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The Pain of Losing a Baby

Following my blog about miscarriage, I have heard from several friends who have very courageously shared their stories with me. I’m sharing parts of them here, to help us all learn more about this whole topic. It’s clear that the loss of a baby – at whatever stage – is a profound experience which these mums recall today as if it were yesterday.

What helped you through your experience?

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A 12-week old fetus

At first, what helped me was encouragement and care from my friends, most of whom were church friends.

The thing that was most helpful was the encouragement I received from other moms who had experienced miscarriages. Most of them had lost the babies early in the pregnancy and not as late as I did. But their empathy was precious.

One nurse helped just by rubbing my back as my body shook from shock.

It was helpful to have friends around.

My sister’s words “I just wish I was there to give you a hug” brought comfort and validated my experience.  That was the key…. I just wanted someone to say it was ok to feel sad.  I wanted my pain to be recognised and validated.

The knowledge that many people were praying for me gave me great comfort.

The experience of feeling that God was in control. Theologically I had always believed this, but this time I also experienced it in my feelings. I knew I was dying (they later confirmed this, saying that it was a miracle I was still alive) and yet I began to look forward very much to being with the Lord.

Previous to (this experience) I had been very ill and had had to lie in bed a lot. During that time I filled my mind with the Word of God and listened to quite a few sermons. I recommend filling your mind with the Word of God …. In crises like this He will bring it back to your thoughts. It helped me in bearing the pain.

Visits from dear Christian friends who came and prayed. Some just sat quietly by my side. Helped to make me comfortable, plumped up pillows, adjusted the blinds, asked me where they would like me to sit so that I would not have to turn my head uncomfortably to see them. Didn’t talk too much…. just came and sat quietly, a comforting presence. Not asking too many questions.

I was in a lot of pain and after the major abdominal surgery I wasn’t allowed painkillers because my liver couldn’t take them. Every cough, every movement, every visit to the bathroom was agony. Some of these friends were a great help with all of that, especially the trained nurses, and other sensitive people.

It was a great help that (my husband) kept so calm throughout the ordeal.

The…surgeon was quite a compassionate man. He visited me briefly every day to check on progress, and had just the right kind of reassuring touch, which helped to heal me further. The staff around you can heal you or hinder you. There is no doubt about it.

What helped me was eventually sharing what I had gone through with someone I trusted as I had kept it a secret initially. She encouraged me to grieve for my baby. I found this helped me to release all the pent up feelings I had kept hidden.

 

What was not a help to you?

A …nurse took it upon herself to pronounce that I must have sinned greatly for God to put me through such an ordeal. I responded that while I certainly wasn’t without sin, I wasn’t aware of any great deliberate disobedience. Needless to say I didn’t find her contribution to my recovery in any way helpful.

What did not help was when I told someone about losing my baby who had also had a miscarriage they said my loss was not the same as theirs as I had lost my baby at an earlier stage. This made me feel that my loss was not as significant.

Were there things that the medical professionals could have done differently?

Been more sympathetic, they were very matter of fact and clinical. They actually told me it was a good thing as it showed I could get pregnant as we had been trying to have a baby for three years. Even though I miscarried they said I should be pleased I had been pregnant.

When I lost the baby, I felt betrayed by the medical staff who couldn’t anticipate what was happening and didn’t prevent my miscarriage. Also, they had no answers….ever for WHY I lost the baby, and what I could do to prevent it happening again.

The medical staff were not attentive duing 12 hours of labor and delivery….Finally, after 12 hours, the baby was born … into a bedpan. And that is how she was presented to me a few minutes later….in a bedpan. When I returned to my room, the nurse aid walked in to give me a bath. She cheerfully asked me “Is this your first baby”? I told her I had lost my baby. She apologised. I was on the Obstetric ward with all the new mothers and babies…in a room with another woman who had miscarried. It would have been helpful to put us in private rooms isolated from the crying babies and happy mothers and guests.

