“Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.” — C.S. Lewis
Jacob and I have always wanted to become parents. But we had no idea just how much vulnerability it would require of us.
Family “planning,” as many others have experienced and noted, is complicated as an elite athlete. In track and field, most U.S. women take advantage of the down year between Olympic cycles, without an international championship. With that year being eliminated due to Covid, Jacob and I decided that though I would miss World Championships on U.S. soil, we still wanted to start trying in the fall of 2021. We felt the Lord calling us to it and grew excited and ready.
In October of 2021, we learned we were pregnant with our first child. I won’t ever forget the measure of joy I felt — and even more, a feeling of right-ness, like I was made for it. I savored this new reality for all of seven days, at which point we lost the pregnancy.
It was early but it didn’t matter. Our hearts had already melded to that baby… and already started dreaming of our future together. Jacob and I have both known grief before, but this was categorically different from anything we’d ever experienced. It was the first real trauma we’d endured within our marriage.
After taking time to heal, I was able to see an OB to get a blood work panel and be sure my body had no glaring issues that might make a full-term pregnancy difficult. She found my progesterone was abnormally low, which was not a shock as it runs in my family. I was relieved to learn this was an easy fix, resolved with a daily progesterone supplement during my luteal phase (ovulation to period).
Although I knew there was no way to confirm the miscarriage was due to my progesterone levels, in the back of my mind it created an illusion of control. So when we became pregnant again in November, I felt confident we were out of the woods. I downloaded one of the myriad pregnancy tracking apps and we followed as our baby grew from a poppy seed to a peppercorn to a raspberry…. the anticipation was palpable.
Because of our first loss, we were able to get in early for our initial ultrasound. Jacob and I gripped hands as the image showed that tiny, glorious heartbeat. Sweet relief and gratitude. The tech printed the pictures, and we brought them to Christmas to celebrate with our families.
At the end of January, we had our next ultrasound at about 11 weeks. Inevitably I was nervous – I expected it regardless of how far along we were – but there was an underlying assuredness and excitement to see more of our baby.
Once the ultrasound wand was in place, my heart started to race as the screen declared the little heart inside me was not. The doctor gently confirmed and paralysis set in, refusing to believe what was before my eyes. Jacob asked her if we could have a few minutes alone. He laid over me on the medical table and prayed as I wept gutturally beneath him.
The next week was a complete haze of emotion and lament. In the midst of the storm it’s hard not to feel God has abandoned you – we did at times. And yet we were reminded by a mentor, His love is big enough to absorb the most heinous accusations against him (Job, Psalms 39, 44, 88). We knew all we could do was bring our anger and confusion and sadness to the throne of God, because, “To whom shall we go? “You have the words of eternal life” (John 6:68). We felt His presence so powerfully through the rich community and counsel he put around us – family, close friends, and our church here in Boone. They held space for our grief and reminded us that Jesus, too, weeps with us (John 11:35) and God acknowledges every tear (Ps 56:8). We preached to our feelings what’s true: that our suffering isn’t a result of God’s failure (or ours, if we are following Him), but rather a consequence of life in a broken world. For those who love him there is a promise of redemption (Rom 8:28) – & in the meantime, His nearness (Ps 34:18). [There is much more to say about the spiritual journey of the past six months… for a later post]
We were also waiting for my body to process the miscarriage, which it did a week after our appointment. Natural miscarriage is essentially a mini-labor, sending many women to the emergency room due to blood loss. My ferritin levels dropped from 130 to 67, though my supplementation remained the same and I had been running slightly less during the pregnancy. Needless to say, my body also needed time to recover. I took the rest of February to run intuitively as I prioritized healing.
Toward the end of that time I felt a nudge to resume normal training and sign up for a few road races. I wanted to remain open and obedient in case God had planned for me to pursue World Champs this summer, not motherhood. This was not my desire, but I knew that if God was calling me to something, He’d provide everything I needed to obey.
In my experience, despite the difficulty of obedience in some seasons (and the circumstances into which it leads you), there is an underlying peace and joy on the other side (2 Chron 29:27). It may be delayed, but it comes. I was finding the opposite to be true. I ran a road 5k in Atlanta at the end of March, then a road mile in Spartanburg in April. While I thought starting on the roads would jumpstart my motivation to pursue the track season, it really didn’t… and the process of preparing for races felt increasingly more draining.
The need for change became apparent around the end of April, at which point I needed to plan a few track races if I was to compete at USAs. I signed up for the Sound Running 5k on May 6th, but as it approached I started to feel dread – my body was still recalibrating (abnormal hormones and ferritin still low), and my emotions fragmented and fragile. It felt too painful to get on a starting line this summer, knowing I was supposed to be giving birth.
Even after realizing all this, I was still hesitant not to race, afraid it was a cop-out or worse, disobedient. But after a conversation with my counselor, it became clear that for those who fear the Lord, sometimes there are multiple paths of obedience. In His kindness, God allows us to choose (Ps 25:12). We are secure in His love either way.
The Lord was inviting me to do just that, to make the decision on my own. Not for the sake of injury, pregnancy, advice from an authority figure like my coach (who gave me complete freedom to decide), but for the sake of my values – wholeness of mind, body, and spirit. To find that a worthy rationale and to accept the consequences, now or later. I finally did, and began to feel the peace and joy that was strikingly absent the previous three months.
Over the past year, God has been teaching us how to be vulnerable – in desiring parenthood, in our careers, in relationships, and ultimately entrusting our future to Him. As C.S. Lewis so aptly puts it, to truly love something or someone is to risk deep emotional pain. In the months following the miscarriage, I’d been convinced that my love for God meant vulnerability on the track – racing below my capacity and trusting him to strengthen me. That might’ve been an option. But I realized the more vulnerable choice, in this case, was to listen to the needs of my body and heart. To stop pressing, risk the professional and personal implications of that decision, and focus on other parts of my identity while I heal completely. Who knows what’s to come, but I believe it’ll be good. :)
Why share this story? I long debated and prayed over whether to do so publicly. It feels deeply personal, and even writing this over the past week has been difficult. But God has gently assured me of His ability to use it, that others may be comforted with the comfort we have received from Him (2 Cor 1:4). That is my heart and prayer – that whatever your heartbreak, whatever your broken place, God’s power to heal and redeem and make beauty from ashes would be known to you. That you would feel less alone. And that you’d be encouraged to continue “running” with he(art), letting the hardship grow you into who you’re made to be.