Another Name

It took us 2 years and 18 days to name our first baby; it only took us 17 days to name our second baby: Keelan Sabbath Pinckard. 

Keelan: Little, Fair. This precious, tiny, fragile baby was and is loved so deeply, and I know that the depth of my love for this little one is little in comparison with the Lord's love for both me and my children.

Sabbath: Rest. Eternal glory is a sabbath rest, and this little one has entered that rest. The Lord has also given us rest from our grief with this assurance and comfort. 

Pinckard: A part of our family forever, and a hole in our hearts until we join that Sabbath rest.


Keelan and Brighton's blurry ultrasounds hang on our living room wall with their names and birthdates written underneath the only pictures we have of them. Together, the names, pictures, dates, and the hollow space in our lives are the only things we have of them this side of heaven. Their names are so precious to us because they allow us to name that feeling of something missing that never quite goes away, even in the happiest of times. They allow us to honor them as image bearers and children of God. Their names remind us that though they are far away, they are no less real. Though they were small, they are not small in the mind and the plan of the Lord, and they are not small in our minds and hearts either. In fact, they are a huge part of our everyday lives. They remind us that one day, we will meet them face to face, and in their presence, we will call them the names that we have given them in their absence. Together, we will worship the Lord who holds us all in his hands. Our children are not our own, "but belong body and soul, in life and in death, to our faithful savior Jesus Christ." We praise him for Brighton and Keelan's lives and that he cares for them, that he cares for us, and that we are not left without hope as we grieve, but rest in his sacrifice that has granted us eternal life and the great comfort and joy that we have because of it.

When Sorrows Like Sea Billows Roll

We lost another baby this week.

"When peace like a river attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows roll, whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say 'it is well, it is well with my soul.'"

After 5 weeks of beautiful, joyous peace like a river, the sea billows are rolling. Two years and 5 months after losing our first baby, and after 16 months of infertility, we found out we were finally, miraculously, pregnant again with no medical intervention. It was hard at first to think of it as anything definite, but slowly we were able to have faith that this time, everything would (maybe) be okay. The morning sickness came like a beast along with all the other classic symptoms, and we thought "great, proof that all is well!" We told friends and family quickly, because, after going through it once, we're still  firm believers in celebrating new life with our loved ones, and having their support if tragedy strikes. We finally went for the first ultrasound at 9 weeks, knowing in the back of our minds that there isn't always a happy ending, but excited and optimistic nonetheless. And then we discovered that it seems our baby stopped growing 3 weeks earlier, and if his or her heart ever beat, it wasn't now, and we never heard it, and we never will in this life.

In this life.

In this second great loss, I rest upon two and a half years worth of God's grace through which I struggled with the why and the what and the how and the what now. 

I rest in the words of the Canon of Dort that my brother sent me yesterday:

"We must judge concerning the will of God from his Word, which declares that the children of believers are holy, not by nature but in virtue of the covenant of grace, in which they are included with their parents. Therefore, God-fearing parents ought not to doubt the election and salvation of their children whom God calls out of this life in their infancy."

And then I rest upon the knowledge that each and every day with our savior is immeasurably better than the best day that I could have ever given my child here with me. I rest in the knowledge that God loves our children even more than we do, and that even when his plan is hard, his plan is good. He is good. I rest upon this firm, beautiful conviction and comfort that I finally came to so recently while I struggled to find joy and contentment in the midst of infertility: if I never get pregnant again, God is good. If I have 10 miscarriages, God is good, and if we have living children, God is good. His goodness and love are not dependent on my circumstances, for He has loved me from everlasting. He has given his Son for me, and if he would do that, then there is no shadow of a doubt about his love and goodness towards me and my children.

The loss of my own children reminds me of the difficulty of God giving up his own son for unworthy sinners. Jesus' anguish in the garden and on the cross reminds me that he went through worse than these, the deepest, most painful and terrible experiences of my life, in order that I and my children might have the gift of righteousness and eternal life.

And I find comfort that the Lord has brought me so far since the word miscarriage first entered our everyday lives two and half years ago. I praise God that the bitterness and anger that I allowed to hold me hostage for so long have no place in my heart and mind today as I face the same tragedy again. I am grateful for the incredible co-workers, bosses, friends and church family who have created an incredible support network, and for a husband who feels the loss and grief as much as I do, and for family who knows and grieves that they too have lost a grandchild/niece/nephew; I am so grateful that this time, I am not alone. I am grateful for the little princess that lives with us right now  who fills me with joy and makes me smile on the darkest days. I am grateful that instead of anger towards the Lord, today he is sweeter than ever to me, for I know that he loves and cares for me and for my children, and that he is here and he is good; even when it is unbearably hard, he is SO good to me.

These blessings and the truths that have carried me through the last couple years are held close like a buoy in these sea billows, and I can say through the tears and the agony that, through no effort of my own, but by God's grace and mercy, "it is well, it is well with my soul." Praise the Lord.