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To tell of our story is to tell of grace: a video

christian living, AND WHY IS GRIEF SO HEAVY?, miscarriage

Where Is God And Why Is Grief So Heavy?

October 15, 2017

Today is National Pregnancy & Infant Loss Day (October is national PIL month). In honor of the baby we said goodbye to, I am sharing a sacred but very honest excerpt from my book, This Undeserved Life, regarding our miscarriage.

We have some online giveaways happening; see those here.

I was furious, and felt betrayed.

The days unfolded one at a time, slowly and painfully, holding horrors I never imagined experiencing. When doctors warned me of the possibility of miscarriage, I had no idea the toll it would take on me.

I had not the slightest hint of an idea I would be wrecked completely, stripped of my will to keep going. I thought I wasn’t handling infertility and the wait well?

Compared to this ugly process of anger and loss, I handled the wait like a hero: miscarriage made me a train wreck. I felt unChristian at best. Some pastor’s wife I am, smiling through the storm—not.

Every Sunday for months, I sobbed the entire way through church service. For weeks I hid in the light booth of the theater and read grief books to distract myself from people. My job to minister to others was put on pause with my own permission; I had no will or strength or desire to be of service to others.

I was out of commission and I felt fine if that disappointed people. There was nothing in me to pour out.

Empty didn’t scratch the surface of my heart.

Praying was confusing. I knew He was with me. He was steady and there, quiet but there. I didn’t know how to talk to God. I didn’t know if I wanted to or didn’t want to.

At times, His presence was welcome and warm. Other times, I avoided Him, afraid of feeling safety and peace, afraid to feel secure when I thought I should feel sad, afraid my vulnerability and sorrow were bad things.

Overall, I grew confident that He could handle whatever feelings I had bottled up inside me. Even if that meant being angry and upset at Him, pointing my finger and enraged, without a doubt He could handle it.

Believing He could handle my ugly rawness—my frustration and fury along with my disappointment—freed me to feel wholly loved by Him. It unleashed this great understanding of His scandalous grace.

As I learned He was giving me permission to grieve, even if it didn’t look pretty, I found a deeper sense of belonging to Him. I uncovered a closeness to Him I had never experienced, a closeness I rarely noticed in others.

Experiencing His permission to grieve set me free to be broken.

I didn’t realize how deeply I needed to just be broken in order to inch towards healing.

I wrote two verses in my journal which I carried around with me everywhere: “You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book.” Psalm 56:8.

If God collected my tears and recorded each one, surely He invited me to shed them. Surely, He knew sorrow was inevitable on this life journey. Surely, He cared.

The second was, “Where once there were thorns, cypress trees will grow. Where briers grew, myrtles will sprout up. This miracle will bring great honor to the LORD’s name; it will be an everlasting sign of his power and love.” Isaiah 55:13.

I felt caught up and entrapped in the thorns of loss and grief. Briers pricking my heart, holding captive my joy. But I was not without hope; though heavy and downtrodden, I knew He would come through.

I knew He would come through without me pretending I was okay. His faithfulness and promises didn’t depend on my ability to smile through the thorns and storms of life, but rather to trust Him through them.

My friend tried encouraging me not to be mad. This notion to “let go and let God.” She was the picture perfect pastor’s wife, submissive and beautiful, home cooked meals and multiple kids. She was quiet and kind, gentle and loving.

The implication was I could magically be okay and not care, move on, not be frustrated with God. The pressure I felt was to let go of my anger and sorrow, because those things make life about me which is selfish.

But for one of the first times, I felt confident to boldly declare He could handle my anger.

My goal in this process was to be candid before God. I believe pretending to be something I wasn’t was when resentment would start to dig its roots.

Pretending I was okay when I wasn’t began to feel inevitable; living life raw and vulnerably isn’t popular. At least not in the christian culture. Pretending I was fine seemed inevitable when “pastor’s wife” somehow translated into the expectation of a super woman who isn’t phased by pain.

People would tell me to take my time in healing, but soon after gave me (sym)pathetic pity-looks, wondering why I was still moping around. Couldn't I just get over it? I read in their facial expressions.

Forgetting was far from my mind, and yet it seemed everyone else had forgotten before I could barely begin the grief process.

From the same chapter in Isaiah, chapter fifty-five, I clung to His words confident He wanted my broken heart instead of my forced attitude. He would transform my attitude over time as needed, but what He desired was my heart, raw and honest. Even if that meant anger, bitterness, sorrow.

“And so the Lord says, ‘These people say they are mine. They honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far away. And their worship of me amounts to nothing more than human laws learned by rote.’”

From this verse, I figured He wanted me close; for me to be close to Him, I had to be honest with Him. There was no other way.

One day at a time, I breathed, and asked Him honest questions that pressed into me: How do I keep walking through grief when no one seems to give me permission? Do I give in to culture and societal expectation or do I fall into Your arms where it’s safe to be vulnerable? Why did we conceive only to miscarry right when we felt free to move into adoption?

