Most women love the lure of flowers, an evening stroll, the attention of a suitor.
I was wooed in those summer months. I deserved no courtship. I had chosen a silent separation; in my reckoning, my Bridegroom had not done his part.
The miscarriage happened in March. On a summer camping trip, with a time for quiet and reflection, my heart began to expand. I missed my Lord. I felt his warm breath as he called my name. I opened my Bible and began a slow climb out of a black hole.
I did not understand my loss but I was reminded that I was loved by the Creator of the universe. My soul soared like the eagle.
Invited to speak at our church’s Christmas tea in early December, my joy expanded when I discovered I was pregnant again. I felt certain that God was restoring what had been lost.
But I gave the long-anticipated speech knowing that life was draining away. I was desperate not to lose the relationship. My cry that weekend was that my Lord not leave me.
I had once hoped that my friends or family would comfort me during the one-two punch of miscarriage. But the Bridegroom never left my side. He whispered my name and drew me back. He kept his part of the covenant: He never left me.
He repaid me for the years the locusts had eaten a year later when our son was born. As the prophet Joel said, I praise the Lord’s name for he worked wonders for me.