Proclaiming the Miracle (An Announcement)

Because, dear readers, hope is a thing worth holding onto, there is this:



11 weeks, 5 days. Due to arrive in July.

My last miscarriage marks the beginning of this pregnancy. And for the literature-lover who sees metaphors everywhere, there’s something that seems poetic about it. This little life is marked by the pain of loss, and I mean that in the best way. I think of Jesus showing His scars after His resurrection: Do you see the miracle?

“For with the Lord is lovingkindness and with Him is abundant redemption” Psalm 130:7. I stood on that verse through the hard times, and I hold it close now.

In other news, I have been wretchedly sick. I get morning sickness really bad. Not bad enough to say extreme, as in daily coming into the doctor for an IV kind of bad… but enough to earn the adverb really that I attached the word bad. All day, everyday. Calling it morning sickness seems grossly negligent, and I am tempted to think some male doctor came up with the term so he could justify his demand for a home-cooked meal every evening. Fortunately my husband is understanding and has grown accustomed to the lack of cooking (and let’s not mention the cleaning) from me.  If my sudden blog disappearance was any kind of mystery to you, I think you now understand the reason.

Here’s the thing. Can I tell you how hard it is to be excited when you’ve been living where the worst keeps happening? How hard it is to be excited when you feel miserable? It’s felt a bit like my life has been under a dark cloud. Somehow in the suffering, I just don’t seem worthy of such a miracle. I’ve grown accustomed to suffering as a part of the Christian walk. But rejoicing? I think I lost it somewhere in the sadness.

I want to live brave. Not just through the worst. But after the worst. And let me tell you friends, it takes nothing short of sheer bravery to believe that God is for you and that He’s got you in the aftermath of loss.

And really, this post is me being brave. It is me rejoicing no matter how I feel, no matter what the future might hold. I am proclaiming that I carry life. I’ve seen the steady heartbeat, five little fingers curled up against a cheek, feet kicking… all in a two inch body. It’s a miracle. My miracle.

Squeee!


By Grace,


Amanda Conquers

Walking through Miscarriage: Practical Advice for Friends and Loved Ones, Spouses, and the Woman Who's Hurting

I have done this a few times now. And I've learned a few things. Today, I wanted to conclude the Still Hope series with some of the practical things I have learned and what others have done that has been helpful and has been hurtful. If you have had a miscarriage and wondered things like how to share the news or have a friend or loved one going through this and want to be helpful and supportive... this post is for you.


For You

  1. Give yourself Grace. You can (and should) stop and grieve. It’s okay if the housework slacks, the dinners are take-out or seriously uninspired. It’s okay if you have to keep escaping to your room to cry. It’s okay if you let all the responsibilities you can get out of go for a season. 
  2. Receive Grace. If other’s are asking you how they can help and you have a stack of dishes in your sink, it’s okay to respond with that as an answer. It’s okay to need help. It's also okay to not know how to respond to everyone's kind words, prayers, generosity... just receive it, sister.
  3. It’s your story. If you just shared this amazing, well-planned and super cute post on facebook announcing your pregnancy and now you are left wondering how to share this hard news, it is entirely up to you. The Lord is the redeemer of our stories, but you are the keeper of your story. It’s okay to ask someone else to share this hard news (My husband and mom did this for me). It’s okay to hole up for a week till you can face this. It’s okay to slowly let your story out, one person at a time. It’s okay to share it and then hide out for a week without checking your messages. It’s okay to share every step in this process. It is entirely up to you.
  4. You cannot help how anyone will respond. Sometimes the encouragement and the prayers will hold you up, strengthen you. Sometimes other people’s way of dealing with grief will strip you raw. Do keep this in mind when thinking about when to share and who to share with.
  5. Even if you hadn’t shared the news with anyone before you miscarried, still, find someone other than your spouse who you can share this with… someone who can “mourn with those who mourn,” someone who won’t just listen once, but will ask you every couple days how you are doing, someone who will pray with you.
  6. Ask for what you need. I felt like I needed out of town, to hike something, to breathe fresh air. It was hard to ask my husband, to fork out money for a hotel and food, and I had to ask twice, because the first time my husband didn’t understand how desperately I needed this. It’s okay to speak up and ask.