The medical staff …. were really good. They kept me living in hope. Which in a sense was good but really not good. I think being real in love and truth would have been better for me. You see I knew by my loss of blood that it was really not going to be. It broke my heart lying in there for six days and then the following day I was taken to theatre for a D&C.

I was put into a side room – a kind gesture, but unfortunately it was in the maternity suite.  The nurses were more used to dealing with happy outcomes and, sadly I felt, ill-equipped when things did not go well.  Comments such as: “Sure you’re young, you have plenty of time to try again” , while maybe true, did not help. I couldn’t wait to get home.

Were there things that your friends and family could have done differently?

One thing that was NOT helpful was a comment from (someone who warned) me that ‘others would be watching’ me and how I handled grief…. that I should take care to keep it in check! Or that I should consider the effect my behavior might have on others.

I only had one visitor who wasn’t helpful. She immediately launched into all the medical problems of lots of other people she knew, her own medical problems, on and on she gabbled, couldn’t enter into my situation at all, and I wasn’t sorry to see her leave. But she was the one and only visitor in all that time who affected me like that, thankfully. Most were brilliant.

I kept it a secret which I now regret. Only my husband knew but I think he found it hard to really identify with how I felt. Perhaps I should have been more open so people understood why I was acting differently. It was my way of coping but I don’t feel it was the right way.

A church member, on my return to church after the miscarriage, quoted a verse to me: ‘Be thankful in all circumstances’. That was clearly not the time to quote a verse like that!

I hesitate to say this but some of the deepest hurts came from family.  I know my mum struggled to see me distressed but her comment “well I’ve had (x) miscarriages; you just have to get over it” didn’t help, in fact it made me feel that my feelings of deep anguish were abnormal.  This, together with a comment from another family member, “I’ll come and see you when you pull yourself together”, only made me withdraw and feel ashamed that I felt so bad.

What was the hardest part for you personally?

At the time I lost the baby I was one of 11 ladies in my circle of family and friends who were expecting babies. I was reminded, with each of their births, of my grief.

My hopes, expectations and plans I had already formed were all shattered. I had longed for this baby for three years and was ecstatic when I found out I was pregnant and subsequently devastated when my pregnancy ended.

Probably the hardest comment I heard/hear is that it was a miscarriage. It wasn’t. It was a baby at 36 weeks who should have lived. I think having a miscarriage must be way more painful than many people think, but carrying a chlid 8 months is a different experience (in the same way, losing a child after he is born must be still more excruciating.) Time is the healer, although I suspect the pain of loss is always there…

I feel the worst thing about losing my wee baby was the fact that I love children and she was mine. Emptiness. No grave to remember her by.  The worst thing was my sister who had a baby around the same time.

It was hard that my husband experienced grief much differently than me. Because he didn’t go to the funeral, he didn’t have any relationship with this baby and his own grieving was much quicker. Even today, it doesn’t affect him a lot, whereas I think of (the baby) when I see (a child of the same age)….. I felt quite alone through it all.

How did you deal with the loss from a spiritual point of view?

I felt that God had let me down.    I remember cooking supper in the kitchen and suddenly weeping. I put my head down on the counter top and was crying. My husband walked in and asked me what was wrong. I said, ‘I just lost a baby’!?! He said, ..’but that was 2 weeks ago’! I really was surprised how quickly he had moved on and how I was alone with this grief.

I did not know why the Lord had allowed this to happen. I knew that these things happen all the time. But 5 months into the pregnancy, the baby had personality for me. We named her. I am happy when my children, now, remember that they have a sister waiting to greet us in heaven.

I know my baby was a girl only cause I was so emotional one night and I prayed to God to show me what I’d lost  – a boy or girl. And in the dream that evening was a baby girl in a pink blanket on my knee.

I know my grief was compounded by the belief that it was not acceptable to feel so bad.  I had to hide my tears and pretend that I was ok.  I felt shame, for my tears but also for the thought that maybe I had inadvertently caused the miscarriage.  I found it difficult to pray.  I didn’t feel angry at God but I felt ashamed that I felt so bad.  I would have liked to to talk to someone who understood the mix of emotions and who could gently and sensitively direct me to God’s truth, love and acceptance.  I have learned so much from this experience and I hope it has made me more empathic.

