When you share the good news, you have to share the bad.

First, let me share the story:

Disclaimer: I'm sorry if this is too much information. I wanted to share the story, and it's not a very pretty one. You do not have to read this, I will not be offended. 

I went in to the doctors on Thursday for my first prenatal appointment. I was about 9 1/2 weeks. Everything looked good, even though they couldn't find the babys heartbeat. Which is normal, 9 1/2 weeks is a little early to hear the heartbeat.

So Saturday we decided to share the news with the world. We where excited to tell all our friends and family about our new addition.

Unfortunately, Saturday I also noticed I was spotting a little. It was so little, and the doctor told me it may happen after my exam, so I decided to not worry too much about, to wait and call the doctor Monday just to be sure. But Sunday came, and so did more bleeding. I knew something was not quite right. I called and finally got ahold of a doctor, who told me to come into the office Monday to make sure we could find the baby's heartbeat.

Jeff took Lucy to her grandparents, and I called the doctor as soon as they opened. They scheduled an ultrasound for me at 11:30.

As I got ready, and noticed more blood, I think I already knew. I stood in the bathroom crying and reminding God that this was in His hands. "Come on God" I said "You have to handle this, because I cannot."

It was the longest drive to the hospital, and an even longer wait. Luckily, Jeff was able to get out of work and meet me there. They finally ushered me back to the ultrasound room.

Ultrasounds aren't supposed to be like that. It was so quiet. I knew. I couldn't make anything out, but I kept trying to tell myself that no one really could tell what anything was on the ultra sound, especially this early. But then the sweet nurse looked at me, held my arm and said "I'm going to try and grab the doctor before she leaves for lunch, because, I'm so sorry to tell you this, but I can't find baby's heartbeat."

Thats when I started crying.

The rest was a blur, the doctor talking, they needed to take my blood. Those poor nurses who had to try and find my impossible veins, all the while I just cried and cried and laughed as they made jokes about my slippery veins. I cried as I made my next appointment, I cried as I walked to the car. I wept the whole time I drove home. I walked in the door and curled up in my bed and cried some more.

I thought all the things I'm sure every women thinks in this kind of situation.

That I knew something wasn't right from the beginning. It just never felt real. That it was my fault somehow. Maybe it was those extra cups of coffee, those times I forgot my prenatal vitamin, that one time I ate a Caesar Salad.

But luckily, I have a God who doesn't always speak to me in a still small voice. Sometimes it's an "Amber Joy! Are you kidding me?!" (it sounds a lot like my mom...) He said. "No dear. Remember? This was my kid. You told me, that you'd provide the space, and I'd do the putting together. And I did."

Now let me tell you how I'm feeling:

I remember during my crying fit thinking "No! I don't want to be sad about this. I will figure out why this happened, and come out of this stronger."

Psh.

Good luck me.

I've been watching a lot of Dawson's Creek. Do you want to know why? No, it's not because of the amazing story telling that is 90's Teen Drama. It's because it's mind numbing. It literally stops your brain from forming any intellectual thought. (Except maybe "Joshua Jackson is even dreamy in velvet shirts). And that's what I want most of all.

Because I've realized something, and my dear friend reminded me of someone who put it best. They said:

 "We don't have a theology that can handle things like this. Our faith sometimes doesn't explain the awful things that happen in life."

And this is what I realized 3 important things.

One: I will always be a little sad about this. This sucks bad. I don't really have any eloquent way of saying that. This sucks. Up one side and back the other. (Seriously, I've been watching a lot of Dawson's Creek).

Two: I will never figure out why this happened. Scientifically, it makes sense. That the fetus wasn't put together quite right, so it stopped growing. But that does not make sense to me, because my God is so  much bigger than that. He put this baby together, why would he not do it right? That's ridiculous. And no sweet saying, or string of Bible verses, or song lyrics or eloquent speeches from a man with some fancy degree will ever be able to explain this to me to my satisfaction. But you know what? That's OK. I don't understand it, or know why it happened, but I do know, and trust and love the Great Big God who is control of all of it. I know that he knows. This was his kid, from the start, I was just taking care of it for a while, just like every parent. I thought I'd get a little more face time, but I know that God had a plan. I don't get it. It seems really stupid to me (sorry God), but I know he's much greater, and much smarter than I.

Three: I will not come out of this stronger. A little more humble in my own abilities. A little more aware of the blessings in my life. A lot more thankful for these people who do life with me, these friends and family. But I'm not sure I'd say I am stronger for this. I feel a little more broken, but sometimes, that's better.

I've finally stopped crying. I've laughed a little today. I'm feeling more myself.

And so friends, I wanted to write this all because so many of you are praying for us. And I thank you, and ask you to continue. So many have asked if there was anything I needed. And I'd tell you the same thing I told my dear friend. I need you to help me find the joy. I know that you are mourning and crying with me, but now dear friends, I need to find the joy, the laughter. So find that with me.