“You don’t look pregnant anymore.”

I began to cry as we walked out of the doctor’s office.

“I’m so mad I could cuss.” I said standing in the parking lot looking less pregnant.

“Do it.” He said giving me permission.

“I can’t.”

“Then I’ll do it for you.”

And, then…he said a word that he never, ever says. In that moment, I was like Eve but instead of an apple I was handing him and imaginary swear jar. Saaaaayyyyy it.

I stood there in utter shock and then I doubled over laughing through the tears and said something snarky like, “You are going to split HELL wide-open.”

We laughed through aching hearts and, somehow, I know that everything is going to be okay. But, if I’m honest, it took a few years to be okay.

That was over a decade ago and I was certain I couldn’t handle one more loss. All of the things that I desperately wanted in my life seemed to slip so quickly out of reach. I became a woman who was really good at losing things. Misplaced faith and a burning question, “Why me?” At that time in my life, I kept a journal and was faithful in writing down my feelings.

The sound of my pen on paper that night sounded like a thousand whys asking all the wrong questions, but mainly just feeling sorry for myself. I remember a moment of being still and knowing that God was with me. The rhythmic sound of my hand brushing across the page ceased as I wondered if I was sinning for being angry. Just moments before I was in the Emergency Room looking at an ultrasound of an empty womb, no life inside of me. Two days before that I was elated because I was pregnant, but as we traveled to my parent’s house to celebrate Christmas something felt off. Not long after we arrived I began to hemorrhage, I rushed into the bathroom and gasped when I saw my reflection. I caught a glimpse of fear and death in darkened, swollen eyes. I knew I had lost the baby that I longed for.

I chronicled the next three years my ups and downs; another miscarriage, another diagnosis, surgery, and then treatments that made me feel like hell was one mile from my house because of the hot flashes from medically induced menopause. I craved carbs, cried a lot, my bones hurt, and not to be overly dramatic or anything but…I felt like I was dying.

I went deeper than I had ever gone in my quest to find God in my loss. Later I realized that God was big enough to handle all of my uncertainty. Feeling much like I only deserved anger in return, all I felt was lavish grace; the kind that covers all the cracked places inside of jagged hearts from a million questions that began with why.

I dove headfirst into a layer of darkness and sadness for a period of time, fighting to feel joy again and then the fog lifted. Slowly the light turned on inside of my heart. I started seeking God instead of just seeking healing in the hopes that I could have what I wanted. Hope began to rise as I learned how to relax and let go of things that didn’t matter. I took off that mask we wear as women, that one that says, “I’m fine” when we really aren’t.

I found true depth in Christ during those broken moments and realized that all the things that broke my heart were the very things that God would use the most for his glory. And he has, far beyond my wildest dreams.

It turns out that losing things really built the very best things in my character. Each day I    look at two girls that call me “Mom” and know what a miracle they are. And, I’m grateful.

Those tattered memories that I wished had never happened became a really great place to start in ministry. All of that baggage became a platform because I learned how to make friends with the broken pieces in my story. I stopped dragging dead weight from the past and started taking steady strides towards real healing. But, I don’t think the goal is to be unbroken anymore like I once thought. The goal is to be broken in all the right moments, to bravely lean into the pain, and ask God to do something with it.

I remember what that loss felt like and I promised to never forget those who suffer great loss on Mother’s Day. It’s still hard to write about it, but I know someone else needs to know that they are not alone. You are on my heart and in my prayers.

Much love to you,

Jennifer Renee