Trusting God Through a Miscarriage (Part 1 of 2)

by Sally Matheny

Trusting God Through a Miscarriage
(photo by Pixabay)
October is National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month.  In remembrance of that, I want to share with you a portion of my own miscarriage journey. Perhaps you can relate. Hopefully, you'll be encouraged.
Not even the startling, cold lubricant squeezed onto my belly could stifle my excited chatter.
I was on the verge of being the first one to hear a great secret—the gender of our third baby!

Earlier that day, I had taken our seven-and nine-year old daughters to a sitter. They wanted to go with me for my 12-week check up. I told them the following month’s appointment would be an ultrasound. I assured them they could go with me, and their daddy, to see the baby growing inside my tummy then.

Now, here I was, by myself about to hear the big reveal earlier than expected. Finding it difficult to locate the tiny baby with his stethoscope, the doctor asked how I felt about an ultrasound to see if I was as far along as we thought.

I happily agreed but told him he’d have to do another one next month because I’d promised my girls. Plus, my husband was out of town on business, so there was no way he could get there in time to see today’s ultrasound.

So, I felt rather special since I was about to receive some exciting news before everyone else. What a nice gift after enduring three months of nausea!

“If I’m not as far along as we expected, will you still be able to tell if it’s a boy or girl?” I asked.

“Maybe. We’ll see,” the tech said as she slid the probe around.

A few seconds later, she added, “There’s the baby.”

“Awww, it looks like it’s waving,” I said, noticing five, distinct, widespread fingers held in front of a profiled head and nose.

My heart pounded, waiting for her to tell me the big news. Boy? Or girl?
A few more swipes. She announces on her way out the door, “Okay. The doctor will be in to see you in just a minute.” 

Odd. Maybe the tech isn’t allowed to say anything and has to wait for the doctor.

A few minutes later, the doctor comes in and repeats the same movements over my belly. It’s awfully quiet in the room until the doctor grunts a low, short, “hmm.”

I feel my enthusiasm fade in the dimly lit room. Something isn’t right.

“It’s very still,” he said.

 Blinking in the darkness, I focus on the screen, trying to understand.

"Yes, it's very still. I'm not getting a heartbeat.” 

A few more deep impressions with the cold probe.

“No. There’s no heartbeat. I’m sorry.”

I was in such shock, it surprised me to feel warm tears trickling down my face.

After getting dressed, I picked up my purse and noticed underneath it all the goodies the nurse had handed me earlier, when I first arrived. A pregnancy magazine, a free sample of diapers, and formula coupons with an expiration date well past my due date.

October is National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month
October 15 would come and go without my bundle of joy.

I left the items on the table and walked out numb and empty-handed.

On my drive home, I cried out to God.

Why would You place such a strong desire in my heart for a child, and allow me to become pregnant, if my baby was going to die?

I had no answers. I wasn’t angry with God—just confused and deeply hurt.
Little did I know the miscarriage was only the first step in a difficult, two-year journey.

A journey God was well aware of long before I was even born. It was going to get worse before it got better. It would baffle us all, including the doctors, before we would realize God’s plan was truly amazing.

I hope you’ll join me again next week. I’ll share the rest of my miscarriage journey, how trusting God one day at a time eventually brought blessings. I'll also share ways to minister to those who have suffered the loss of an infant.

I’m wondering. Have any of you have experienced the loss of an infant?


  1. Thank you for sharing, Sally. My sister had a miscarriage in the spring and her due date was last week. The loss has effected all of us. I look forward to reading Part 2 next week.

    1. Oh, Diana, my heart goes out to your family. I recently read where a person whose spouse has died is called a widow. A child whose parents have died is called an orphan. But there is no word for the parent whose child has died.
      No matter how small in the womb, a miscarriage can be a heartbreaking experience. Please do come back next week. I'll have several suggestions and helpful resources. I'm praying for you all.


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