Revelation 21.

This past Sunday I had the privilege of hearing my husband preach at Beauvais Manor {a nursing home in the city}. What a humbling and life-giving experience. I couldn’t help myself from getting teary as I heard this man I love dearly preaching on Revelation 21—talking about the day when all of our suffering will be no more in the midst of his own internal heartache. Everyone in the room could relate to the pain that comes with life in our broken world. It was a beautiful and convicting sermon.

“And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” Revelation 21: 3-4

After the service, a sweet woman asked us if we had children. Sam instantly responded “no”, as we have become so accustomed to in the past {how many times do you hear that question 3.5yrs into marriage?}. I became teary {surprise!} and answered with, “we have one baby in Heaven”. The elderly woman grabbed my arm and pulled me near. She prayed. And prayed. And continued to pray over me as she held me close. Then she told me she has nine earthly children and eight Heavenly babies. Here is this woman, fully aware that she is coming near to meeting her Savior, weeping over me in the pain she holds so close to her heart. Weeping because she understands suffering. She said at the end of her prayer, “I am anticipating with the greatest joy getting to hold those eight heavenly babies soon; it’s getting me through all these earthly aches, pains and disappointments. Someday you will take hope in this, my dear child.”

Sam and I were able to talk when we got home about our struggle with what is appropriate to say when people ask us those questions now—“do you have children?;” “When do you want to start a family?” We do have a child. We already started our family. I guess we risk people feeling awkward. I guess we risk people feeling bad for us or feeling uncomfortable around us. I guess we take a good risk in allowing people to share their story with us, and learning from others, as they remind us of the gospel. This is all very confusing to me, and on top of that, it’s utterly painful. I welcome your insight, dear readers. Maybe those questions or the rawness of our miscarriage will subside after our first earthly child is born?

Other then the obvious, we are doing okay. We are overwhelmed and feeling exhausted—and counting down the days until this phase of seminary-life will be over. For some reason, it feels like May 16th will bring some much needed relief. The past four years have been good in so many ways—we have experienced life as a newly married couple! We bought a car! We’ve met amazing people who will forever be dear friends! We came to love living in a city—after 22 years of living in the suburbs {it took some adjusting}! Sam has gained great knowledge that he will forever be grateful for! We can say with 100% confidence that the last four years of seminary in St. Louis is exactly where we needed to be. God has used this time in many ways to shape us. Now its time to move on—we are ready! 28 days and counting :)

Thank you for loving us so well.

Love,
Katelyn & Sam

Grateful.

Dear family and friends,

I won’t be able to get through this blog without a constant stream of tears down my face, with immense gratitude to you. We have experienced Christ’s love like never before these past four weeks following our miscarriage. Thank you for pouring into our hurting hearts through calls, texts, emails, flowers, meals, care packages, and so much more. We are eternally thankful for you giving us a slice of the Kingdom to come here on earth - through your outpouring of care.

The past four weeks have brought a multitude of emotions, as we’re learning how to mourn the loss of a child. And in the same breath, feeling overwhelmingly selfish for wanting to hold our baby here on earth, when he/she is resting in their Father’s arms in perfection.

I’ve had some time to think about this hurt that is so far from anything I have ever experienced. In this circle I live in, I am surrounded by women that care about child birth, their bodies/holistically eating, and naturally curing ailments. I’m so intrigued by their wisdom and research. I’m appreciative of them presenting options so women are educated. And I’m eager to try new things through their experiences. At the same time, these past four weeks have reminded me that the fall is real. Because Adam and Eve sinned, we are born sinners. The fall has made us imperfect and flawed. Our bodies, as women (and men), do not function the way they were intended to at the time of Creation.

Every man and woman should be able to create life, a woman’s body should carry a baby full term, and a woman’s body should birth a baby without doctor intervention or medicine. Yet, the fall happened. The fall is real. The fall has turned God’s perfect plan for our bodies into pure devastation. There are men and women that can’t create life, and that pain is devastating. There are women that have to have surgical procedures to sew their cervix shut so that they can carry life - their bodies literally can not birth, nor carry, a child the way it was intended. That pain is damaging. Babies die. In the womb, out of the womb, far before their time. God does not delight in that. I’m disgusted by the effect of the fall. Its heartbreaking. Its devastating. Its damaging. There really are no words. And it is so disheartening that it can’t be stopped - the fall is real and affects every person here on earth. So now what? is the question I keep asking myself. These past four weeks, I’ve had to remind myself daily of the cross. That our God sent his beloved son to the cross. Jesus suffered unimaginable pain as he was nailed. Nailed. So disturbing. God suffered as he watched his beloved child dying a painful and sickening death. Our Lord understands suffering. He is hurt by our suffering. He mourns with us. He feels with us. He sees us. He weeps with us (John 11:35).

The hope I gain from understanding the cross is that God does not forsake this broken world. Instead, he promises to return to us and make all things perfect again for those that love him. In the meantime, our earthly bodies will continue to fail us, and all the brokenness of the world will enter into each of our stories in some way. We can’t escape it. But we can look to the cross, and be reminded that we have a God that experienced real suffering like us. A God that pursues us, even when we are sinful, imperfect human beings that physically and emotionally can’t worship in unmeasurable pain. Oh how undeserving am I of this Father.

As women, I would encourage us to be more mindful of {unintentionally} shaming each other. Every women has the right to be educated and to have women speaking into her life. However, the fall is real. When we feel strongly about women’s choices regarding methods of childbirth, let’s remind each other that some women’s bodies cannot physically do what God intended their bodies to do. At the beginning of Creation I completely agree, God created our bodies to carry our precious children full-term and birth them without any intervention! Sometimes our words can be shaming, even when we don’t see how. I am guilty of that as well. We should be able to talk about hard things—miscarriage, or other health issues regarding pregnancy. It shouldn’t be a shaming experience like so many women have known as a part of their story. Let’s share our hearts—the physical and emotional pain—so that we can mourn with each other in helpful ways. This is so very hard to do, and the fall encompasses so much more then just this {I’ve just been much more sensitive to this lately}. My heart aches when I see women being hurt by the shame they feel from other women for something that is out of our control.

I’ve been weepy over these verses from Come Thou Fount:
“Prone to wander, Lord I feel it.
Prone to leave the God I love.”

In the midst of suffering, I long to not leave the God I love. But some days, I feel like it - when it is hard to see His goodness in the midst of suffering. That makes me even more thankful for His promise to heal the brokenness that is unbearable to live in. Until then, I will rest in the cross. I will remind myself that I am a beloved daughter of the King. And that He sees me in my suffering, and does not leave.  

With much love and gratitude,
Katelyn (and Sam)