For The Friends and Loved Ones


  1. Choose your words wisely. Sometimes we naturally want to fix problems, find some kind of silver lining. But when her heart is bleeding and raw, you just need to allow her to grieve. Those searching-for-a-positive statements deny a person the right to grieve (They are in a better place. At least you know you can get pregnant. At least it happened now instead of further along.). One day it will be time for this, just not while its fresh.
  2. It is okay to not have a solid response. The most comforting words for me looked like “Amanda, I am just so sorry.” “Holding you in prayer.” “I have been there, and it hurts. Praying.” "I don't know what to say, but I want you to know my heart is hurting for you."
  3. Saying nothing is better than a cliché. I’ve heard “God only gives his hardest battles to his strongest soldiers” “God won’t give you more than you can handle” “Heaven got another angel” Besides the fact that these ones I mentioned are just not Scriptural, clichés feel flat when you are feeling deeply.
  4. Check in on your close friend. I have a small handful of friends whom would send me texts or emails every couple days: How are you doing today? What can I do for you? I read this scripture and thought of you. Just want you to know I am still praying for you…  I can’t even tell you how much these women have helped me this past year. How much they have looked like Jesus and Grace.
  5. You don’t have to have gone through this to be able to help. Those friends I mentioned, most of them have never walked this road. And really, that hasn’t mattered. It’s been important for me to see that I am not the only one, to hear other stories, but even more helpful are those who are willing to stop and lift me up.
  6. Small acts of kindness. Volunteering to take the kids to the park for an afternoon, volunteering to bring dinner (in a disposable pan that I don’t have to wash and return and remember to whom it belongs), a sweet card, hot tea and scones, flowers, just a little something that says I am thinking of you. Here’s where I am honest: maybe it’s the introvert in me, but I didn’t want any kind of help for a good week that meant having company because I just didn’t have anything in my energy reserve. So if you are wanting to be helpful like this, just be sensitive to this (and if your friend is a hardcore introvert, maybe do something that you can leave on her doorstep or can arrive in a mailbox).


For the Husband


  1. You don’t have to understand why she is so sad. You don’t have to be as sad as she is. But do allow her the room to be sad, to process this in her own time and way. Miscarriage is deeply personal to a woman. She might feel like a failure, she might be angry over it, she might be deeply sad. Give her that room to stop and grieve. 
  2. Offer her grace. Lots. The housework might slack, the dinners might be lame, don’t point this out. Offer to cook dinner or pick up take out.
  3. Listen to her. When I miscarried over the summer, I was so angry, so angry. I just needed to do something, get out of town, hike something, wear my legs and my lungs out. Though I had to ask more than once, my husband heard this, asked for the time off and took me to the mountains. When I cried my eyes out and told him how stupid this miscarriage was, he didn’t say anything. I didn’t need him to say anything. He just offered his chest to cry on and put his arms around me.
  4. Be a shield for her. Mike shared the news for me with his family and our extended relatives. He watched out for me, made sure I wasn’t overdoing it. He watched for signs of me being overwhelmed and took the kids to the park.   



Any advice to add to this list? Share with us in the comments.

This wraps up the miscarriage series. I can't even tell you how healing it has been to write, and how burdened my heart has been for you, dear sister, who might be walking this hard road. I want you to know I have been praying for you, praying for peace and comfort, and for God to wrap His arms around you, praying for redemption of this hard part in your story. {Hugs}



By Grace,
Amanda Conquers



If you missed the introduction to this series, you can find it HERE.

If you would like to continue reading, here are the rest of the posts in the series:
Season of Mourning
When You Are Trying to Make Something Out of Your Ashes
Project Still Hope
What Hope Really Looks Like
What You Need to Know When Fear is Suffocating You


What You Need to Know When Fear Is Suffocating You

I felt smothered by fear. I couldn’t catch my breath, and as tears rolled one after another and my body heaved, I had this feeling the only way out of this was a paper bag.

Maybe I was struggling to catch my breath because I’ve been holding my breath for over a year waiting for the worst to happen. I don’t understand this, this repeated miscarriage thing, and there isn’t anything I can do to keep it from happening. Sure, there are natural remedies, doctors and research, but really, I don’t have control over this.

