whisper

When we pray in faith for miracles, the miracle is faith itself.

I am still struggling with the idea of faith. I still struggle with the hope of the Gospel. It's the struggle of humanity, sure. But I'm struggling as a mama who wanted so badly for the baby inside me to be alive. I am trusting that God is good. I am trusting that God loves us deeply.

We sing a song in church about waiting in silence for God. I felt that weight the long days between our first inconclusive ultrasound and finally getting to talk with the OB. I resonated with the lyric "you breathe life where there is none." I sang this song in the crowd at church the last week I was able to go, tears streaming down my face with the hope that the God who created the little life inside me could make it come back to life after all. But that's not what happened.

My soul stings with mourning still, two short weeks after a phone call confirmed that we would never get to meet our baby. I wanted to be "better" by now, unsure of what that looks like. I wanted to move on and be ready to love the alive people surrounding me. I want to love my neighbors, but for now I keep saying "soon" or "not yet" to every invitation. Maybe my heart will hurt less next week. Maybe I'll be ready for people and parties. Maybe the mourning will turn to joy. Just not yet.

Today was the kind of beautifully sad day that people who like Fall romanticize. I have never liked Fall. I like the start of school. I like Cougar football. Otherwise, I always say that I'm mourning the loss of Summer. Now, even saying that seems irreverent and irrelevant. I spent the commute home today weeping with the wind and the rain, mourning the baby that never got a heartbeat and mourning the future that our family only dreamed for a few weeks this September. I mourned like the Fall.

I saw friends post their candle pictures and epitaphs to babies never met for the #waveoflight on Tuesday. I cried with friends in person, over the phone, and with tender text messages sent with prayers and kind emojis. When friends and family ask what we need, I keep asking for prayers because we don't know what we need. We have the gentle and raw support of community, praying over our marriage and our family. We don't need any more baked goods or offers to take our kid. We just need time together as a family right now.

We named our baby Whisper. Driving home from the hospital, I asked Beau if that could be baby's name, since we only just heard about it before learning it was gone. I told him that baby Whisper wouldn't have to worry about getting teased in middle school for their name since they wouldn't have to go to middle school. We're trying to make jokes, but our hearts are too sad for them to be funny. Baby Whisper never had to experience pain, so we're grateful for that.

The other reason for baby Whisper's name though, is a story tucked into 1st Kings. Elisha hides in a mountain cave, waiting to hear from God. There's a whirlwind and a tornado, first, but then God's overwhelming and awesome presence is felt in a whisper. That's how God is speaking to us now.

We've experienced the whirlwind, trying to prepare our family for foster care and a baby on the way. We've experienced the earthquake, hearing the results of ultrasounds and blood draws.
Now we're listening for the whisper.

We prayed for a specific miracle.

God revealed something deeper and greater.

Thank you, friends, for your prayers.