One of Five (to read the entire story from the beginning scroll down to January 4)
I took an hour out of my time teaching and talking with teens to write this (please read it as the raw feelings and observations from the days before my miscarriage).
“I don't mean to be ungrateful, but I have to say that this little room that I have been given to minister out of is sort of a but a banal picture of suffering, with bare white walls, iridescent lights, Thomas Kinkade puzzles offered as the only crooked art hung on the wall and blaring fans in every room. Whenever I try to clean or relieve myself there is air blowing from God knows where down on my naked body.
And this is the small bathroom room where I may leave what is left of our first child. I hate that it must be in a bathroom.
On the drive here, when we had 2 hours to go and 2 ½ hours to get there I began to bleed, not alarming bleeding, but dull, brown spotting, enough to whip out the GPS and get us to Albertsons to buy the puffiest, thickest maxi pads with wings that I could find. And that alone got us to the Spiritual Retreat late, so we missed the orientation. And how do you explain your tardiness? “Well, my wife was possibly about to miscarry so we stopped by the store to pick up some mega maxi pads.” You cannot share that with teens, nor with the male chapel leader, Kirk, who booked us for this event.
Oh, how do I be human and honest and tactful and modest? What a puzzle! We did tell Kirk last night what is really going on. I just had to, he had to know if or why I suddenly disappear this week. He was full of compassion and a bit of bewilderment. He is not familiar with miscarriage. I did not feel eager to disabuse him of his ignorance. I just told him I was fine, for now.
I’ve been praying that God would hold of the miscarriage until my last talk (the 4th) on Tuesday night. Then, I told God, you can put me through misery, you can take my baby from me, but please let me wait until then, so I can finish out ministering to these teens of this school whose souls are hurting.
And they are. Tonight I’ve spoken with girls who’ve felt betrayed by friends, confused about boyfriends, one girl who was nearly kidnapped, then abused by her parents, used by guys and now shunned by the Christian girls of this school for the simple reason that her looks, her beautiful looks make her a target for their suspicion. I cried and prayed with them and then dashed off to finish our last talk “Am I Valuable?”
What a subject to be targeting....I’m glad I finished, I’m glad I gave it all I had, because soon after I had to run to the restroom. Then I began to feel what I’ve been dreading… cramps, hard, long cramps. It was the beginning of the end of our first pregnancy.
So now I sit in this blowy, stark, ugly bathroom, waiting for whatever happens next. And yet, I’m so glad to be here, working with teens, so many thirsty for the living water.
I hope this won’t be as painful as I’ve heard it can be.
God help me bear this."