Not too long ago, I wrote about my recent miscarriage. Between then and now, the time has continuously been filled with good and bad days. Sometimes, it feels like it was all a bad dream, but other days, the reality of what happened makes me feel like I am being hit with a ton of bricks.
The day we learned of our second pregnancy, my husband and I discussed another Easter pregnancy announcement. Last year, it was that holiday when we told our loved ones about our firstborn, so we thought it would be a fun surprise this year, too. After all, the pregnancy itself was a surprise to us!
As you know, that announcement never came. Instead, I was faced with an empty womb on the day that we celebrated the empty tomb.
Thankfully, because of Jesus, I know without a shadow of a doubt I will get to see my baby. But until I reach the pearly gates, I’m left reeling in the pain of what-ifs and what could’ve been.
Although we lost our little one early, it took us mere minutes after we learned we were expecting to come up with a name. If it were another little boy (which we were almost positive he was, based on my last pregnancy’s symptoms), we decided on the name “Ezra.” In Hebrew, it means “helper.”
We couldn’t wait to see his little face alongside his big brother. But all too soon, we learned we would never get to hold our little Ezra this side of heaven.
After I learned I had lost him, I began to pray that I would hear that name. It may sound foolish, but at the time, it felt like it was such a small way to know that my baby was real, even though I never got to hold him or see his little face. I wanted to see and hear that name specifically, although I never told anyone of this desire.
I truly wanted to know that the Lord saw me in my hurting, and it seemed like a simple request. The first Sunday I went to church after the loss, I secretly wanted that sermon from the Book of Ezra. But it wasn’t.
Weeks passed on, and still, I hadn’t heard that name.
Until one day, I started doing laundry.
At 5 months old, my firstborn started fitting into 9-month-old clothes. So, without further ado, I opened up the box of 9-month-old clothing that people had given us before his arrival. As I checked tags and sizes, a small pair of pants caught me off guard.
The name “Ezra” was written in all caps on its tag.
My knees have never hit the ground so fast.
Of all the people who had gifted us clothing or sent us (fabulous) hand-me-downs, not one of their children had that name.
Instead, it was my baby’s name.
Some may call that a coincidence, but I know the truth. The Lord had answered my request! He had seen me hurt and answered a prayer hidden in my heart.
As I began to hold those little pants so tightly, I recalled Psalm 139:1-6. It says:
O Lord, You have searched me and known me.
You know when I sit down and when I rise up;
You understand my thought from afar.
You scrutinize my path and my lying down,
And are intimately acquainted with all my ways.
Even before there is a word on my tongue,
Behold, O Lord, You know it all.
You have enclosed me behind and before,
And laid Your hand upon me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;
It is too high, I cannot attain to it.
Not only had He seen me and my hurting heart, but He knew my thoughts and my desires. I believe, at that exact moment, my Father wanted to make sure that I knew exactly Who held my baby.
Sometimes, it’s easy to feel that in the middle of our pain, He isn’t there or that He isn’t listening to our pain. In reality, He sees, knows, and wants to heal our brokenness. And sometimes, He accomplishes that goal by letting us see unborn babies' names on gift-given clothes.
In my grief, I could’ve turned my eyes away from heaven and pouted. And although I have had my share of pout-filled days, the truest thing I know is that I serve the only One who can give beauty to the ashes of a broken heart.
Today, if you, too, are in a trench of grief that seems too high to crawl out of, I hope you know that you are also seen and loved by the Most High God. If you hand Him over your brokenness, He is ready and willing to help you through it.
