“I don’t see a heartbeat.”
Those six words sank like anchors. The sonogram image, pulsing with life only days before, showed a scene that was at once familiar yet devastatingly surreal. Our doctor confirmed it, and we saw our hopes for parenthood end. Seven weeks into pregnancy, my wife, Aimee, miscarried. It was our second miscarriage. We sat in stunned silence as tears streamed down our faces. During the days and weeks that followed, the weight on our hearts grew as we grappled with the onerous presence of grief and sorrow.
Our story is similar to many couples in our church. For years, we longed for a family but struggled to conceive. As the months passed after the miscarriages, our grief morphed into something different, something darker. When other couples announced a new pregnancy, there was a mix of gratitude and the piercing reminder of our own barrenness. We celebrated with friends while fighting back anger and the feeling that God heard others’ cries but not ours. We resolved to wait patiently on the Lord, but inwardly our hearts screamed injustice.
Often a blog post on infertility and miscarriage will include helpful pastoral advice for those seeking to minister to hurting couples: what not to say, how to respond, how to pray. This is good, and we were the recipients of such care in the weeks and months following Aimee’s second miscarriage. Many of our brothers and sisters demonstrated the tangible presence of Jesus through shared meals, patient and loving conversation and prayer.
But what if what’s needed most is heart change from within?Read the rest.