So at that moment, when I was staring down the end of my cycle and what seemed like certain doom, to either not be pregnant when I want to be, or to be pregnant when I haven’t been able to stay pregnant…  My life felt out of control. I was hunched over in my kitchen, knuckles white gripping the counter, and fear was hard-pressing a pillow to my face. 



The other night, we were walking up to the house, just me and the kids. It was dark out. The kids thought they saw shadows and declared there to be bad guys in our yard. 

Two shaking voices in almost unison said, "Mom, I'm scared."

And then without even prompting him, Jed begins reciting the Bible in his gruff voice that still can’t tackle the “r” sound.

“The Lord is for me. I don’t have to be afraid.”

I’ve had my kids saying this verse (Psalm 118:6) since Addy was three and decided the dark was scary. I would go into her room, pray with her and we’d say this verse out loud. Sometimes I still hear her from her room, shouting it, declaring it, fighting the darkness. {It melts my momma heart.}

And on this particular evening, when Jed said it with his pure child's faith, it shined like a holy light on all the dark places in me. And I had to ask myself, do I really believe that the Lord is for me? Because I am afraid of losing, I am afraid of walking through another loss, I am afraid of the doctor’s appointments and a doom and gloom verdict on my womb.

I want to be able to control this, make it better, but who in the world can knit a life together in the dark of the womb other than God? I can’t control this. I can’t make it happen. And apparently after having 3 of 4 pregnancies happen where I thought we were preventing pregnancy, I can’t keep it from happening either. I have only to trust or to be crushed by fear.


Last Sunday in church, the pastor made mention of Christ’s temptation in the wilderness (Matthew 4:1-11). The first two temptations Jesus faced aren’t just about food and being carried by angels… they challenge the very identity of Christ. If you are the Son of God. IF.

Isn’t that how I am being tempted? If you are dearly loved of the Lord, his adopted daughter and co-heir with Christ, why isn’t He fulfilling His promise? Why do you keep losing?

And the lie that is at the very core of it: surely the Lord isn’t for you; doesn’t really love you.

Every time Jesus is tempted He responds with the Word of God. He picks up the same sword Paul exhorts us to use in Ephesians 6:17. It is written.

All of pieces of the armour of God help us to stand firm, to be steadfast unshakable. The sword, which is His Word is the only thing by which we can defeat the enemy, silence fear.

And can I just say this? We need to silence fear.

Because fear will rob you of your life. It will silence you, it will abort the woman you were made to be, it will destroy your relationships. Fear will trick you into trading living life to the full for the illusion of safety. 

We need to stand and declare to the darkness exactly who God says we are. That He is for us. And He is for that little life. I do not fully understand why miscarriage happens, but I don't have to. Trust and understanding do not go hand in hand. I can trust anyways.


I wanted to make a short list of "It Is Written's" that we could use to call out to the darkness, pierce the fear. Because, sister, God is for us. And we don't have to be afraid. {At the end of this list, I have a link to a simple google document in case you want all these verses in one place where you can see them. I know I do.}

“For I am the Lord, your God, who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, Do not fear; I will help you” Isaiah 41:13.

“Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you” Deuteronomy 31:6.

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid” John 14:27.

“For you have not received the spirit of bondage again to fear; but you have received the Spirit of adoption, whereby we cry, Abba, Father” Romans 8:15.

“There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love” 1 John 4:18.

The LORD your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; He will rejoice over you with gladness; He will quiet you by his love; He will exult over you with loud singing” Zephaniah 3:17.


For I know the plans I have for you, declares the LORD, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope” Jeremiah 29:11.



“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me” Psalm 23:4.

“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose” Romans 8:28.

 “The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is upon me, for the Lord has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to comfort the brokenhearted and to proclaim that captives will be released and prisoners will be freed. He has sent me to tell those who mourn that the time of the Lord’s favor has come, and with it, the day of God’s anger against their enemies. To all who mourn in Israel, he will give a crown of beauty for ashes, a joyous blessing instead of mourning, festive praise instead of despair. In their righteousness, they will be like great oaks that the Lord has planted for his own glory.” Isaiah 61:1-3.            
       
“For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be. How precious to me are your thoughts, God! How vast is the sum of them! Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand—when I awake, I am still with you” Psalm 139:13-18.

