On a scale of 1 to 10…

it’s quite possible that the last few days rank as a minus 6.

A few weeks ago, we got some news we weren’t quite expecting. I was pregnant. And though it wasn’t planned, my heart soared. I couldn’t wait to tell Isaac the news – and more excitingly, couldn’t wait to introduce him. Poppy Seed, as I called the new little one, would be due in March, and I was looking forward to that date so much.

Last week we had an idyllic holiday in Devon. I got back to realise I’d started spotting. Nothing too heavy, I thought, but went the the hospital to get it checked out anyway. They thought it was nothing to panic about. I wasn’t so sure.

I went to church the next day. The church I attend when I’m in London, is a pretty special place. It’s a place of Spirit Led Lunacy – you never quite know what you’re going to get when you walk though the door, but the one thing you can count on is walking out with a sense of knowing just how loved you are. The srermon really spoke to me. Sean spoke about Gideon – pathetic and scared as he was = and what’s the first thing God’s angel says to him?

“The Lord is with you, Mighty Warrior”.

I went home. Went to have a rest. And suddenly, the cramps started. So I got up to go to the loo, and I realised I was bleeding. Not spotting. Bleeding like – well, like a bleeding thing, really.

I went the the hospital. And after a particularly long faff around, they did a scan. And they couldn’t see our baby.

I actrually don’t cry very easily – not so you’d notice, anyway. I do cry, but it tends to be fairly hidden. Sitting in the hospital though, I disolved.

I feel – well, how do I feel. I feel – in a lot of ways, I feel lost. And some of that’s the physical effects – serious pain for two days, as well as hormonal madness and particularly low blood pressure does not make for a happy brain. But I also feel empty, and angry, and sad. I feel like my body has failed me, and like I’m failing my beautiful son at the moment. I’m mourning what could have been, and angry with precious, deeply loved friends, who’ve commited the “crime” of being pregnant, or having large families.

This. Really. Hurts.

But there’s a quote I love. I have no idea where it’s from, so don’t ask, but I’ve loved it for a while. It’s this -“Even in the darkest nights, songs of beauty can be sung”.

And to be honest, I don’t really want to sing them. It’s easier to stay in the dark in some ways. Singing seems too painful. And yet in this dark night, there are still songs of beauty. And they’re calling me out, slowly but surely, to face the brightness of the real world. Which is far too bright right now, but which I know offers a glory far beyond what I can ever imagine.

My precious husband and gorgous son, who love me and cuddle me and give me chocolate and put up with the tears and the physical aches and all the horrible aspects of this journey. Both of them have to walk it as well – even Isaac at three understands some of what’s going on, and is sad because he “REALLY wants a brother here, not with Jesus”, and yet they’re willing to bear the load with me too. Sam even washed up after tonight’s Brownie meeting for me – believe me when I say that’s out of his comfort zone on So. Many. Levels!

I’m looking on Facebook at the moment, and there are 64 people who have taken the time to tell me how much they care. 64 people from across the globe, and that doesn’t include all the people who’ve phoned and emailed and texted. 64 people who are willing to stand with me and say “yes, it’s shit. But it doesn’t stay that way”. This feels like a heavy burden. I can honestly say that when 64 people take it on, it seems suddenly a huge amount lighter.

A God who is always with me – who sees and knows my pain and my heartache and my anger and my confusion and my longing. And who knows I am weak – and yet who still looks at me and says “I am with you, Mighty Warrior”. Who takes my weaknesses and my pain and covers them with His Glory, so the end result isn’t my broken mess, but His Beauty.

A Brownie meeting which I simply did not want to run tonight, but which showed me beauty and pride and joy in a bunch of kids and adults who, quite often don’t get to feel that. The little girl with special needs who’s used to being bottom in everything – not acheiving, not being recognised – being rewarded for her perseverence and character, and receiving her first ever Brownie Badges. A public recognition that she’s amazing and incredible. And I got to be part of that. The leader who began her time with Guiding as a shy Brownie who simply wouldn’t speak to anyone, confidently running a meeting, and making her promise. Standing up and showing that she is more that the the obvious – that she is amazing and strong and confident, and she can do whatever she wants to. The young lass so overwhelmed with getting to join Brownies that she burst into tears. The girl who’s stuck in the middle of a difficult and challenging family situation, where her world is fragmenting, hearibg how valued she is.

I’m mot sure who’s going to read this. For those of you who are reading it largely because you’re amongst those who know what’s going on, and you’ve been part of those loving me through it – thank you. It’s not enough, but it’s all I can say. I am so very, very grateful, and I love you.

For anyone who’s reading it in the middle of your own dark night, I’m so sorry. I know it’s shit and you feel broken and hopeless and fearful and you don’t know what’s coming next. I know you’re mourning hopes that seemed so bright and now seem to mock you. I want you to know this though. I honestly believe with all my heart that those songs of beauty are coming. And I have no idea what they are, or where they’ll come from. Sometimes, they’ll seem far too loud for the darkenss you’re in, and you’ll want to hide and close your ears, and that’s ok. But they are coming, and they are infinitely more beautiful that you can possibly imagine.

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4 Responses to On a scale of 1 to 10…

  1. Love you lizzi, what can i say xxxx

  2. There are no words that I can say to make the dark night turn into morning quicker. I hope that you take time to take that roller coaster of emotions and in time maybe the dark won’t seem so dark anymore.

  3. Hugs. That’s all I can think to say. It’s shit. Xxx

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