I am grateful that all of that happened. I have understood better what others go through, I have understood what people suffer with anxiety and panic attacks as well as chronic pain. The whole experience has certainly not, in the goodness of God, been a wasted experience, and I have never regretted it. 

The only thing that helped me finally resolve the question ‘why’ was that I would be specially qualified to encourage others who would experience the loss of a baby through miscarriage.

A grave or burial?

I have one regret. It was not proposed to me that I could have had a private memorial service and arrange for a dignified way to bring this life episode to a close. I am sure my baby was incinerated without ceremony. But in my defense, I had never done this before. I wasn’t prepared for the decisions I should have been making. And the medical staff never offered me an option.

The fact back then there was no burial services left me with no grave. They just D&C you. Family went silent on me, except for my mum who said it wasn’t meant to be. My husband felt it but it is different for a man; we women carry everything and never forget dates and times; men think differently.

The surgeon came with a little jar holding the foetus. I was sleeping at the time, and I wish I had taken a better look when he woke me up. I especially wish I had asked if it was a boy or a girl. Even so, it helped it to sink in that we had just lost a wee baby, and I often thought back to that afterwards. He told me there had been ‘a lot of infection’ which they had now removed. That is quite a clear memory which has remained with me afterwards, even though I was dozy at the time. I think that is a helpful thing to do.

Memories

Going through it 20 years ago seems like yesterday.

I remember my experience of my miscarriage as if it were yesterday.  In reality it was 25 years ago.

Memories of this time of my life don’t preoccupy me unduly or define me. But it certainly was an extremely difficult time for me. It is difficult to revisit it, but I am quite happy to share my experience. I am fairly certain my experience is being repeated many times. If what I share of how I lived my experience can be helpful, that pleases me.

You can see how 25 years later it is still all so vivid in my mind. I still cry when I hear of miscarriages, and i still cry when I hear of abortions. Though I think I am over the grief of losing this little one.

Thank you for the opportunity to reflect on this Pauline.  The tears are close to the surface as I write this but as I read your experience it has helped me to know that that is ok.

We need to be there for one another, to let each other know that our grief is OK.

I would just like to thank all of these friends who have shared their stories so courageously. This is holy ground. And it demonstrates what a profound experience the loss of a baby is, as well as how personal a thing it is to each mum. Just as there is no ‘right’ way to grieve any loss, there is no right way to grieve the loss of a baby. And one thing is sure: the passing of time does not erase the memory of the loss. 

Jacque Watkins, a nurse who works with newborns and their parents, has written very sensitively about the experience of sitting with a woman who is losing her child through miscarriage. Jacque says this:

To grieve with another in the silence of their presence, THIS is holy work.

 

 

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Miscarriage – what’s the big deal?

I lost my first baby at 7 weeks. So I was barely pregnant, certainly not ‘showing’ – so what was the big deal? Wasn’t it just like a late period?    weaned child

Miscarriage is one of those subjects which some people shy away from; others would rather not think about; and still others don’t understand.

The NHS defines it this way: ‘A miscarriage is the loss of a pregnancy during the first 23 weeks‘.

Why, at only 7 weeks, was it such a big deal to me?