“Do not be afraid, for I have ransomed you. I have called you by name; you are mine. When you go through deep waters, I will be with you. When you go through rivers of difficulty, you will not drown. When you walk through the fire of oppression, you will not be burned up; the flames will not consume you” Isaiah 43:1b-2.

“But as for me, I trust in You, O Lord, I say, ‘You are my God.’ My times are in your hands” Psalm 31:14.

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord delivers him out of them all” Psalm 34:18-19.

“Therefore we do not lose heart, but though our outer man is decaying, yet our inner man is being renewed day by day. Momentary, light affliction is producing for us an eternal weight of glory far beyond all comparison, while we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen; for the things which are seen are temporal, but the things which are not seen are eternal” 2 Corinthians 4:16-18.


I made us a simple document to print out, if you want all these verses in one spot. I am printing this out and taping this to my bathroom mirror. I will be saying them daily, because I don't just need them on my mirror, I need them written on my heart. Just click ---> HERE<---for the document.

Do you have any verses to add to this list? I’d love it if you’d share them with us.


By Grace,

Amanda Conquers


If you missed the introduction to this series, you can find it HERE.

If you would like to continue reading, here are the rest of the posts in the series:
Season of Mourning
When You Are Trying to Make Something Out of Your Ashes
Project Still Hope
What Hope Really Looks Like

Practical Advice for the Grieving Woman and Those Who Love Her 

What Hope Really Looks Like

(I am wrapping up the miscarriage series this week. But can I tell you, the next two posts, are dear to my heart and deal with topics interwoven into the Christian walk. If you've been avoiding the blog because miscarriage is not fun to read about, maybe don't avoid these ones.)


I was on the phone with my mom, pouring out the pain of the past year.

“Mom, I just don’t know how to trust God. I don’t know how to move forward. I want a baby. I really wanted that baby. And I am scared to try again because I just can’t lose again. I really don’t think I can.”

“Amanda,” My mom pauses. Her voice shakes a little, like she bracing herself for the weight of the words she’s about to speak.  “If at some point I had stopped trying, there would be no you. You are my promise fulfilled.”

{And then we both cried.}


My mom’s story, and my story really, begins like this. One month shy of 19, my mom married my dad. At 20, she had a miscarriage. At 21, she gave birth to her first son—Robby, after my dad. But the birthing room didn’t erupt into joy or a gender announcement, but rather a hushed panic—doctors and nurses clued into the knowledge that something was wrong rushing to identify it quickly. Robby was born with congenital heart disease. His aorta hadn’t formed properly and his heart was full of holes. As soon as he was able, he underwent open heart surgery and spent the first few months of his life in the hospital. He was sent home for a month and then returned due to complications from the surgery. At five months old, he was scheduled for a second open heart surgery. The night before the surgery, my brother so wearied from months of fighting couldn’t properly swallow the food he was given. He aspirated and died.

My mom has told me how after Robby’s death she felt like a mother but she had no baby to mother. She was young and newly-married to my dad who deals with grief much differently.  She felt alone and empty and sad.

A while after Robby’s death, my mom tried to get pregnant again. She had three miscarriages. If you ask her about it, she will tell you she felt her life was doomed to sorrow, one after another after another.

Then she got pregnant—her sixth pregnancy. She didn’t celebrate it, not even when the doctor declared her fine and the baby’s heartbeat strong.

It wasn’t until hearing the vigorous cry of a newborn taking her first breath, seeing skin a healthy shade of pink, and watching a room erupt into joy, crying out “girl!,” that she let herself believe she was having a baby for reals.

I was that baby… the happy miracle on a broken road full of sorrow. The fulfillment of a promise breathed quietly into the soul of a woman longing to be a momma.

It was five months later that my mom knelt beside her bed and gave God her whole life.

If she would have declared the suffering too great, the pain of losing again too daunting, the fight simply not worth it…

I wouldn’t be here.

Neither would Andy, Kelly or Jono.

Neither would Addy, Jed, or Zion, or, God-willing, her grandkids yet to come.

That’s kind of a sobering thought.
  

