Receiving God’s Blanket of Grace

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It is just days before the March for Life takes place in our nation's capital when many thousands will march and stand united in the truth that all life is sacred from womb to tomb. This post is a personal story from my life when God walked me through my own journey to receive His Grace  when life throws you a curve ball.

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Motherhood had always been a part of my story. I’m the girl who read Cheaper by the Dozen and promptly wrote out twelve first and middle names for my future children.

Time and circumstance tend to make matters clearer and after 12 years of marriage I felt that I had done my part to keep the Johnson name alive and well by giving birth to four sons and one daughter. My romantic ideals of raising a large family were overshadowed by the day to day realities of life with kiddos.

We soon began full time ministry and I hoped to start some new chapters in my life.

But what happens when life throws a surprise party and you wish you hadn’t been invited?

I found myself unexpectedly expecting. Before long my life would be consumed with: doctor’s visits, weight gain, physical adjustments in my womb for a growing baby. Quiet times and sleep times would not be my own for who knows how long.

Sigh. *…groan*

My hubby was excited to welcome another player to the team and seemed unaffected by the alterations this little addition would make. When we’d pass the newborn department in Wal-Mart, he would grin and point at cute baby clothes. But I couldn’t look at them or share his happiness. That jolt of reality stirred up bitter feelings I quickly tried to hide.

Day after day, I grew to resent the fact that God, who is the one who opens and closes wombs, had allowed this to happen to me. Especially since I had developed an issue with blood pressure and residual weight gain from my previous pregnancies.

Truth be told, I didn’t want to be pregnant. I was ready to move on.

But I certainly couldn’t tell my pastor/hubby that, though I think he sensed it.

Near the end of my second month I noticed the faintest pink on the toilet paper. My stomach lurched at the thought that something could be wrong with me or the baby. I nervously prayed, “Lord, please keep the baby safe. Help me to know what to do.” I didn’t see it again for a few days. And then it reappeared. The doctor did some tests to see if the pregnancy was progressing properly.

Each day I prayed for God to help me and the baby as I struggled with the waves of conflicting emotions that threatened to sink me.

Each day I reminded God that He got me into this mess in the first place.

 I would not have chosen to get pregnant now.

 I would have done things differently.

The miscarriage happened at the worst possible time when my husband and our two oldest planned to be an hour and a half away for a monthly regional youth gathering. The bleeding intensified as did the contractions, but I tried to be strong and self-sufficient when it came time to say good-bye to them. My husband asked me twice if I wanted him to stay. At first I said no. Then fear got the better of me and I finally said that I needed him with me. This was new and frightening territory for me.

I had labored five times before this and delivered healthy babies, and everything had been fine. This time, my laboring resulted in loss. My womb became empty but my arms would never embrace this child.

Death makes life real. 

In Ecclesiastes 7:2 we read, “It is better to go to the house of mourning than to go to the house of feasting, for that is the end of all men; and the living will lay it to heart.” I lost a child that day. One for whom I hadn’t even prepared its first receiving blanket or newborn sleeper to wear because it was too hard to embrace the impact this life would bring. One whose days, even in utero, had been designated by a gracious and loving Creator God.

God ushered me through a necessary grief for a life ended. In mourning that tiny babe, I began to mourn the demise of my own conceptions of what my life should look like.

I was challenged as to how far was I willing to trust God? He who opens and closes the womb also knows my blood pressure at this very moment. He knows my sitting down and my rising up; my struggles and my hopes and my dreams. He holds it all in His hands.

A year later I lived in a different state reliving the same circumstance. But this time, with the help of God’s Grace, I received the developing life within me joyfully. Joy for the child and joy for what God would birth in me.

I could look at baby clothes in the store and muse about the little one who might wear them, wondering who this child would turn out to be. Hopeful anticipation had made its home in my heart. I had even pulled out my collection of receiving blankets and newborn clothing and started preparing them for the baby.

But it was not to be. My seventh and last pregnancy ended at 11 weeks gestation. It was just as messy and terrifying as the first miscarriage. But this time I had a greater appreciation for life’s preciousness and the One who created it, resulting in a deeper sense of mourning and loss for the life I would never mother here on earth.

“Blessed {and} enviably happy [with a happiness produced by the experience of God's favor and especially conditioned by the revelation of His matchless grace] are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted!” (Matthew 5:4 - Amplified Version)

Even in mourning there is a receiving that is done, wrapped in the matchless, varicolored Grace of God. 

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