you were in school, your teachers would do everything they could to prepare you for a test. They made up fun lessons. They let you work in groups. They had you complete individual work. They were always there; ready to help whenever you needed it.

Now, when test day came– they were silent. They never left the room. They were there watching you, and not saying a thing.

God does the same thing. He is always there. He’s always watching you- and sometimes He doesn’t say a thing.” Ok, God, you have my attention.

I had miscarried over the weekend, and we were out of school on Monday. I went into work on Tuesday and told my team and principal that I wouldn’t be in for the rest of the week. Each person had a different reaction. They all stick with me, some were nicer than others- and I’ll just leave it at that.

Following the ER doctor’s order of resting for the next few days, I had a lot of alone time. Mr. wasn’t able to take time off work and my sisters, and sister in law were all busy with work and school as well. My ‘inner circle’ was still going on with life, while I stayed at home and thought mine was over.

I know that while I was off, God was trying to speak to me, but I didn’t want to hear anything He had to say. I didn’t open my Bible or read my devotional. (Honestly, I feel like I had just run up the stairs and slammed my bedroom door because I didn’t want anything to do with God. Can you relate to that? I know I can’t be the only person who had been so mad at their mom or dad they ran away and slammed a door at them while they were growing up.)

But, that’s what I did. I ran away. I was so angry I pretty much was ready to punch anything or anyone in the face who came in contact with me and said I needed to pray. I didn’t do a lot while I was home. I just kept replaying the events over and over in my head. Which wasn’t healthy. When you are alone, after a tragedy happens, your mind (or the devil) plays a lot of tricks on you.

Wednesday after Labor Day, I had to meet with my OBGYN for an exam and have some more blood work done. This was the worst day of my life. I think it was worse than actually going to the ER. Don’t get me wrong, my doctor is amazing; she has wonderful bedside manor, and was very compassionate.

I went to the doctor by myself, and sat in the waiting room surrounded by swollen bellies. I sat in this room, thinking I was going to be OK, thinking I was tough enough to face reality. I couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t look at any woman who had a beautiful baby bump. A mother’s glow, a smile on their face. In a room surrounded by people, I felt utterly alone.

(To put a little more salt in the wound, Savage Garden’s ‘I knew I Love You Before I Met You’ was playing overhead. Are you freaking kidding me? I came to the conclusion that there needs to be separate waiting rooms for women who are expecting and women who are not.)

After meeting with my doctor, she sent me to have some labs run. These labs included blood work, to check my hormone levels, and an ultrasound. I could handle the blood work. I was able to hold myself together while a lady who did not have nice bedside manor would conduct my ultrasound.

She walked me into a room and gave me directions; I obliged, and waited for her to come back. She moved the wand and said, “Yup you’re empty.” I lay there motionless. I was furious and heartbroken. How can you be so callus? She left the room with my frozen ultrasound images left up. All I saw was emptiness. She was right.  I was empty.  As I looked at that frozen ultrasound, all I saw was a void that was once filled with a life.  The tiny life had been ripped away. I didn’t need an ultrasound to prove that. I didn’t need anything but my baby.