Hopeful Or Hopeless

I know the feeling of hopelessness. I have lived in this dark state for weeks, feeling like there is nothing that will lift my heart out of this deep place. I didn't realize there was such a low point for me until I look back on these weeks since we lost our baby. The worst feeling for me was when we were in the hospital right after our miscarriage had just happened.

I was sitting in the hospital bed while my body was both trying to recover from the procedure in the ER and also still finish the birthing process for the remainder of our pregnancy that the doctor was unable to remove. My body was in pain, I was freezing cold, and my heart was shattered. My healthy, strong, growing baby that we saw on the ultrasound the day before, all of a sudden, was taken from me, and now my body and mind didn’t know how to react. I knew that every couple of hours, they would do a blood count on my hCG levels, and I would watch it go down from 78,000 to 32,000, then to zero, and these numbers were a constant reminder that my baby was gone. I kept touching my little bump, waiting to feel any sign of life. I knew God could do miracles, and I longed for Him to come through for me, but I knew in my heart my baby was gone and my hope in God was done.

This is the best way for me to describe the feeling of hopelessness. My body that was growing this child and doing everything in its power to work the way God had designed pregnancy to be, and instead, now my body had to adapt to the death of a baby and the birth of the baby all in a couple of hours time span. My future plans were gone, my tears never-ending, and my head unable to process what was happening, but my heart knew. As I was reading this morning, I noticed the poet in Lamentations describes this feeling perfectly.

My soul is bereft of peace; I have forgotten what happiness is; so I say, “My endurance has perished; so has my hope from the Lord. -Lamentations 3:17-18

We choose to cling to hope, but we must have endurance to continue holding onto hope. Hope isn't something that automatically refills every morning. Over the past couple of weeks, after getting my period and other moments that I believe could also have been a period (I will save that post for another time), Ian and I have been wanting to start trying for a family again. I don't know if my body is physically ready or my mental space is fully aware, but I do know that Ian and I are desperate to have children one day and my biological clock is running out. My body is cramping, hurting, and feeling all of these weird things, and my brain doesn't know how to process it. Some days, I wake up thinking we are still pregnant and this has all just been a bad dream, only to realize the reality of our situation and hang my head in shame.

In the season of life for me right now, even though I may not have as intense pregnancy symptoms, I still take a pregnancy test every other morning, knowing in my head that it will be negative, but also hoping in my heart that there is a chance that it’s positive. That balance of hope, where part of you is so stuck in the negativity and the hurt that it feels easier to shy away from hope, is in a constant battle with the other part of you that longs for goodness and peace in your future. The amount of money I’ve spent on pregnancy tests over the past couple of years is atrocious. I honestly feel like Clearblue Digital should sponsor me at this point. Yet I keep testing. I keep trying to cling to that small glimmer of hope that a baby could be in there. I keep praying for a family. Where does this hope come from? 

I'm working through a Bible study from The Daily Grace Co. on Lamentations, and the author of the study describes the poets words regarding hope in this way.

"Even the hopelessness that the poet feels at his lowest point is a merciful gift from the Lord. The poet's greatest need is to know his need for the Lord. Sometimes, there is nothing more gracious for the Lord to strip us of the things that we have put our hope and trust in apart from Him. In some cases, this means being brought to the lowest point and then finding that nothing is constant except for the Lord. The poet thought that he had lost his hope from the Lord, but truly he was speaking those words out of sorrow of having lost everything but that." - The Daily Grace Co.

The only constant thing in life is God and the goodness He gives to His people. The hardest thing for me to wrap my head around is the fact that even though you have a positive pregnancy test, that doesn't mean you will actually hold your baby. Ever since I was little, seeing a positive test immediately meant there was a guaranteed chance you were going to be a mom—no statistics, fears, horrors, or anything negative. Pregnancy was a beautiful and perfect gift. Now, there is an uncertainty that follows the positive test. There are so many different steps and goal markers in pregnancy that women have to reach before actually having a physical baby. My view on pregnancy has forever been changed.

But while this unknown is scary, we can have hope that the Lord is good. And He is constant. And in a world of unknowns, fears, and loss, God will remain steady, stable, and is ready to refill our cup with hope that only He can provide. Through days of hope and hopelessness, God is still there. Some days we rejoice with Him, and others He just holds us close. But He is there regardless.

If you feel hopeless or lost today, I encourage you to think of God holding you close. You may not be able to find hope immediately, but you can find a kind and loving savior who wants the best for you, which is good enough for today.