If You’re Ready, Then I’m Ready

As a woman in my twenties, it seems as if everyone around me is having babies and enjoying the blessings of creating a family...with little to no effort. That is the phase of life I am in. The baby making phase. The pregnancy announcement phase. The birth announcement phase. And I have been left behind, with empty arms, an empty womb, and a silent nursery. My only memories of labor & delivery are intense, heavy, overwhelming; but still full of joy. Yet somehow, I am the only mother who is not allowed to speak of those moments. It makes people uncomfortable. I gave birth to a child, too. And she was perfect. But...she died. And because she died, the common misconception is that my labor story is not beautiful. Rather, disturbing. But that couldn’t be further from the truth.

On instagram and facebook, I started scrolling past pictures of the labor and delivery room every day. Social media began to slowly kill me inside. The brand new baby, the smiling faces, the love that’s so evident in these families. I had that love, too. I had those moments, too. But my moments have an incredible element of sadness. And for some reason, I am not allowed to share those photos. When I would share, someone would say something very hurtful behind my back. For me, this became the stage of my life where I understood who was there for me, and who wasn’t. The stage that I realized who my people were, and who my people weren’t. So many old friends were quickly weeded out of my life, while I held tight to those people who acknowledged my pain and loved me despite the broken person I had become.

I saw miracles every day, from a distance. From a screen. But why did these miracles frustrate me? They made me envious. Because, God, where was my miracle? I hated feeling anything but joy for these women who deserve every ounce of happiness. These women that I grew up with, went to school with, spent hours riding on back roads in the middle of the night with. These women I have laughed with, cried with, and danced with. I loved these women. Why didn’t I feel more joy in my heart for what they were experiencing? I wanted to be happy for them. But instead, every time I saw another birth announcement, I sobbed. All day & all night, because...where was my happy ending? How was this fair? Why was Chloe taken so suddenly? And why did I lose what was supposed to be my “rainbow” baby so early in pregnancy? Why does all of this seem to be completely thrown in my face as soon as I feel like I am healing? What am I supposed to be learning from this?

I asked myself this question every day. Every time I saw a new baby enter this world. Every time I watched a woman abuse her gift of pregnancy. Every time I felt that twinge of jealousy because my baby was gone. “What am I supposed to be learning here?”

Deep down, I knew the answer. I was supposed to stop comparing myself to others. I was supposed to be thankful for what I did have. I was supposed to stop scrolling through social media—because it most definitely made me feel like a failure as a woman. I was supposed to stop hating my body for what had happened. I was supposed to let go of the bitterness that I felt inside. I was supposed to accept my reality and move forward with grace. But for some reason, I couldn’t.

I had a long conversation with my brother, who confirmed that this was exactly what needed to happen. I needed to stop focusing outward and start looking inward. Who am I, really? Why am I here, really? He said, “Your purpose on this earth is not the same as theirs. Don’t let these outside forces consume you. Remember who you are and what you are doing here.” The only problem was, I didn’t know who I was. Or what in the world I was doing here.

A few days later, I went in to work with only one goal in mind; to be kind to every person I came across. Not only kind, but intentional. I wanted to really listen to them, learn about them, and love them. I found that as I did this throughout my day, I felt happier. I felt more whole—almost more connected to the universe. Throughout this process, I met many inspiring people. They reminded me of what I was supposed to be thankful for.

—The paraplegic woman crying out in pain as she was moved from one chair to another. How afraid she must have been; relying on two strangers to lift her and gently set her down. How frustrated she must have felt; she could no longer use her legs. I realized how selfish I was. I had spent so much time and energy hating my body, when I should have been thanking it for every step.

—The man who walked on the aircraft with a huge smile, a kind greeting, and a bright attitude. He did not have hands, but this didn’t phase him in the slightest. It didn’t change his outlook on life or his ability to light up the airplane. I looked at my hands, touched every finger, and I understood how careless I was with these two perfectly capable hands.

—The lady sitting next to me in the gatehouse, afraid of what her future held. After 15 years of marriage, after dedicating her whole life to her spouse and children; her kids were now grown and her husband was leaving her. She was devastated, heartbroken, and overwhelmed. But she was searching for hope. She wanted to learn more about my life. She wanted to figure out if she could change course and become a flight attendant. She wanted a social job, something to take her mind off of what she was going through. Without saying the words, she reminded me to be thankful for my husband. She reminded me to be thankful for my career.

After meeting these people, I was flooded with guilt for taking every abundant blessing I had for granted. I was also overwhelmed with gratitude for all I had received in this life. After arriving to the hotel for the evening, I immediately got on my knees & thanked Him for everything I had so ignorantly taken for granted.

My moving hands.
My walking legs.
My sturdy feet.
My seeing eyes.
My hearing ears..
My husband, our family, our friends, our dog.
Our jobs.
Our home.
The love that surrounds us.
The list goes on and on…

Then I felt prompted to ask for forgiveness.

Forgive me for being angry.
For doubting.
For the harsh words I have spoken towards you.
For comparing myself to others.
For the envy and bitterness I have felt…
Forgive me for forgetting how blessed I really am.

As I asked for forgiveness, I felt an amazing sensation that I most definitely was forgiven for those things. God’s love is so perfect. Gratitude for His atonement filled my soul.

The last thing I wanted to pray for was a little direction in my life. What was my purpose? Why was I here?

I kneeled in silence for a few minutes before I felt the words;

“If you’re ready, then I’m ready.”

At first, I ignored these words...I didn’t understand. This didn’t answer the question I had just asked.

But then again, I felt them. This time, stronger…

“If you’re ready, then I’m ready.”

My heart swelled as these words repeated over and over again in my soul.

I sobbed and shook my head, “I don’t know if I’m ready. What is coming?”

“If you’re ready, then I’m ready.”

I got the impression that what was coming was going to be difficult for me.

Difficult, but rewarding.

With tears in my eyes, I spoke--
‘I’m sorry but I don’t think I am ready. I am afraid.”

Suddenly, I felt different words.

“Do you trust me?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Do you trust me?”

More tears fell as I felt these words, because this was the hardest question I had ever been asked. I didn’t know whether or not I trusted Him. I wanted to, but a part of me couldn’t. The moment that Chloe was taken from us is forever engraved in my mind. The moment I begged God to save her, and He didn’t. So, Did I trust Him? Then, the moment we were told our second babe had no heartbeat after all of the prayers and all of the pleading for a rainbow baby. So, did I trust Him?

Over and over again, the words replaying on my soul…

“Do you trust me?” And still, I did not know.

But finally, a moment of tranquility. A moment of stillness, peace and understanding placed on my heart. A feeling that words can’t quite describe. The knowledge that if I placed my trust in Him, He could always find a way to heal me no matter what happened. And once more, He asked;

“Do you trust me?”

I paused, and felt His peaceful presence. I said out loud,

“Yes. I trust you.”

His response was,

“If you’re ready, then I’m ready.”