There’s a dad up at night wondering what he could have done differently to save his child. There’s a mother who had to bury her child after chemotherapy failed. We hear about adoption and families feeling complete.īut for each feel-good testimony, there’s a testimony that feels less than. We hear about CPR working and saving lives. We love to hear about the loud moments in someone’s life where it seems God Himself stretched out His hand to fix the impossible. We love extraordinary efforts paying off big. Or, must you realize that perhaps you’ve had your miracle all along? What happens when you don’t get your miracle? Do you keep searching for another? And a few months later, another was gone. Just like that, the miracle, the rainbow, slipped away.Īnother chance, a new pregnancy, and at eleven weeks she also slipped away. But when CPR failed, I wondered what happened to our miracle? Was the second miracle of CPR working simply too much to ask for? The chance to heal the missing piece just a bit, even if only temporarily. We knew he wasn’t necessarily going to stay forever, but he felt like our miracle. In 2018, we welcomed an infant foster son just months after our fourth miscarriage. What’s your miracle? Perhaps your miracle is simply surviving.
Without any sign or hope of a future rainbow. What happens if, for whatever reason, you’ve reached the end of the line without a rainbow? In the infertility world, a baby is the goal, the miracle, the end of the fight.īut what happens when there’s no rainbow? In the infant and pregnancy loss community, we hear about rainbows – the babies born after the “storm” of losing a pregnancy or infant.