Hope is a rather weak word in the English language. I hope you do well. Here’s to hoping. Oh, I hope so. It’s almost wishy-washy and covers nice ideas as well as something our heart desperately yearns for.

But in the Hebrew language, hope is not a weak word. The Hebrew language likes to attach something tangible and concrete to even lofty ideas like hope.

I have been studying out hope in the Psalms. There are four different words that get used interchangeably for the words that appear in our translations as hope and wait. I want to look at two of those words.

The first is qavah. It means hope, but the picture that word intends to give is of a person tying a rope around something, binding it up, and holding on. It speaks of something active, something that requires strength. It is anything but a weak word used to express a fleeting feeling. It means believing to your very core, not giving up, holding on for dear life.

The other word is yachal. It means to remain, to stand in one place and to wait.

Two completely different words all wrapped up in the Biblical idea of hope. The Bible conveys this, and if you aren’t seeing it, let me just say it out loud: Sometimes hope is the absolute strongest and bravest thing you can do.

Hope is an anchor for your soul.

When you have found yourself unable to get pregnant for years, and still you try. When you have had every single door slam in your face for the job you know you were called to, and you apply one more time. When you’ve been cheated on, manipulated, abused, and God lays a godly man or a godly friend in front of you and you step into that relationship.

No one tells you about the sheer audacity it can take to hope.


I want to leave off with this verse (and it reads so powerfully when you read it in light of the original Hebrew).
I wait for the Lord, my soul does wait ---> (wait=qavah-strength, bind myself to His promises)
And in His word to I hope ---> (hope=yachal-remain, stay in this one place)
My soul waits for the Lord  ---> (waits=yachal)
more than watchmen for the morning."
Can I just take a moment to make sure you didn’t miss that the place where it says yachal (to remain), is in His Word. Stand. Stand and remain and don’t back down from what the word of God says. (<---and let’s slap a period at the end of that sentence. Boom.)

Okay now check out what follows:

"O Israel, hope in the Lord ---> (hope=yachal)
For with the Lord there is lovingkindness,
And with Him is abundant redemption." ---> (redemption=peduwth-to divide, separate, liberate)
Psalm 130: 5-7

I know I just threw it at you, but did you catch what redemption means here?

Redemption/Peduwth is God saying, dear son and daughter, I know that what is on this side of the waiting and hoping is painful. But I am going to divide it from you, separate it from you, redeem it entirely. I will liberate you. And I will do this abundantly. You, dear heart, are loved. I am here. Hold on.

“See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland” Isaiah 43:19.

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers


And because I know I need these words stamped on my heart, and maybe you do too, here's a printable I made just for us. (Just click the link for a printable document version)



If you missed the introduction to this series, you can find it HERE.

If you would like to continue reading, here are the rest of the posts in the series:
Season of Mourning
When You Are Trying to Make Something Out of Your Ashes
Project Still Hope

What You Need to Know When Fear is Suffocating You
Practical Advice for the Grieving Woman and Those Who Love Her 

Project Still Hope

About three weeks ago, we did some serious yard work. The house we live in had been neglected for years and the front planter was full of weeds... and I do mean full.of.weeds.

Somewhere in the breaking up the soil, removing weeds and more weeds and more weeds, in the dirt under my fingernails and the blisters on my hands… I was physically working through the soul-disappointment of that fifth miscarriage.

I got an idea while playing in the dirt. A dream really.

I had been looking, maybe without even realizing it, for some way to bury my losses. Something that would validate that I indeed had lost life, something that would tangibly demonstrate the little impressions forever left on my heart. Something that would be a physical sign of the trust I needed to place in the Lord. Something that would point to the resurrection power of Christ, even in this.

Bulbs.

It sounds funny to blurt out that word, and maybe it means moving my seed analogy over just a tad, but the coincidence doesn’t escape me that (most) bulbs get buried six inches down. They die in the cold. And then spring comes. And something rather ugly, rather dead, becomes beautiful and alive.


It’s a simple idea really, but I thought, what if I could challenge others facing loss to walk this hard journey with me? What if we could all have some way to lay our shattered dreams to rest? What if we could make some kind of memorial, something that might make this hard thing beautiful? What if we could all rejoice together when winter has done her work, and the new life begins to spring up? What if we could make this world just a little bit more beautiful because we have lost, and loved, and chose to let it rest in our Saviors arms?

