October Guest Writer: Jalynne Hall

“I'm sorry.” The words were spoken softly and gently as the doctor shook his head. Unspoken  fears confirmed, grief rushed in as tears and questions spilled out.  

It was the second week of October, our Canadian Thanksgiving. My husband and I, along with  our two young daughters had travelled 'home', back to the familiar landscape and community  where we grew up for a weekend filled with all things Fall – turkey with stuffing, apple pie, deep blue skies, family walks on the old railroad trail, trees arrayed in full autumn splendor and plans  to attend the local county fair on Thanksgiving Monday. This year seemed to hold an extra measure of gratitude. I was pregnant with our third little one and at eighteen weeks, the months of nausea and fatigue were starting to ease and my rounding belly was welcomed proof of the new life growing inside of me. With the first trimester safely behind us, I basked in this next stage of pregnancy. Earlier that week, I stood in the baby's room, overcome with a profound need to express my gratitude for the joy he (or she) had already brought to our family. It was a moment of surrender and quiet consecration; a whispered prayer that I would recall  with tender ache in the days and months ahead.  

On Thanksgiving Monday, instead of watching our sweet girls ride the merry-go-round and  squeal their delight on kiddie roller coasters, I sat in a small ER examination room awaiting ultrasound results. That morning as we were prepping for the Fair, a hint of pink changed our plans. With their Daddy and Papa, the girls set off for the Fair while my Mom and I made, what I assumed would be, a brief detour to the local hospital for a routine check up, 'just a little  bleeding', and we'd continue on with the festivities armed with the assurance that everything  was fine.  

It was not to be.  

The little one I lovingly carried for eighteen weeks had gone to be with Jesus.  

And yet, even in our deep sadness, we marveled at God’s sovereignty and great love for our little family. Among many God-ordained moments, we were ‘home’ for Thanksgiving with family and the Surgeon ‘on-call’ that holiday Monday was a family friend and a believer (when  his eldest daughter was a little girl, I had the privilege of being her prayer partner). How precious to be able to hold hands with my husband and my surgeon and pray as we took another step in the journey. It was as if God had handpicked the people who would cross our  paths in those almost unbearable early hours -- from the compassionate ultrasound technician who knew my parents to the anesthesiologist who leaned in close, sharing his sadness with ours as he confided that he and his wife had also experienced a miscarriage. I saw God's care in the hospital volunteer who brought me a ginger ale and a small purple bear to carry home and in the tenderness of the nurses who ministered to my grieving body and hurting heart.  

I remained in the hospital overnight, tucked in a makeshift supply-room-turned-recovery-room away from the hustle and bustle of the ER but close enough for the nurses to monitor. As I listened to the beeps and muffled hum of activity around me in the ER, I wept. Unbidden, tears flowed from my eyes throughout the night. I couldn't stop them; my body was grieving. Broken blood vessels and bloodshot eyes would bear witness to the sorrow experienced that night. I reached for my Bible and began reading in the Psalms, pausing to reread when I reached Psalm  62:8, “Trust in him at all times, you people; pour out your hearts to him, for God is our refuge.”  I decided that pouring out my heart to him must look an awful lot like weeping through the  night and even though I felt that my grief might swallow me whole, I knew that my grief wasn't  too much for Him. As a family, we'd been memorizing and meditating on the promises found in Lamentations 3:22, 23 and written on the small chalkboard in our kitchen... “Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.” Little did we know that these words would become even more precious. In that hospital room, I was reminded of lyrics from a beautiful song by Natalie  Grant, called 'Held': 

As we left the hospital the next morning, I knew that I could grieve and grieve deeply; the grief would not consume me. I was held.  

As we navigated the days following our miscarriage, we leaned hard into the unwavering hope we have in Jesus. We lost our little one two days before “Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day” on October 15th. Even in this, we knew His care as God wrapped us up in  the comfort that we were not alone. We prayed fervently that God would protect the hearts  and minds of our young daughters as they grieved and then watched as God answered those  prayers. One evening at bedtime, our eldest prayed, "Dear God, I miss our baby so much but I  know that You know what is best for us and I will trust you.” And, when the girls wondered aloud about our baby’s name, our youngest who was four at the time, thought for a moment  and in sweet confidence said, “Mommy, Jesus named our baby and we’ll know it when we get to Heaven.”  

Saying goodbye and heading home after Thanksgiving weekend, I watched the miles go by through tears as we travelled, talking quietly and listening to a playlist including, 'Held.” I sensed that this wasn't the end of our hard season and I commented to my husband, “I think this is the beginning. There is more to come.” One of the lines in “Held” reads, “If hope is born  of suffering, if this is only the beginning, can we not wait for one hour watching for our Savior?” 

There was no promise that we'd be spared future pain or sorrow. Indeed, for our family, it was the beginning of a very painful season of loss upon loss. Two months after our miscarriage, my beautiful Mom was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer. Even now, I can envision her holding our precious 'Baby Named By Jesus” in Heaven.  

I wear the word, 'held' on a necklace around my neck with 'Lam. 3:22,23' stamped on the back  – a gift from my sister – and a reminder that He continues to hold me. It is not the story I would have chosen; one woven with deep grief and unexpected loss. And yet, 'because of the Lord's great love, we are not consumed.” It is both/and -- deep grief and unparalleled hope. I promise you, His Word is true. His Word is hope. Just look at the words preceding  Lamentations 3:22,23. How I love wording in the New Living Translation:  How I love wording in the New Living Translation:  

Dare to hope, precious Momma.  

You are held. 

Jalynne is a writer, former classroom-teacher-turned-homeschooling-Momma, lifelong learner and lover of words and dark roast decaf coffee. She is passionate about helping others discover grace in the every day, especially in harder seasons of life and faith. Jalynne lives near Toronto, Canada and is married to Dwight, a chaplain to varsity athletes. Together, they are blessed to share their home with two super sweet daughters and one adorable pup.

Jalynne can be found at @jalynnewrites on both Instagram and Facebook.