By Lynna Clark

The year was 1978. We had no insurance, and no money for frivolities like prenatal care. When I finally broke down and went for a doctor visit, I was advised to terminate our second pregnancy. It seemed the baby was not developing at the normal rate. Plus I had experienced a few complications. To say I was afraid would be quite an understatement. I was 23, in a lot of pain and very intimidated by the growly doctor. Circumstances led me to the hospital where I would have an ultrasound. This was a fairly new procedure and I had no idea what to expect. I was instructed to drink a foot tub of water ahead of time so they could get the best pictures. Apparently a floating baby is easier to see. In fact, I too was floating. And miserable. I think I was about ten months along and since I have a bladder the size of a butterbean, I was pretty sure the waiting room would soon need a clean up on aisle three. My sister was with me and though she was even younger than me, she knew enough to whisper funny things. I can’t remember exactly what was so comical about the man across the way who seemed also to be ten months along. I just remember laughing at my sister and being thankful for her effort to keep my mind off the fact that something was wrong with the baby. Oh and also the fact that my bladder was about to explode.

The minutes ticked by. Nearly an hour after our scheduled appointment, we still sat in the crowded waiting room. FINALLY a nurse appeared and called my name. I hurried toward her in anticipation. Cheerfully she handed me a large cup filled with ice water. “Here hun. Drink this so we can get the best pictures on the first go round.” I burst into tears. As I sat by my sister trying to drink the water between sniffles, a lady took the chair on the other side of me. She patted my arm and shared that she had lost a baby and yet survived to have others. Gently she assured me that God wouldn’t give me more than I could handle.

I wanted to punch her in the throat.

I didn’t want to lose this baby and have others. And I sure didn’t want to think about the wisdom of God. Have you ever been there? Your world is coming apart and some well meaning soul tries to impart knowledge that doesn’t feel helpful at all. All the Jesus words in the world can’t fix it. And yet I too have tried to comfort others with words of experience. That’s not always best. If the person hurting wants to talk, or cry, or lean on your shoulder, just listen. Keep all that vast wisdom to yourself. Unless of course like me you write a blog. Then you have permission to put on your Jesus goggles and share all the words.

Happy Ending: The baby that was due on July 31 was born safe and healthy on September 29. A miscalculated due date resulted in the doctor’s concern over lack of development. As the stranger-lady in the waiting room predicted, I went on to have another healthy baby two years later. And God did not give me more than I could handle. Looking back I’m glad I did not punch her in the throat.
Well… mostly.