What if we all planted bulbs?

And so I am reaching out. If it’s just me and the bulbs in my garden, I am okay with that. But if you want to link arms with me and do this together… well, let’s do this.

After this post I will provide some links about bulb growing, but I want you to know, even if where you live has a foot of snow on the ground already, or where you live is hot desert, or if you think you have a brown thumb, or whatever… if you want to do this. You can. There is actually a way to “force” bulbs indoors using a fridge, a pot, and a sunny spot in your house. Most bulbs are hardy and not so sensitive to whatever gardening mistakes we might make.

Also, if you happen to live in sunny California or a similarly warmer climate, right now is the perfect time to plant bulbs and that “perfect time” will last through December (when bulbs go on clearance at Walmart, I’m just saying).

I would love it (and I think it would be so good for our hearts) if we could link arms together as we walk this hard road.

You can use the hashtag #projectstillhope (on twitter, facebook, or Instagram) to share and find other women. Post the journey, and definitely post the beautiful result. Share the scriptures that are getting you through the day. Share your discouragement and share your encouragement. Share your story. If sharing on social media is not your thing (and that is completely fine! I kinda stink at it too.) you can email me at amandaconquers AT gmail DOT com.

Dear sister, even if you don’t want to share this with me or with us, will you pretty please find at least one person you can include on your journey. One person who you can tell what you lost, and how you are dealing with it. Don’t do it alone. Please.

I am telling you it is good for the heart to acknowledge the life you carried even if it was just a short amount of time. And it is so healing to watch something beautiful come out of something so painful.

Maybe let's flood the internet, our neighborhoods, our backyards and our kitchen windows with the hope that though we've lost tiny seeds, it was life and it was precious. And God can make something beautiful out of it.


By Grace,
Amanda Conquers




Links: 

FYI's: 
Spring bulbs (like hyacinth, tulip and daffodil) should be planted around the time the lows are in the 40's. You can still try if your area is already colder than this, and there is a good chance your bulbs will still bloom come spring. But if you are worried, just plant indoors.  
If you live in a very warm climate, try something like the amaryllis or paperwhite narcissus. These cannot handle freezing temps but thrive in warm climates.
If you really want to physically plant a bulb outdoors and worry the opportunity has already passed in your area, there are bulbs you plant in the spring for summer blooms (like dahlias and gladiolus).


If you missed the introduction to this series, you can find it HERE.

If you would like to continue reading, here are the rest of the posts in the series:
Season of Mourning
When You Are Trying to Make Something Out of Your Ashes

What Hope Really Looks Like
What You Need to Know When Fear is Suffocating You
Practical Advice for the Grieving Woman and Those Who Love Her 

When You Are Trying to Make Something Out of Your Ashes

I pushed my spade six inches down. I tilted and lifted. The soil broke and erupted and left behind a small crater with loose bits of dirt that had fallen back in.

I took one of my tulip bulbs and set it in the hole. I took care to place it so that roots were down and the stalk up. And then I pushed the dirt I had temporarily displaced back into the hole.

I did this some forty times. Digging. Sowing. Covering. Repeat.

Always six inches under.

And there in my brick planter leading up to our front door are the potential of daffodils, tulips, and hyacinths buried in the dirt, in the dark. When frost sends its death-kiss through the soil, the bulbs will slip into a deep slumber. If we didn’t already know the bulbs’ spring secret, we might say they were dead.

There they will wait through the bleak cold of winter, the dark days and nights, the rain, the snow, the icy winds and the thick fog.

And then spring comes.

Spring always comes. She carries her soft glow over wintered earth. She puts her warm breath to the ground, and it begins to thaw. The dormant bulbs awaken, at first a little lazily, yawning, stretching. Then they push out roots and send up stalks. Stalk, then bud, and, at long last, flower.

The final result is nothing short of glorious.   



Maybe you know that Jesus came to give beauty for ashes, but when you are sitting in the ash heap, it’s hard to see it.

I’ve taken my ashes, these last four miscarriages, and I’ve placed them in My Father’s hands. I’ve uttered words like “Not my will, but Thy will be done.” But the thing is, I’ve kept my hands there. I keep rearranging the pieces. I keep trying to work out some kind of purpose for it all. I want it to make sense.

