spiritual depression

The miscarriage happened a little over two weeks ago. That’s a strange thought. This has to have been the craziest month thus far in my life, followed in a close second by the month Michelle and I got married. Honestly, getting married was a lot more fun. I knew miscarriages were sad and unfortunate, but one of the things I hadn’t expected was the lingering, cloak-and-dagger type sorrow that follows behind the loss. The sorrow comes in waves it seems – no real trigger, if there were, I’d like to avoid it. And most frustrating and tiring of all, it seems to stick around. You’d think I could talk about it by now with a straight face, but my eyes still seem to leak every once and a while – I hold it back, who really wants to cry at work over computer parts?

There is the inner swarm of thoughts: Why’d this happen? Why this way? Memories of when it happened. My father’s reaction to when I told him in person that we were pregnant. Coming home to Michelle crying that evening. The doctor’s office where they confirmed it. Frustrations over how this affects Michelle. I find it difficult to find steady ground. I feel that all I have in these moments is the single beam of light from God’s Word that tends to the simmering coals of faith. I feel a naked faith of sorts, the kind that’s likened to anemic people in the hospital – still human, still living, just barely.

In my devotion reading this morning, David, carried along by the Eternal Spirit, sung to me, “Blessed is the one whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered” (Psalm 32:1). David’s statement is all encompassing, it’s a declaration. God has brought his righteousness near to me and covered me (Isaiah 46:13) because of Jesus work to take my sin upon himself (2 Cor. 5:21) that I might be forgiven and be blessed in enjoying God. Why is that so hard right now? Or is it? Joy isn’t always clothed in joyfully raised hands. Joy takes on the cloths of sorrow (that’s why 60% of the Psalms are in a minor key). At church this past week there were songs and prophetic words (if I remember correctly) about the Lord Jesus taking on our sorrows and griefs. He took these sorrows on that I might be declared blessed in the free justification of his grace. He has born these sorrows to a depth that I will not, because he’s made a declaration over me. So in my sorrow, I take hope that the one who has turned these events as they have gone is the very one to whom I must go, because that’s what it means to be blessed, to be surrounded by the steadfast love of the Lord (Ps. 32:11).

I trust in God, my rock and fix my mind on him in this sorrow that he would give me a perfect peace, the peace of Christ that surpasses all understanding and guards me from falling away (Isaiah 26:3; Phil. 4:7). Even still, however long that peace is withheld, he is strengthening these feeble legs of faith to walk after him; to step when the pain is in the walking. This is how the Gospel engages our miscarriage – Jesus has lead the way and taken the full force of sorrow and grief that we might know God. How do I know I don’t experience the full weight of the sorrow? Because I see Jesus, and he has overcome the world (John 16:33). All things are now not in vein.