“In a taxi and I can’t stop crying”

…that’s the text I sent my husband from the day trip I took alone to visit the the doctor…

Public crying is not super comfortable for many cultures, I’m sure. But it is practically unheard of and unseen here.

So when the, now visibly pregnant, foreign woman’s (who already attracts stares just for the novelty of light hair/skin/eyes) face starts contorting in failed attempts to mask her crying in a train station, on a train, and then in a taxi…it is painfully awkward for everyone.

At first, I couldn’t put my finger on exactly why I needed to cry, other than pregnancy hormones. Maybe anxiety. I’d decided to make an unplanned trip because I started to get nervous about some symptoms I was having (which, no worries, I will not at all describe here).

But as a sniffled and sweat next to my very uncomfortable taxi driver, my fingers suddenly texted Aubrey the root of all the tears:

“I don’t trust my body not to suck”

“And if it sucks then maybe our baby won’t be okay”

Oh. That. Again. A surprising consequence of miscarriage was a deep sense that my body had betrayed and failed me and my child. And these unknown symptoms seemed to be suggesting that my body was doing something wrong, whether big or small. And since my body has proved untrustworthy before, any hint of potential failure or betrayal feels downright terrifying.

It turns out the symptoms that sent me to the doctor were none of the things I was afraid of, just a pesky consequence of pregnancy. Nothing at all is wrong that would affect this baby.

(Then fell the tears of utter relief.)

baby dumpling
Our precious daughter, at 22 weeks

After the relief of the doctor’s words and the joy of seeing our daughter light up the ultrasound screen for the anatomy scan, I got to pop in Starbucks before heading to catch a train back home and process the day’s emotions.

I’m still not sure I do trust my body not to suck. I do know that God has been working in my heart to view my body with the dignity it carries simply because I am a woman, made in God’s image. After the miscarriage, I noticed I was subtly sabotaging my body, perhaps to punish it or some similar nonsense, but God gently convicted me that I worth worth nurturing and caring for whether I am carrying a child or not. And I am in awe of this body that gave life to my fierce and feisty daughter, Jubilee. The same body that she daily uses as her personal jungle gym and that gets us and our stuff around this humid city in a developing country. The truth is that my body is actually pretty awesome, thanks be to God.

That being said, I probably shouldn’t trust my body. My body, though extremely blessed and made in God’s glorious image, is subject to the Fall, with all it’s entropy and sickness and eventual death.

I really can’t “trust” my body not to suck. But, I can trust my God. Who absolutely does not suck. Who, the complete opposite of suck, is Life, Power, Strength and Light. And Who is in absolute control over this body of mine (and the growing life inside of it).

Oh Lord of Life, I believe that you are trustworthy and good and in control. Help my unbelief.

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