I’ve thought maybe adoption, maybe 2 kids is all we’re meant to have, maybe it’s a nudge to pick up some of the dreams I’d laid aside.

And the thing is, I cannot make beauty out these last 4 miscarriages.

And the thing is, I know there is a dream in my heart for babies I haven’t yet met.

I’ve grappled those deep theological questions: did God cause this?  or does He allow it? Maybe I have some ideas based on Scripture, but it’s like I am attempting to hug a sumo wrestler: this hard theology, I just can’t get my arms around it.

Here’s what I do know: God can use it. God will use this for His Glory. I’ve seen it time and time again when I’ve faced the winter, the bleak, the impossible. And I’ve beheld the miraculous.

And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose” Romans 8:28.


I believe there is a season for mourning, a cycle of grief, a time to stop and lament what never got to be.

But after that, comes something even harder… entrusting it to God. Placing that loss in His hands, removing your own hands, watching His hands close over it where you can’t see it, and waiting.

And maybe it feels a bit like winter, like barren. You wonder if you can trust Him, if He really loves you. And deep down you struggle with the part where you know you aren’t really worthy.

But spring always comes.

Death precedes resurrection.


I was reading of Jesus’ final hours before His death. He suffered, He bled, He felt the whip and the nails and the thorns. And then from the cross, Jesus cries out, “My God, my God why hast thou forsaken me?” And have I not felt that? Abandoned, cast off, like my worst fears could all come true. Really, I just struggle with believing that God actually loves me.

His final words before He died were surrender. “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.” And this is the thing I’ve struggled hard against. That final surrender. It means no longer holding on. And it feels a bit like dying. And you can’t hold on forever because death has a stench, and it will foul your life.

And then they lay Jesus’s body in a tomb. They rolled a stone over the opening—one big enough, heavy enough so as to ensure no one could ever sneak in and fake raising Him from the dead.  Jesus’s body sat in the still dark, in the damp earth… dead.

But we know that isn’t the end of the story. Jesus resurrected. And there was no amount of guards or heavy stones or darkness or death-stink that could hold Him down.

You can’t work out your miracle. You can’t tell God what His glory looks like.

All you can do is hand over your loss, your broken dreams… and release it.

Dear sister, I don’t know what God will make of your broken dreams, the life you lost, the life you’ve been unable to carry. But I do know, perhaps in a way wholly unexpected, perhaps in a way that has always been quietly whispering in your soul… New life will spring up from the ground.

Spring always comes.



How have you seen God do a resurrection-glory kind of miracle in your life?


By Grace,


Amanda Conquers


If you missed the introduction to this series, you can find it HERE.

If you would like to continue reading, here are the rest of the posts in the series:
Season of Mourning

Project Still Hope
What Hope Really Looks Like
What You Need to Know When Fear is Suffocating You
Practical Advice for the Grieving Woman and Those Who Love Her 

Season of Mourning


“Amanda! Come here real quick! There’s someone I want you to meet!”

I heard the familiar voice of a long-time friend. I tried to use the impending start of kid’s church as a reason to not be able to meet someone new. But she insisted again. You just have to meet them. They are your age.

It was a Sunday. I ran children’s ministries. I probably should have just stayed home. But staying home meant admitting that this was really happening.

For two weeks, I had been so full of wonder and excitement. We had laughed at the timing of Grandparent’s Day and bought cards for our parents. It would have been the first grandchild on both sides. But on that Sunday, I knew the worst was happening. That pregnancy was ending.

I sighed deep, put on my bravest face—my most genuine fake smile—and walked to the church foyer.

As I held out my hand, I saw her swollen belly. I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. I forced the words, “Hi. I’m Amanda,” past the lump forming in my throat. And when I realized that the most natural thing to small talk over would involve a due date, or gender, or months along… I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t even get out the obligatory “nice to meet you” or “please, excuse me.” I bolted because I knew I was breaking.

When I got home from church, I laid on the couch. I stayed there for a week. Every time I used the bathroom and was confronted with the reality that the pregnancy was over, I wept. When the bleeding stopped, I decided my grief should stop as well. Surely one week of doing nothing but crying should suffice.

