“I can’t do this,” I say to myself as I walk up to the grocery store and pass a lovely mother with her three beautiful children. I wanted to have three children. Now I don’t know if I’ll ever have one who will stay with me.
I’m pregnant with my second, you see, but my first left me. And my biweekly bloodwork for this pregnancy came back worse this week instead of better. I’m waiting to learn what that means. I have to take shots twice a week to help my body keep this baby safe, and my hips are starting to get really sore. I don’t know if this baby will be born alive.
I don’t know if I can do this.
Can I handle the next nine days as I wait until my next ultrasound to see if my baby is alive and OK?
Can I gracefully live out the month following since my next ultrasound would be four weeks after?
Can I take five or six more months of long needles piercing my hips, leaving bruises and scarring my muscles?
Can I survive the overwhelming depression and anxiety that comes with a miscarriage? I barely survived it last time. What if I have to do it again?
Can I live day by day with all of these burdens and fears when I work full time and am the manager at my workplace? I’ve got things to do, deadlines to meet, and people to help.
How can I do that when all I want to do is curl up and break down in sobs?
I can’t do this.
Here is the point where I have to once again cast my burdens on Jesus.
I can do all things through Christ.
Because it isn’t me doing things.
It’s Christ in His strength.