  1. It was my first pregnancy and I had experienced quite a bit of difficulty in conceiving so my Big Question was ‘Will I ever be pregnant again?’
  2. I believe that life begins at conception so, although I was only 7 weeks pregnant, I did consider my miscarriage the loss of a baby I had longed for.
  3. The circumstances of my miscarriage were traumatic. I had gone for a scan and there didn’t seem a to be a heartbeat so I was admitted to hospital.
  4. I was put in a ward with women suffering from all kinds of things. The woman in the bed next to mine was actually waiting for sterilisation and I could hear the doctor talking to her, ensuring that she understood that she wouldn’t be able to have any more children – while the life of my first child was ending.
  5. My husband wasn’t called; the hospital was short-staffed; occasionally a nurse checked on me, but no one was with me while I passed clots of blood – while I lost my baby and my dreams.
  6. The clots of blood I had lost were treated as ‘clinical waste’ – in fact, if I remember correctly, they were referred to as ‘the products of conception’. I heard them being incinerated while I wept alone. This is not so much the case nowadays, although it may still be the practice in some hospitals – see this link at the Miscarriage Association. But my baby was not just clinical waste – he/she was already a human being. ‘Around the eighth week of pregnancy…you may be able to find the sac and enclosed fetus….There is evidence of eyes that are sealed up and buds forming for arms and legs.’ (http://www.newkidscenter.com).
  7. My husband arrived at visiting time and was still not told what was happening – it was only when he came around the screens and saw me that he knew we had lost our baby.

How did I recover?

  1. Physically, I had a D&C (dilation and curettage) to ‘clean me out’ afterwards.
  2. I had a good gynaecologist who explained that often miscarriages of first babies are as if the body is having a trial run – that gave me hope for the future.
  3. Emotionally I grieved the loss of my baby but that was helped considerably by the fact that my husband called him/her ‘our baby’ – it wasn’t just that I had miscarried; we had both lost our baby. By the way, I think society needs to recognise the sense of loss for husbands as well as wives.
  4. Spiritually, as a Christian, I believed that my baby was now in God’s presence and that gave me hope that I would see him/her again one day; I was also filled with a sense of peace as I reasoned that, if God is a God of love, then nothing – not even a miscarriage – could change that. That gave me peace.

‘For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons,[a]neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.’ Romans 8:38.

 

Parenthood – pain or privilege?

For most of us, it’s a roller coaster. There seems no higher privilege when you are looking at your baby fast asleep in her cot; or when your little son has just won the 100 metres race at school sports’ day; or when your daughter has just graduated from university; or simply in those intimate moments when you get to share their lives, no matter what age or what stage they are.Father and childThere seems no greater pain when you are faced with a rebellious child who wants to go his/her own way, regardless of the consequences; or when your child has been diagnosed with a life-threatening disease; or when your teen or young person is broken-hearted and you want to carry their pain for them and can’t.

Mary and Joseph had the greatest privilege any parents could wish for, certainly any Jewish parents of the day would have wished for: to be the ones chosen to parent the baby Jesus. Yet it could also be argued that they faced greater pain than any other parent: as their boy grew up, they began to realise what was ahead of him – and of them. Let’s use a little snapshot from their story to provide us with an example of both the pain and the privilege of parenthood. You will find it in Luke 2:41-52.

PAIN

Mary and Joseph had been to the temple in Jerusalem for one of the annual Jewish feasts. This had required a 70-mile journey from their home town in Nazareth. After one day’s journey on the way back home, they discovered Jesus was not with them and they had to retrace their steps.      

V.46-48 ‘After three days they found him in the temple, sitting among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions. And all who heard him were amazed at his understanding and his answers. And when his parents saw him, they were astonished. And his mother said to him, “Son, why have you treated us so? Behold, your father and I have been searching for you in great distress.”

Anyone who has temporarily lost a child will know the tremendous sense of relief when he or she is found – but it is often mingled with at least some degree of anger at the distress the unknowing child has put the parents through. Here we see a very human side to Mary as she personalises what was not personal – ‘why have you treated us so?’.

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Being a parent is hard. The job doesn’t come with a manual and we all learn on the job. Sometimes we personalise what is not personal. Sometimes we react with anger. As parents, we probably never thought it was possible to love another human being so fiercely as we love our own children. But we perhaps also never thought another human being could make us so mad as our own children seem able to do. It is often when we become parents that we realise how desperately we need help, not just in coping with our children, but also in coping with ourselves. We find out things about ourselves that we never knew. God often uses parenting to show us how much we need help ourselves.

Joseph and Mary certainly needed help as parents. If they were surprised to find their boy In the temple with the rabbis, they were even more surprised by his reply when Mary rebuked him for causing them so much distress.

