Content note: This story discusses miscarriage.

It was the week before Easter 1995. I was five months pregnant, my husband took a day off work and we headed for the most exciting ultrasound appointment of our lives. We were going to see our first baby.

A few minutes into the appointment, the technician’s smile disappeared, then she excused herself to go find the doctor. My heart started to sink. The room filled with fear. 

When she returned with the news that the doctor had needed to attend to a delivery and would call us later, I asked her what the problem was. All she was allowed to tell us was that there was something wrong with the baby. 

We drove home, and I couldn’t hold back my tears. We had waited so long for this pregnancy. This was our joy, our hope, our blessing. My mind raced through the possibilities. What was going on with our baby?

Where Was God?

We prayed, like never before. When the phone rang later that day, I was unprepared for the news. Our baby was dead. My heart was crushed. I called our family doctor and asked for an emergency appointment, for this had to be a mistake.

The contractions started early in the morning on Good Friday. I felt my world was going to end. When we came home that evening, my dreams were shattered. Where was God in all of this? How could He let this happen to us? And on Easter weekend?

I looked for an explanation. What did I do to cause this? We went to see our doctor, then the genetics team, the obstetrician again. All of them repeated that we had done nothing wrong; these things happened more often than we thought. But I still couldn’t comprehend it. Where was God on that day?

One of His Ways

Our pastor had no answers, either, and friends seemingly didn’t know what to say. I felt utterly alone, lost in sadness, hopeless, depressed, questioning if we ever could have another baby.

And then I walked across the street from our apartment building and mustered the courage to enter a community outreach centre in Bramalea, Ont., staffed by volunteers with a weekly Bible study and an emergency food pantry.

I talked to Bob, the man in charge. I didn’t tell him about our Easter, but after sitting down for a coffee and a good chat, I asked if I could volunteer. Through my work with our walk-in visitors, searching for God, I slowly came out of the darkness that settled over my soul. My body healed faster than my broken spirit, but over time, that did, too.

Three months later, we were blessed with another pregnancy, and on Mother’s Day 1996, our son was born. Two years later, on the day of our seventh anniversary, God blessed us with a daughter.

I had always thought these dates were not accidental. God talks to us through various means, and to me, this was one of His ways.

Where was God in all of this? How could He let this happen to us? And on Easter weekend? Helena Smrcek

Hidden and Found

Years later, as I recall that Easter weekend and the pain of that experience, I can’t help but think of the disciples, witnessing the demise of Jesus. Their faith, hope and love were destroyed right before their eyes. They were devastated, scared, disillusioned. They asked where God was in all of this. Were they wrong to hope and believe? They must have felt robbed, cheated, destroyed.

Yet Easter Sunday was coming. Had they even thought of resurrection? Jesus brought people back from the dead before, but seeing the tortured body of our Lord must have been so devastating that such thoughts didn’t cross their minds.

In their despair, they hid, as we often do in the midst of our strugglesand suffering, unwilling to accept that this painful situation is no surprise to Him. God found them, and He found me, as I’d almost lost my faith during that time. But God called out to me through Bob and a group of people who cared. They didn’t know my entire story, yet they took the time to listen and offer prayers, hope and love. They showed me that Jesus cares and loves me, no matter the difficulty I face.

Shining Through

Since that time, we have faced many hurdles as we continue on our journey toward eternity, but also many blessings and, may I say, a few miracles. Our faith remains strong, as we know who holds our future. Jesus not only showed us how to live, but on that first Easter weekend, He showed us that death is not permanent. He beat it, and because of His victory, we will beat it, too.

Reading about Jesus’ death and Resurrection in the New Testament always leaves me astonished. This event was real, just as real as Jesus’ teachings and miracles were. What that tells me is that Jesus, in His physical, resurrected body, is somewhere. That “somewhere” is heaven. A real place of beauty, love and peace. And that gives me comfort, for I know that our baby is there, as are my in-laws and other loved ones who went before us, watching, cheering us on and waiting for the day our Lord calls us, too.

The miracle of Easter is a story of hope. God’s love is with us. He gave us the Holy Spirit to guide us as we walk through life, but He also gives hope through us, His people. If you are suffering today, dealing with pain, loss or fear—as I was—find courage and visit a Salvation Army centre or church. There are hundreds scattered across this country. For God’s love shines through His people, people who understand pain and are prepared to help you.

Let them.

Photos: Kenstocker/stock.Adobe.com

Journalist, author and screenplay writer Helena Smrcek believes in the power of a well-told story. When not at her keyboard, Helena loves listening to audiobooks, working on her hobby farm and travelling. She lives in Brantford, Ont.