When you meet with doctors, nurses, midwives and doulas about an upcoming pregnancy, the topics lean towards pleasant things—like hearing baby's heartbeat, seeing the little one kicking and squirming inside, and keeping yourself healthy while growing a person.
But none of my conversations over the years could have remotely prepared me for this past Friday night as I rushed to the emergency room, weeping for the unknown as my womb continued to cramp and release terrifying amounts of blood.
As far as I knew, blood during pregnancy meant one thing: miscarriage. But as I've learned the long, hard way this weekend, thankfully that's not always the case.
Let's backtrack for just a moment.
This past week has been like a dream. On Friday, we completed our second Healing Intensive at Gold Monarch Healing Center, hosting five beautiful women who had come in from all over the country to let Jesus delicately and powerfully heal the brokenness and pain in their hearts and bodies. Miracle after miracle continued to unfold in front of our eyes, and although I still battled the normal symptoms that accompanied an unpleasant first trimester, the usual nausea and fatigue paled in comparison to what God was doing.
The intensive ended on Friday morning, and by that evening, I was standing on the stage at the Fountaingate Women's Conference preaching my little heart out, still on a high from all the miracles we had experienced that week, but full of faith for even more. As the night came to a close and I opened up the altar for prayer, encouraging attendees to come down and let God minister even deeper to the pain in their hearts, I walked off the stage and spoke with a friend.
“Christa,” she said. “As you were leading the altar call, I saw darkness and arrows flying towards your womb, knowing there was an attack on your pregnancy. But as the arrows got close, an angel stepped in front of your baby and blocked them.”
I thanked my friend for sharing what she had seen, glad for the reminder to increase the prayer around my pregnancy, especially during events where I was ministering. And as fatigue from the week began to set in, I ducked out of the service early, knowing I needed to get home and rest if I was going to speak four more times during the weekend conference.
I returned home and started my normal bedtime routine, brushing my teeth, washing my face, and using the bathroom. But when I stood up to flush, I let out a scream.
Blood. The last thing you ever want to see as a pregnant woman.
With my husband and son out of town, I immediately called my parents who rushed to my aid as I laid flat on the bed, weeping in complete shock. I could hear my mom in the other room on the phone with the doctor's answering service, giving the nurse details and asking for advice.
Should we go to the emergency room?
What was happening?
What should we do?
With the nurse unable to adequately diagnose the situation without seeing me, she encouraged my mother to take me to the emergency room at the hospital since it was the weekend, letting her know it could be dangerous if I miscarried the baby because apparently, not everything always comes out the way it should.
Without prompting, both parents laid their hands on my body and began to pray, declaring truth, promises we've had over this baby, and believing for Jesus to intervene with total healing. I shared the vision my friend had seen of the angel protecting the baby, and we clung to that word as we continued to intercede. The presence of God was so thick—so strong, in fact, my entire body was shaking under the weight of heavy glory. I could feel something greater than myself flowing through my veins, guarding my heart, and moving in me and on me. And I prayed, all I could see was diamonds.
Diamonds everywhere. Diamonds in the sky, diamonds all over me, and diamonds covering my womb.
If you've followed my blog for a while, you know the significance of diamonds in my life, and how God has used them to represent protection and safety. I opened my eyes and looked at my parents, but before I could let them know what I had seen, my mother spoke.
“Christa, all I could see over you when I prayed was diamonds.”
Almost immediately, as her confirming words pumped peace into my heart, proving once again that a mighty God was at work to protect my baby, something very opposite to peace began to shake within my physical frame.
Cramping. Painful cramping that bulldozed my heart with enormous amounts of dread. I grabbed at my womb and held on tight, feeling helpless as my own body seemed to be purging the life I longed to hold onto. As the cramping worsened like the beginning pains of labor, I cried out in agony, holding on for dear life. But as the cramping subsided, the worst possible thing began to happen. My womb began to release large amounts of blood.
And helplessly, I wailed as a mother who truly believed she was losing her child.
I sat in the bathroom in complete shock, recounting the promises Father had made to me about my baby. I told Him this didn't make sense….that it wasn't right. I pleaded with Him for wisdom, for a word, for a miracle—just to give me something to hold onto. But I heard nothing. Felt nothing. And the silence was deafening.
I knew, just like I did when Luca Gold died, these were the moments that define life. I knew that if I shut my heart down, or got angry at God, or let bitterness, offense, or the ‘Why's' come into play and take over, that it would poison my heart and ruin my future. With as much energy as I could muster up, I extended my hands to heaven.
Father, no matter what, I will worship you. In death, in life, I'm confident and covered by the power of your great love.
With every moment, my heart and body shook. The more blood I lost, the weaker and colder I became. Not knowing what to do, and feeling as thought my body was shutting down, I called my mom into the bathroom.
It's time to go to the hospital.
As I sat in the emergency room in the middle of the night, looking around the room at all the people in pain, I knew I had another choice to make. I could submit my heart to the gloom and overwhelming despair in the room, or I could begin to pray. I sat in my chair and prayed for the single mom who cradled her little boy in the corner, watching as she kissed his forehead and rocked him back and forth with worry. I prayed for the little girl with her broken arm, asking for Father to pour out healing and peace as she cringed from excruciating pain. I prayed for the two couples with toddlers who appeared hopeless, believing for restoration for their hearts, their bodies, and their lives.
The minutes turned to hours, and as I prayed, my body began to let up and the cramping subsided. Knowing the hospital was understaffed and from the looks of things, we were going to be there all night before we were seen, I decided it would be best for my body to just go home and get some rest.
The night was long, but I slept hard, getting up several times to use the bathroom after cramping would shake my body in pain. But as I woke up the next day, trying my best to empty my brain and avoid thinking of the worst, the phone rang with my husband on the other end.
“Christa, I worshiped late into the night, and my spirit grieved for you, because I hate that I'm not with you and that you went through that without me, but I just couldn't grieve for the baby. I really do believe that our child is still alive.”
Could this be true? A part of my heart believed his words felt right, especially with all of the visions and pictures God had brought our way, but surely with the enormous amounts of blood, there was no way my body wasn't miscarrying.
I picked up the phone and called a dear friend who I knew had recently gone through a miscarriage, and after I finished recapping the events of the night, her first words exploded hope in my heart.
So, that's very different than what happened to me, Christa. My severe cramping happened when I passed the baby. If you haven't passed any clotting or fetal tissue, I think your baby could still be alive. She went on to let me know that another one of our friends had bled severely during two of her pregnancies, and that her babies came out just right.
Then someone texted my mom, letting her know the same thing had happened to her during both of her pregnancies, and her babies were healthy.
Then I saw another friend on Facebook who had recently had her baby, and she let me know around the same time, she had bled badly during her first trimester without miscarrying.
Then I spoke with yet another friend tonight who had bled heavily for ten days around her eleventh week of pregnancy, and her brand new baby boy is completely healthy and fine.
It's definitely been a longer-than-usual weekend, and because an announcement was made that I lost the baby, I felt very strongly about clearing the air and telling the whole story. With my doctors strict orders to remain on bed rest, (and with Gilmore Girls keeping me company on Netflix), my heart has been unusually peaceful. I reach down and touch my belly on a regular basis, speaking to my baby and seeing the diamonds surrounding my womb. I thank Father for the angel that is protecting me and my child as we grow and bloom to life.
And when I head into the doctors office tomorrow morning, you better believe I'm expecting to hear the miraculous sound of a little heartbeat.
Believe with me, dear friends. Because this mama is expecting miracles.