How does one continue to give thanks when the blood flows red? How does one rejoice in all things when those “things” involve loss of life?
I will never know whether or not I’m having an early miscarriage or just a heavy flow…I would tend to think the former. However, technically I’m not sure when I believe life actually starts…perhaps the several cells that probably formed were not anything more at that point but cells. The idea that life begins at conception has become a fuzzy concept over the past months. Last night, my doctor’s voice was compassionate as he explained that the embryo (if it existed) didn’t implant. David reminds me that it is not healthy to speculate, that it is easier to just say that this cycle was not a success.
Somehow, I disagree.
It is actually easier for me to believe that the emotions I felt were true and that for several days I carried a newly conceived life. It is easier to say that for just a brief period of time, life existed, was formed, began to take shape.
As I held myself and walked and prayed for the past two weeks, I was overcome with love and a fierce protectiveness for the possibility of the child within me. However, I can’t ever say that God ever confirmed these emotions. No…I just experienced them.
I still experience them.
In the heartache.
In the grief.
In the hope for the future.
I try not to ask, “Is it fair?” and rather admit that with Christ it is and will be well with my soul. I give thanks on Day 4 of this celebration month.
Thanks that Christ isn’t concerned with the religious answers, but rather with the real, raw emotions. The anger, the pain, the grief, the hope trying to rise. Thanks that Christ is concerned about what is ripping me apart, and that He is concerned about what will heal my soul.
We can give thanks when the blood runs red, because He did. Once and for all. For you and for me. For our blood that runs red.