Again, it happened again. Just a few short weeks ago and only 15 months after suffering my first miscarriage, it happened again.

My first miscarriage was shockingly abrupt and over so quickly. I was in denial about it for a week before I finally acknowledged it and went to see the doctor. Not this time. I struggled for weeks and the end was finally confirmed with an ultrasound. Where I had once seen a beautiful beating heart, there was nothing. Empty. Deserted. I’ve always been a curvy girl, my whole life, and yet in those moments staring at that screen and for days afterwards, I felt small and hollow.

All the excitement and planning and dreaming ended, and more than I anticipated had to be undone. We had to tell our daughter that, once again, she would have to wait until heaven to meet her sibling. We had to tell our family and close friends that our baby was no longer growing in my tummy. In my excitement, I had already pulled out my old maternity clothes, borrowed some from my sister, and had even ordered a couple pieces that were waiting to be worn; all of that had to be packed away. And there were other details I had to attend to, none of which do I wish to expound upon here.

And now, all that is left is the recovery. Physically, I’m better. Now, it’s just the battlefield of the mind and emotions where I must make my stand, where we, my wonderful Chris and I, must press on. Fighting against the sadness and ponderings of “what if” and “if only.”

And that’s where the struggle meets our faith. Without faith, without hope – the kind of hope that is an “anchor of the soul” – I would not be able to make it (Hebrews 6:19). I wouldn’t be able to get up each day and to move forward believing that God really does love me and has “a hope and a future" for me and our family (Jeremiah 29:11). The first time I stayed silent for a long time and fell into a physically excruciating depression, until I finally turned to Jesus and truly took to heart the scripture “casting your care on Him, for He cares for you (I Peter 5:7).” This time will be different. Sure, there are hard moments and tears and questions, but I am, we are, choosing to lean in hard on our faith, on our Jesus, where comfort and the “peace that passes all understanding” can be found (Philippians 4:7).

Prayers appreciated – more than I can even begin to express.