V.49-50 ‘And he said to them, “Why were you looking for me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?” And they did not understand the saying that he spoke to them’.

If parenting is a tough job, then parenting for Mary and Joseph had extra demands. Jesus was no ordinary child. Their task was unique. They didn’t understand who he was. No doubt there would be plenty more moments like this as they would seek to parent this extraordinary child.

PRIVILEGE

Paul Tripp says, ‘Parenting is hard, but there are few things in life that rise to this level of importance. God has chosen parents to be primary instruments in the shaping of a human soul.’

For Joseph and Mary, this privilege was even more evident, because they were being asked to parent a very extraordinary child. Even at the tender age of 12, Jesus understood who he was. He knew that his real father was God, not Joseph, and he knew that the temple was his Father’s house. Here he was in the temple, sitting among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions. And all who heard him were amazed at his understanding and his answers.

Yet the next verse tells us:

V.51 ‘And he went down with them and came to Nazareth and was submissive to them.’

That has to be one of the most amazing verses in the bible. The God who is the Creator of the universe, the One who holds the world in his hands, the One who flung stars into space, has first confined Himself to the womb of a peasant girl, then has been born in a manger with animals standing by, and now he submits himself to Joseph and Mary – young, inexperienced first-time parents who don’t understand who he is.

Not much wonder we read in the next verse:

V.51 ‘And his mother treasured up all these things in her heart.’

Earlier we read her of her pondering in her heart what the shepherds had told her about how they had heard of the birth of Jesus. No doubt, as Jesus grew up, Mary had a lot of moments to treasure, a lot to ponder.

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For this baby in the manger, this 12-year old boy talking to teachers in the temple, this one whom Mary and Joseph had the task of parenting, was none other than the Son of God. Mary cradled him in her arms – but he held her breath in his hand. Joseph would no doubt teach him his craftsmanship of carpentry – but one day he would carry a cross of wood. He would willingly die on it. Why?

Because he was no ordinary child.  Yes, in one sense he was the son of Mary and Joseph – they had been given the privilege of being his parents. But he was in actual fact the Son of God, the Redeemer. While on the one hand, Joseph and Mary met his needs as he was growing up, he had come to meet their needs – and the needs of us all. He came to rescue us. He knew we couldn’t do life on our own. He knew we couldn’t cope with our own failings, never mind those of our children. He knew we would keep messing up. He knew we desperately needed help.

“The good news of the kingdom is not freedom from hardship, suffering, and loss. It is the news of a Redeemer who has come to rescue me from myself. His rescue produces change that fundamentally alters my response to these inescapable realities. The Redeemer turns rebels into disciples, fools into humble listeners. He makes cripples walk again. In him we can face life and respond with faith, love, and hope. And as he changes us, he allows us to be a part of what he is doing in the lives of others. As you respond to the Redeemer’s work in your life, you can learn to be an instrument in his hands.” Paul Tripp.

Does that sound too good to be true? That’s why Jesus came. Maybe you realise you can’t parent on your own. Maybe you’ve lost sight of the privilege of it and just feel the pain of it. Perhaps you’ve messed up as a parent and need his help to start over again. Maybe you’re weary of the relentless physical demands of parenting little ones. Maybe you are exhausted from the draining emotional demands of parenting teens. Maybe your heart has been broken one too many times. Maybe you just don’t know where to turn.

Whatever your needs are, come to Jesus. He can forgive you and help you start over again; he can give you rest; he can give you wisdom; he will take you on an incredible journey which will not only change you but also allow you to be an instrument of change in others, not least your children. There can be no greater privilege.

