The Hope of Heaven

Photo from sxc.hu

To be honest, I wasn't totally surprised.  This pregnancy was strange, not anything like my other two.  I couldn't put my finger on it, but I knew it wasn't.... normal.

At five weeks, my doctor said that we'll just wait to do any bloodwork, that there's no hurry to do anything so early.  I was guessing that meant something, that she wasn't prescribing any of the usual routines -- and in this culture, people opt for vagueness over sharing bad news.

So I waited it out a few weeks.  The random spotting morphed into more of a blood flow, and everything from Google and from my heart said that wasn't right.  I went to see the doctor again.

Sure enough, we had twins, and they were already gone.  One stopped developing at about five weeks, the other at nine.  There was nothing to be done, and given the choice to go through a routine procedure to end the process, or to let my body take its course naturally -- it was a no-brainer for me.  I wanted to fully experience this.  We went home, not ready, but willing to let God do what He wanted in me.

I cried, of course.  My husband did, too.  What I was dreading most wasn't the physical pain or the messiness.  My stomach sank at the thought of telling my four-year-old daughter.

She was so excited about this pregnancy.  She loves her baby brother, and has wanted to be the eldest of many siblings since she could talk.  We told her about our happy news when we were about five weeks along, and she was already impatient about her sibling's arrival.  She talked daily about the baby in my tummy, and already had names picked out (she just knew it was a girl).  How could we tell her they would never come?

A few days later, after my husband and I had some time to digest the news and to experience some of the miscarriage (it took my body about two weeks to fully pass its course), we decided it was time.

Our eighteen-month-old son was taking a nap, and the house was quiet.  We pulled our daughter onto our laps on the couch, and we broke the news.  There were two of them.  Their bodies didn't get strong enough to live outside my tummy, so Jesus brought them straight to Heaven, without us getting a chance to meet them.  We miss them terribly, but we are so happy that they are safe in Jesus' arms.

She sat for awhile.  She asked questions.  Then her eyes watered.  "Today is a sad day," she said.  She hugged me, then her dad.  We talked about Heaven, and how it's a perfect place where we can see God face-to-face.

"They get to play all day now," she said.  She said she wanted to go to Heaven, too.

My daughter's drawing of us as a family of five, after we told her the news.

For the next few days, she would randomly say, "I miss my sisters."  Sometimes there were tears, sometimes it was announced matter-of-factly, just spurting out what was on her mind.  She had been forever changed.  For the first time in her short life, she had experienced loss.  And I was surprised how well she understood.

She drew a picture for her sisters, who were named Lucy and Esther.  We are having it framed as a memorial.  A few days ago, she was at my husband's office, and she drew a picture on his white board of the two girls, playing with Jesus.  We hadn't talked about their passing in weeks, but it was obviously still on her mind, percolating and transforming her.

We now talk about Heaven more often.  As a family, we're slowly emerging out of the mourning phase and into healing.  The miscarriage was only two months ago, but God has been so faithful to wrap His arms of encouragement around us and speak truth in our lives.

My hope for heaven is so different now.  I can't wait to be with Jesus, for sure, but I'm also excited to meet my daughters.  I'm a mom of four, and two of them are already in their perfect Home, waiting for the rest of their earthly family.

I want to live a long life here, with my family still on earth.  But it will, one day, be a sweet reunion indeed.  I rest peacefully in that hope.

"There are better things ahead than any we leave behind."  -CS Lewis

Why do you hope for heaven?