Staring at the pink, gelatinous blob in the toilet, I wondered if I was looking at my baby—the baby I was surprised to learn was coming just weeks earlier, when two lines appeared in the test window.
I was 27 and had been married just six short years. While we learned the ropes of wedlock, family planning was on the back burner. And the plan in place at the time was PREVENTION. I actually wondered if I ever wanted kids at all. I was busy climbing the corporate ladder and living as a seminary widow—it’s what the Bible school students’ wives called themselves.
My husband, Jimmy, was wearing his teacher hat by day and Bible student hat by night, leaving little time for us. I almost felt a little like I was living single, which made it even more amazing when I noticed my menstrual cycle didn’t come calling one month. God had some family planning of His own in mind.
This Is a Test
I bought a pregnancy test because I didn’t know what else to do. It wasn’t the first test I’d ever taken, so I really wasn’t expecting a positive result. But there they were, side by side—two lines defying my instincts. I showed the test to my husband, and then off to the doctor I went. But I was still swallowing the whole mother-to-be concept. It honestly didn’t feel real.
And the doctor’s visit didn’t help. They got a negative result with their test, but they assured me this wasn’t out in left field. They casually sent me to have blood drawn. Ah, yes! Now we were getting somewhere. I would know in no time if Pearce Baby Number One really was in the oven.
I went to the lab; they stuck me and said, “See you in a week.”
I was dumb-founded. A week? How hard could this be? Pregnant or not was all I wanted to know, and instead they slapped me with a wait-and-see, offering no other explanation. Since I was young and shy, I didn’t assert myself for more information. I left the lab even more confused and not fully convinced I was ever really pregnant to begin with.
To Be or Not to Be
My husband found my detailing of the day’s events equally frustrating and confusing. We didn’t know what else to do, so we went on with our lives, holding fast to the assurance of knowing the verdict was coming the following Friday. Deep inside, I was asking God for help in the wait.
By the time the weekend was over, God had begun to change my heart. Each day, I cozied up a little more to the thought of being Mommy—that Jimmy and I could be parents. Maybe even pretty good ones. And each day, God peeled another finger off the control I sought to have over my life. Eventually, I not only liked the idea of having a baby, I began to hope for one.
But around Thursday, something happened. Though I had no pain, I began by spotting. Little by little, more and more things that were inside of me came outside of me. I dismissed most of it as implantation bleeding or normal discharge until I saw something unusual in the toilet at work.
“That can’t be normal,” I thought. My gut told me it probably wasn’t good.
Friday rolled around, and Jimmy and I went together for the second blood draw. Our hope for parenthood was deferred with a not-pregnant verdict. But I had been. The nurse explained that the pregnancy hormone was so low in the first test, they needed to see if it was going up or down. The results proved I had miscarried because now the hormone was absent, along with Baby Pearce Number One.
Miscarriage Didn’t Rock My World
Strangely, the loss didn’t rock my world. I was a little confused, still not sure what had even happened, but I didn’t break down. I felt a little guilty that I wasn’t torn up like women in other miscarriage stories. I thought maybe I was heartless because, though I was sad at the loss, I was completely okay. I was at rest that God, the Creator of everything, was utterly in control. I didn’t—and don’t always—understand what God was doing, but I honestly didn’t have to know. I was—and still am—at peace with Him.
Looking back, I can trace God’s hand all through that strange season. And I’m thankful for the work He wrought. Before we entered the trial of miscarriage, I wasn’t even interested in having kids. After, well, I actually felt ready—as ready as anyone can be—to be a mom.
God primed the pump of my heart to be open to His plan in the dark corners of a pregnancy that ended in miscarriage. In the end, God is my rock—my world.
Psa_62:6 He only is my rock and my salvation, my fortress; I shall not be shaken.