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Mundane mothering moments

There are significant moments in motherhood:

the moment you hold the little bundle of new life in your arms and wonder what you’re going to do with it

the moment you wave goodbye at the school gates and wonder how she’ll survivegemma and kiki 2

the moment you see her graduating from school or college

the moment she finds her dream job

the moment she walks down the aisle with her brand new husband

But these are just the significant snapshots. It’s all the little moments in between which make up motherhood – the everyday moments of everyday life, the humdrum, the normal doing of life together, the getting them from babyhood to childhood through the teenage years to adulthood – the mundane moments of life. As Paul Tripp says, “If God doesn’t rule your mundane, then He doesn’t rule you. Because that’s where you live.” That’s where most of life takes place – in the mundane moments.

I remember, when my girls were still-not-yet teens, I was very worried about the teenage years. I asked a friend who was a mother of teens how on earth I would manage. She wisely said, in her slow American drawl, ‘Well, Pauline (pronounced ‘Paul-een’), you will just grow with your girls and by the time they are teenagers, you will find that you are able to manage’.

And she was right. I have grown along with them. It’s been a great adventure to see those two little girls grow into young women, develop their own personalities, acquire new skills and develop talents and gifts which make them the unique individuals they are today. They are no longer children, no longer dependent, no longer living at home. Now they are independent young women who are making a difference in their world. And on the way, their relationship with me has grown. When we get together we share our lives, we laugh (and sometimes cry), we compare notes and ideas (and funny stories), we shop until we drop (or until the money runs out), we discuss world events and church events (and plan weddings), we eat Asian food and drink smoothies (and sometimes go to McDonald’s just for old time’s sake).

And in all of that mix, I have grown along with them. God graciously gave me the gift of motherhood and blessed me with these two daughters. Together – in the mundane moments and in the significant moments – we have learned from each other. I am the person I am today because of them. They have grown me into who I am, because of the unique mix of our relationships together.

Gemma and Kiki, thanks for making me a Mum! I love you both.

The real gift on Mother’s Day

Mother’s Day reminds me of a teacher I had at school who believed that the top students shouldn’t get prizes because they already had their reward – their academic success.

As a mother, I feel that way about the gift of mothering.

Thanks for the gift, Gemma and Claire-Lise.

You are both such a blessing and have taught me so much!

I love you both.

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A Tribute to two Mothers

They lived in the same era. They even lived in the same town for part of their lives. And their husbands worked in the same place. They each raised children whom they loved and took great delight in their grandchildren as well. They loved God, their families, and the churches to which they belonged.

Neither of them rose to a position of great power or prominence – but within their own spheres of influence they were faithful. Both of them had a keen interest in missions – one of them prayed for missionaries, supported missionaries and often invited them to her home so she could hear their stories; the other opened her home to missionaries’ children and cared for them while their parents were overseas.

One of them was outgoing and vivacious: her laughter filled a room and was infectious to all who heard it; the other was quieter, never wishing to impose, not wanting to intrude, but nonetheless held her own strong opinions and convictions. One loved to dress in bright reds and purples; the other preferred more muted pastels. They both liked to drink tea out of china cups. One loved daffodils; the other preferred carnations.

One was gifted with words and on several occasions produced poems which she had written about different family members, always giving them a laugh because of their honesty and humour; the other was more gifted in cooking and hospitality – she loved to fill her house with people whom she fed with all sorts of homemade delights.

Both of them belonged to the denomination known as Plymouth Brethren; so neither of them held public roles in the church. But both of them used the gifts God had given them to serve others, both at home and in the church.

Neither of them looked for applause or affirmation; both of them hated having attention drawn to themselves. They got on with their lives and found contentment in their roles as wives, mothers and grandmothers.

They showed their love for those closest to them by worrying about them. ‘Have you put on weight?’ ‘Have you lost weight?’ ‘Ring me to let me know you’re home.’ It took me a long time to realise that but as I have become a mother myself it has been easier to accept that perhaps worry is a mother’s love language.

I shall forever be grateful for these two women – one of whom was my mother and one of whom was my mother-in-law. One brought me into this world and I had the unforgettable privilege of sitting at her bedside on 31 January 2011 as she passed out of this world. The other brought my husband into this world and later in 2011, I had the privilege of joining the family by her bedside during the last stages of her journey on earth. She passed away on 5 April 2011.

