The later half of yesterday and the brand new minutes of today have been an exercise in not freaking out. It has been tough. I am finding myself consumed with worries and doubts again about this pregnancy, analyzing all the little nuances of symptoms (I was thirstier yesterday, my super sense of smell doesn’t seem to be as keen, where did my Lucky Charms craving go?).

I set myself up for this. Today is my first prenatal appointment. I am seeing the same midwife who discovered my miscarriage. It is a Thursday, just like the day I found out. When I made the appointment several weeks ago, I noted these things. But I figured it would be a fabulous chance to bravely confront the past. I should have known myself better. Instead of boldly reclaiming Thursdays with optimism and grace, I am afraid of experiencing “deja vu all over again,” to quote Yogi Berra.

While I was nervously pacing yesterday afternoon, I turned on the radio and heard the song “Held”, by Natalie Grant off her album “Awaken”. The lyrics:

Two months is too little.
They let him go.
They had no sudden healing.
To think that providence would
take a child from his mother while she prays,
Is appalling.

Who told us we’d be rescued?
What has changed and why should we be saved from nightmares?
We’re asking why this happens
to us who have died to live,
it’s unfair.

Chorus:
This is what it means to be held.
How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life
and you survive.
This is what it is to be loved,
and to know that the promise was
when everything fell we’d be held.

This hand is bitterness.
We want to taste it, let the hatred know our sorrows.
The wise hand opens slowly to lilies of the valley and tomorrow.

(Chorus)
This is what it means to be held.
How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life
and you survive.
This is what it is to be loved,
and to know that the promise was
when everything fell we’d be held.

Bridge:
If hope is born of suffering,
If this is only the beginning.
Can we not wait for one hour watching for our Savior?

(Chorus)
This is what it means to be held.
How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life
and you survive.
This is what it is to be loved,
and to know that the promise was
when everything fell we’d be held.

After the loss, I did my very best not to let this happen: This hand is bitterness/We want to taste it, let the hatred know our sorrows. It took total surrender and weakness before God to surrender my bitterness and anger.

I wanted to remember The wise hand opens slowly to lilies of the valley and tomorrow. I thought I’ve done that. I have a fistful of lilies and I feel my hand curling and clenching, crushing them under this burden of worry.

I know I will survive if I get bad news today. I just want a certain little bean tucked inside me to survive too.