A GARDEN OF GRACE
A Story of Faith written by Olivia Forsberg
The moment I walked into the clinic I felt myself disconnect from my body. My husband and I hardly spoke; our eyes said it all. I was in a dazed stupor, and I knew good news was not coming. I held my breath as the doctor searched and searched for our little one. The dark image that came on the ultrasound is still imprinted in my mind. I could not wait for it to be all over. I laid on that hospital bed paralyzed, soaking in blood, and grasping onto Tanner’s hand like my life depended on it. The blizzard we drove home through felt cruel and almost poetic - my body frozen, my mind dark, my eyes clouded, and my heart numb.
After eight hours in the hospital, we finally made it home. We collapsed- the weight of our grief tearing us apart. We wept. We yelled. We grabbed a book from our shelf and tore it apart. The pages were scattered all over our floor like fragments of our shattered hopes. Changing out of my blood stained clothes brought a wave of fear and grief, forcing me to confront that this was reality and not a bad dream.
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We had never been happier than the day we found out we were pregnant. An immediate love, connection, and joy filled my body knowing our little growing angel would call it home.
In just one day, it felt like I lost everything.
We lost our baby. We lost our innocence around pregnancy. We lost our dreams of starting our family and of who this little one would grow to be. We lost what we imagined to be the best day of our lives, September 1st.
Miscarriage is an invisible loss and a silent agony. The emptiness inside of my abdomen overshadowed my days. The physical manifestation of our loss was the most brutal experience of my life. I felt every part of it, all the way through. I was in so much physical pain, and every time I went to the bathroom I was forced to look at all we had lost- at my literal broken heart. It was torture.
Why were we given what we desperately wanted, only for it to be taken away? Everything and everyone around us seemed to echo the absence of our little one, constantly reminding us of what we lost. I experienced death in my own body as it intimately passed through me. But it didn’t just pass through; it changed me forever.
I met the Savior, the Man of Sorrows, like it was for the first time. How much closer could I be to Him? I was literally broken and bleeding. No matter how much Tanner wanted to take the pain away, he couldn't. The physical suffering was mine to bear alone. I kept thinking, “I don’t see a way out of this. There is no way.” And Jesus called out, as He always does so definitively, “I am the Way.”1
“He is our Waymaker, always making a way to life with Him- the Red Sea, His death on the cross, the rending of the veil- all of them cut through, so He might be with us. He cuts through every sin, every storm, every story, every sea, the whole way through for us, to be with us.” Dr. Jenet Erickson
I keep remembering an ancient Japanese art form, Kintsugi. How they take broken pottery and mend the cracks piece by piece using a lacquer mixed with silver and gold. In the repair, the broken seams become beautiful. The piece becomes more valuable in this form than before it was broken. Rather than the brokenness signifying a loss of value or seen as something to hide, the fractures are highlighted as a crucial part of the pottery’s history. Not even a single piece is left to waste.
In a similar way, the Savior is re-membering me back together.
This time, my pieces have been spun with drops of my own blood and weaved together with His. His touch is turning the brokenness into gold. I am becoming more than I was before. Ever more aware of the gift and miracle of life. Ever more present in my body. Ever more grateful for my husband's companionship. Ever more desirous to carry and raise children of my own. And ever more a witness to the miraculous grace of Jesus Christ.
My covenant relationship with Christ was never more important to me than during this intense suffering. It feels tempting to run, to hide, or to withdraw in times like this. Instead, I stayed in my shakiness and trusted in His covenant promise that He would come.
And He came.
One night while dreaming, we met in the garden of grace2. He walked me around this place of grief like He knew every corner of it. He told me I didn’t have to be afraid of the darkness, the misery, and the brokenness. We sat in silent communion for a while. My soul was so tired. He didn’t rush me. When I felt ready, He led me to a small field and asked me to start digging. We dug so deep our hands were stained with soil. The pain didn’t go away, but I kept trusting. He helped me plant my fear, my anxiousness, my anger, and my loss. We wept together, watering the deep wounds below. Now, it was time to wait. Though exhausted, it felt like I could finally breathe again. He guided me over to a beautiful corner of the garden. Our eyes met, and I recognized the familiar landscape in front of us-:the gardens of my past, now flourishing with vibrant life. I couldn’t believe how tall the flowers had grown. We remembered together how it was grace that carried me here, and by grace I will carry on. This new field we planted is raw, messy, and bare. To me, it doesn't look like much. Yet, in His eyes, it is already beloved. Though it will take time for this garden to bloom, I know He won't abandon me. He is the Gardener after all.
Suffering is never deserved, and it is never comfortable. But it forces me to surrender. The pain and loss inherent to my experience on Earth is answered by Him, through covenant, hesed love. In my deepest of wounds, there He was, the Repairer of the breach3, just as He promised.
Miscarriage has no answers. There is nothing we could have done to change the outcome, making it so hard to accept. Fear says, “You are not enough. You weren’t ready. It might not happen for you.” Covenant says, “I am with you. I will not leave you. You are safe here.” Instead of desiring clarity and resolution, it is grace that will save me. My restless heart found rest in Him.
“My heart was saying, ‘Lord, take away this longing, or give me that for which I long.’ The Lord was answering, ‘I must teach you to long for something better.’ ” Elizabeth Elliot
I pray there is a day we can be as happy as we were again. I pray there is another day I can see a positive pregnancy test, a day I can hear a heartbeat, and a day I can see a silhouette on the ultrasound. I pray there is a day when I carry my baby a full nine months and then in my arms forever.
But even if not, I know He is still good. Even if not, what I pray and long for most of all is to stay in covenant relationship with Him, ever deeper and deeper.
Though the wound inside my heart remains, I am filled with His promise.
1 John 14:6
2 John 1:16; 2 corinthians 12:8-9
3 Isaiah 58:12
