when hope is shared

I got the text.

I just found out I'm miscarrying. Thanks for your prayers.

And my Mama-heart is stuck in my throat.  The tears well in my eyes as the devastation of this loss is all too familiar.  The age-old questions of why, Lord, why linger in my prayers.  And I wonder, no, I know that her heart breaks the same as mine did.

I remember the advice that I rejected at the time.  The truth that was spoken then that I hated, is now true in my life.

It was necessary.

Why God?

In my weakness He is made great.

But, God, it hurts.

So, trust.  He is sovereign and He has a plan.

The truth that was spoken said if it weren't for my loss, I wouldn't have the one I labored over for hours upon hours.  And it is true.  My sweet Jude is the one I was supposed to parent and raise.  I want to tell her this.  Of the gift that comes after the suffering.  But those words are hard to swallow when you haven't met your one yet.

I know what the Lord told me.  That He is more powerful than science.  His plan is greater than this event.  His will be done.

And I wonder if it happened to me, so that I could be a friend to her.  Sharing my story.  Sharing in pain.  Sharing in waiting.

The stories shared were medicine to me.  The survivors who thrived and told me of the days to come.  The women I will never forget in their raw comfort.

I wasn't alone.  Neither is she.  Neither are you.

Friend.  This is not the end.  He does not allow pain carelessly.  And your story will one day bring light to anothers' dark place.  This is what happens when pain (and hope) is shared.