Two women called Betty. Two mothers. How fitting that I first wrote this on Mothers’ Day, 2011. I’m thankful for both of these women – two mothers who just got on with the business of mothering.

‘Their children rise up and call them blessed’ Proverbs 31:28.

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When God rewrites the text of your life, Part 3

Following my miscarriage (which I talked about in my blog ‘When God rewrites the text of your life, Part 2’, I didn’t know if I would ever get pregnant again. I had needed some medical help to get pregnant the first time so no one could be sure that I would ever have the child(ren) I longed for. Yet, in the midst of the anguish of losing that first child, I sensed God reassuring me that I would eventually have another baby – and this time without any further medical intervention.

I know that many women have difficulty conceiving for all kinds of reasons and many couples have very difficult choices to make. As with all things in life, it is easy for those who have not been in those particular shoes to pronounce judgment on what is permissible and what isn’t. To some couples God gives many children, with the greatest of ease; for others, the road to parenthood is rough and steep, requiring much fortitude and perseverance; for yet other couples, the ride is more like a roller coaster than a merry-go-round, with many disappointments before the final success; and for some couples the journey doesn’t end in victory at all and they have to deal with one disappointment after another. All I know is that God promises grace to each of us for the journey He puts us on – and He gives us that grace so that we can share it with others who journey with us.

And so I recovered from my miscarriage and looked to the future. In God’s grace, it wasn’t long before I was pregnant again and this time I enjoyed a healthy pregnancy which culminated in the birth of our first daughter, Gemma, on 19 November 1987. Her name means ‘a gem’ and so she was (and is) – a gem of beauty, a precious gift given to us by God. We were absolutely delighted and there was much rejoicing within our circle of family and friends.

A couple of years later, we decided to try for another child but at this point we were also relocating from N.Ireland to Switzerland, where we were going to be working with an international church just outside Geneva. In the midst of the move, we ‘forgot’ about trying for another baby and so we arrived in Switzerland.

All health care there is private and everyone has to have health insurance. While filling out papers for that, I had to answer a question as to whether I was pregnant or not. Realising that it was a possibility – not matter how remote – I took a pregnancy test………..and was thrilled to find out that I was expecting our second child!

The only problem was that, in those days in Switzerland, it was impossible to get health insurance for a pregnancy which had started before entering the country because it was viewed as a ‘pre-existing condition’. So I was covered for everything except the pregnancy and the birth – which would, of course, cost a lot of money. We explored the possibility of coming back to the UK to have the baby, but I was told that, since I was no longer a UK resident, I would also have to pay to have my baby there.

So we looked to the Lord for His provision. And what provision He sent! First a midwife joined our church. When she heard about our need, she offered to follow me for the duration of the pregnancy. The only problem was that she needed a gynaecologist to supervise her. No problem to the Lord! A gynaecologist joined the church and she agreed to supervise the midwife. So these two looked after me during my pregnancy – and I only had to go to the hospital for a blood test from time to time. Just before the time for the delivery, the Lord even added in a physiotherapist who offered to help me refresh my breathing techniques, prior to the birth!

When the time for the delivery came, I had arranged with the local hospital to do an ‘ambulatoire’ which meant I would stay less than 17 hours and so keep the costs down, and I would have the minimum of interventions for the same reason. I did run over the 17 hours a little bit and I did need an epidural in the end – but the end result was another beautiful daughter – Claire-Lise – born on St. Patrick’s Day in 1991. Her name means ‘bright, light’ – and she lives up to her name, just as Gemma does. She has a desire to bring light to those who are most in darkness, and we have been excited to see God using her to do that.

And so on this St. Patrick’s Day as we celebrate Claire-Lise’s 21st birthday, I pause to remember and to thank God for rewriting the text of my life. When I lost my first baby, I could not have imagined how God would have rewritten the text and given me not just one more, but two more, children. He has given us two wonderful daughters who have not only brought us much joy but who are also determined to make a difference in the world where God has placed them. I admire them as I thank God for them.