All Is Grace

"Mack, did you see the sunset? Look how pretty it is!" Mackenzie and I are kicking around her soccer ball in the back yard on a Friday night. I think the typical response of most five-year-olds would have been something to the extent of, "Yeah, that's cool mom, now can you kick the ball to me?"  Instead Mackenzie looks at me and says, "I know mom, I already saw it.  It reminded me of Baby Finley." And then my heart went and melted into a giant puddle.

At the time that we lost our baby to miscarriage, Mackenzie wasn't even quite three.  We don't talk about Baby Finley very often but it was important to us when we miscarried, that Mackenzie understood the significance of human life and the love that we felt for that baby even though we never held him or her in our arms.  

I struggled a lot with how to process my miscarriage.  Science and health books told me it was "natural" and that 1 in every 4 pregnancies result in a loss.  Friends, in their desire to help me move on told me, "it was for the best" or "God was just trying to protect you from a baby who would have been born with some type of birth defect."  My doctor used the words "chemical pregnancy".  But all the research, all the words, all of the best intentions just all seemed incredibly shallow to me. I kept returning to what I knew to be true-- which was that God was (and is) the author of all life.  I believed there had to be a purpose for my little one's short life and that it has to be more than just science.

And two and a half years later, what I'm even more sure of than ever is this-- God didn't want my baby to die. But Satan did. God is a God of life, not death. Satan stole something good from me and what he intended for evil, my God created good.  Satan watched me suffer and he was proud and thought he had done good work  That he had succeeded in bringing me pain.  

But here's the pretty cool part. God used the short life of my baby and he used that loss to breathe desire to be a mom again into my heart. And almost one year later to the day of my miscarriage, after 51 hours of labor, I gave 8 pushes in a mountain side hospital room and I pulled a 6 lb 14 oz. baby boy onto my chest and I experienced more healing and more peace than Satan ever thought he could have taken from me. 

He didn't win. The beautiful sleeping boy in the next room over is proof that God wins. 

Proof that God loves me. That He's got my heart. Proof that He watched me from the time that I held my first baby in my arms and I struggled to be a good momma to her.  He watched as I wrestled day after day, night after night over whether or not we should take the risk and have a second baby. And maybe struggle again with post partum depression. And it took losing my second baby for me to realize how badly I wanted to be a momma again.  It took losing that baby for me to find healing. And that's what God does.
He takes us in our brokenness and He brings redemption. 

And sometimes, that redemption comes in the form of beautiful little boy.  A little boy who is the spitting image of his daddy.  Who loves to make silly faces and show you where his belly button is. Who loves to snuggle and read Pete the Cat books. A little boy who is fearless and only wants to climb and go down the tallest slides.  A little boy who loves to sleep and when he's not sleeping he carries his blankets around with him everywhere.  A little boy who is so full of life and love and has completely captivated my heart.

As difficult as it was for me to lose baby Finley, I have to recognize that without that loss, I would not have Levi with me today. The timing of his little life was no mistake.  Two years ago when I spent weeks and months grieving the loss of our sweet baby, I didn't realize what God had in store for me. For our family. Without a doubt, one of favorite things about God is that He uses our greatest losses and turns them into our greatest victories. All is Grace!