Afterwards, I put all my energy on getting pregnant again. I thought I would find comfort in a new pregnancy.

When I got pregnant again and the changing hormones crashed into the grieving I had not yet completed… I can tell you, another pregnancy is not where you find comfort. Friends, I was so sick. And yes, it was definitely morning sickness, but there wasn’t much excitement to pull me through the sickness. I lost fifteen pounds and threw up till my esophagus was bleeding raw. I closed myself up at home and watched Judge Judy and ate crackers and cried over dish piles for the smell of dish soap. It was more than nausea-sick though. I was depressed-sick, and I couldn’t understand why.

Someone told me that they got through morning sickness by remembering that each time they got sick it was just a reminder of a healthy baby growing. This is how I coped with morning sickness with Jed. I looked at my Addy-miracle and rejoiced for the joy I knew would come. This was not how I got through the sickness with Addy. Because I still ached for the baby I lost, and I hadn’t understood that you can’t replace the life involved in the failed pregnancy for the life involved in a healthy pregnancy.  

Miscarriage is more than a failed pregnancy. It’s the loss of life—a life.

That particular genetic combination of you and your husband that at conception fused together will never see the world... your olive skin tone, your husband’s dimpled chin and wide smile, your husband’s easy going nature combined with your fiery passion for life.  Whether you cringed at the bad timing or just rejoiced at the thought of a baby, that due date will not see the birth of a child. The ways you imagined making your announcement, the names you dreamed up, the decision you rolled around of when to find out the gender, the thought of where in your house this baby would fit…. All of that potential never got to be. It’s life. And its loss is worth mourning.

Here’s the words of Jesus: “Blessed are those who mourn for they shall be comforted.”

When you fail to mourn, you fail to receive the comfort found in the arms of our Father.

Maybe it’s just me, but each time I have lost, I have searched for comfort everywhere else. I’ve thought that if I could just get pregnant again, I would be comforted. I’ve thought that if I could just understand why, I would be comforted. I’ve thought that if I could just have some kind of proof of my loss, some kind of validation, be far enough along so that I could bury something, I would be comforted.

It wasn’t until I crumbled on the floor, cried crocodile tears, wailed from the deepest part of me… it wasn’t until I got angry, and slammed my fists on the table, punched my pillow, and spewed boiling hot words at God My Father of how much I wanted that life and how stupid this was and why?!?!!!… it wasn’t until I let myself leak tears and linger reflective on what might have been… when I let my guard down and pressed into Jesus and asked Him to meet me here…

When I chose to walk out on deep water, across faith gaps, places unexplainable… When I chose to eat the mystery rather than understand it, when I spoke the bravest words I know: “It is well with my soul.”  

Somewhere in the passing of time, in the permission to be sad, in allowing mourning to be a season determined by the God who knows the seasons and causes them to change without an ounce of help from anyone, somewhere in opening my hands and handing over these broken pieces that I can’t make sense of... I found comfort.


Sister, coming from someone who had a miscarriage in which I found out I was pregnant in the morning and started cramping that afternoon… yes, even that needed to be mourned. It didn’t look anything like grieving after knowing for almost six weeks. But that doesn’t matter. You don't need to compare your grief to another, you just need to give yourself permission to walk through it. 

Friends, this was a hard post to write, and I have a feeling if you have ever walked this road, it was hard to read too. I want you to know, I am praying for you. I have been praying for you. You are heavy on my heart because you are heavy on His. I think the best way to end is in His Word.

“Blessed are those who mourn for they shall be comforted” Matthew 5:4. 
“God is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in Spirit” Psalm 34:18. 
From the end of the earth will I cry unto you, when my heart is overwhelmed: lead me to the rock that is higher than I” Psalm 61:2.
"He that goes forth weeping, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him" Psalm 126:6.



How have you been at walking through the grieving process?


By Grace,
Amanda Conquers



If you missed the introduction to this series, you can find it HERE.

If you would like to continue reading, here are the rest of the posts in the series:
When You Are Trying to Make Something Out of Your Ashes
Project Still Hope
What Hope Really Looks Like
What You Need to Know When Fear is Suffocating You
Practical Advice for the Grieving Woman and Those Who Love Her