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Lost Children
Cyndie Odya-Weis
"How many children do you have?" asked the young waitress, noticing my "mother's necklace" of birthstone charms.
"Three on earth and five in heaven," I replied, showing her the two girl charms and one boy charm centered between two hearts, and the five little angel charms to the left and right of the hearts, separated by silver beads.
"That's really sad," she said. "I'm sorry."
Somehow I felt compelled to say that she didn't need to feel so sad because they were "only miscarriages," or to rationalize, for the sake of her feelings, that we had adopted our other three and they were a tremendous blessing. Instead, I paused and reflected, and said "Thank you."
Pregnancy loss has taught me much about life, love, and God's plan.
Sometimes I learned painfully and slowly, but I did learn. I have learned that:
- I can acknowledge the pain of my pregnancy losses even though "doctors estimate that as many as 40% of all conceptions never fully implant."
- There is no comfort in the words I've heard so often: "There was probably something wrong with the babies, so things are better off this way."
- I can deal with the pain of loss, without embracing the pro-choice view that my children in utero were just "masses of tissue."
- The concept of "replacement children" is misguided. I shudder as I remember the insensitive comments of others who tried to console me by saying that we could simply "try again," as if children born to us in the future could replace the ones we had lost.
Not a week goes by without my thinking about how old one of my children would be, or what my life would be like if one or more of them were here with me now. My arms still ache to hold each baby... I saw the beating heart on the ultrasound... I felt the bulge in my abdomen... I held the last tiny baby in my hand, saw his blue eyes, counted his fingers and toes.
Occasionally I find myself saying that "I lost children," but they're not really lost. I know where they are. I know they are safe and surrounded by God's perfect love -- a love that even I could not give them. I will hold them again when we are reunited in heaven.
My work on earth is not yet complete. God has trusted me with three beautiful, wonderfully made children. My task is to teach them by word and example and to lead them to the Lord. Just as mothers give their children life through birth, so we must all give our children eternal life through spiritual rebirthing.
Young birthmothers trusted me to do my best as I raise their children. They, who gave life through birth, feel a loss as profound as mine.
I gave my birthchildren to the Lord -- unwillingly -- at the early stages of their lives. The young birthmoms gave their children to the world, to adoption, to me -- willingly -- trusting that I would lead their precious ones on the path to salvation. But there are no assurances, no guarantees.
Asking Christ into one's life is a personal decision. Until my children are old enough to make that decision, it is my job to show them the one and only path to heaven. How full my arms will be in heaven if they choose the right path! How full their lives on earth will be if they ask Him into their lives.
Because my babies have died, I more fully understand God's immeasurable sacrifice in sending His Son to die for our sins and show us the way to Him. I feel closer to God because I, too, know the intense pain that the loss of a child brings. If I can share my story in order to tell His story, then the purpose of my pain becomes strongly evident. What an awesome gift! What an awesome God!
Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Philippians 4:4-7
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