I felt halted up, confused, heavy, but I knew He could handle the heaviness consuming me.

This is an excerpt from my best-selling book, This Undeserved Life. It hit #1 in Infertility, Pregnancy & Childbirth, Grief, Adoption, and more. 

Buy This Undeserved Life on Amazon

To read the first seven chapters of this book free, This Undeserved Life, download here:

Don't miss this week's giveaway on Instagram with Soul Cysters — it's a beautiful and custom baby loss ornament.

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In Infertility & Miscarriage
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natalie brenner, author, headshot, photographer
hi there.

Welcome to my small corner of the world! This is the sacred space I pour my heart out into words, written for you to hopefully inch a bit towards fullness. 

I'm wife to an ex-pastor, mama to two boys not quite 5 months apart, and I write a lot about: Jesus and justice, adoption, and the sanctifying mess of motherhood.

I'm the best-selling author of This Undeserved Life, which is the story of me surrendering my sorrow by grabbing ahold of it.

I'd be lying if I didn't tell you I am continually wrecked by scandalous grace. This is the space where I vulnerably share with the world my journey of learning to love well, even at the expense of myself.

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26 years lived as me 🎂 🎊 
Master of Arts in Teaching for him 📚🥇 Lots of gratitude and celebrating for all of us 🌸
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#bunchabrenners #thisundeservedlife #gratefulheart #happybirthday #congratsgrad #mastersofart #MAT #adventureswithsageandira
Saturday mornings are for YouTube dance videos, 🍩  donuts + ☕️ hot coffee, sun ☀️ shining through the big windows, and all the snuggles // of course they’re also for photo shoots of 6 month olds and newborns, but that’s fun too 😍 // what does your Saturday morning look like?
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#thebrennersfoster #bunchabrenners #saturdaymorning #donut #brennerbuds #thisundeservedlife #nataliebrennerphotography
YOU GUYS. 😭. It has been three very long years of transition, and though it’s not totally over yet (this fall when he starts teaching 🙌🏾), today + this weekend mark so many reasons to celebrate! Loren is finishing his last day Student Teaching and Monday (happy birthday to me!) he graduates with a Master of Arts in Teaching! To say I’m proud is an understatement. We have all worked soooooo hard as we transition from a Vocational Ministry Family to Not That. This intense few years has been hard on our marriage, but like anything else that doesn’t kill you, it’s made us stronger. Since choosing to transition from Vocational Ministry to Teaching, we’ve: grown by FOUR kids through birth, adoption, and foster care; we’ve moved cities + joined new communities; lived off one very small + inconsistent income and somehow haven’t drowned thanks be to God; we’ve gone to the beach ALOT; I wrote a book; we’ve cried and laughed and made mistakes and apologized and been hurt and gone to counseling and celebrated victories. So much life has been lived. I’m so honored to be on his team and do life with him. Congrats to us, honey. ☀️
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#bunchabrenners #grateful #thisundeservedlife #sixthyear 📷: @pdxkersten
The good stuff: days on Grandma’s farm, birthday present massages, friends who know you, knowing Jesus is enough, the hope of spring, chunky toddlers eating popsicles on a warm + sunny day.
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#getaftergrateful #thegoodstuff #namingthegoodstuff #adventureswithsageandira #brennerbuds #thisundeservedlife
Juggling these four babies (because let’s be real: trauma makes children babies) has been nothing short of challenging, busy, chaotic, hard, and an honor. We see teeth doctors and asthma doctors and feelings doctors; we see speech therapists and occupational therapists and auditory therapists and attorneys and caseworkers. The appointments are many, the sitting is Little. The feelings are deep and big and painful, the reality is heavy. We go through the days trying to make it as normal as we can: living with strangers (its only been 2 months after all) and calling them parents/daughters. We cry together, a lot. We laugh together, too. But what makes it undoubtedly worth it is that we get to sit in these scary, uncertain spaces with these kids. We get to tell them it’s more than okay to be sad, it makes sense they want to go home (we were made to connect biologically), and they are worth wrestling the throes of life with. These kids have taught me more about bravery and resilience and strength than anyone. They have proven that no matter how much unluck and terrible 💩 piles into the life you live...you can still get up each day and breathe and find joy, even if it’s in something so small and seemingly minuscule. They’ve proven to me that no matter how unkind people are to you, you can still choose to be kind and gentle and loving. These kids. They’re each worth everything and more. May I find strength and patience each moment to reveal that to them...and when I fail, because I do, may Grace work Himself deeper into the cracks I’ve perpetuated.
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#thebrennersfoster #fostercare #fostermom #fostermama #bunchabrenners #familyofsix #fosterfamily #transracialfamily #embraceoregon #everychild #grace
Is it normal to feel like you might not survive how much you love your kids? I might burst.
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“I miss my parents.” These words often spoken are quiet; pain dripping from her lips. Even quieter: “But I also like living here, I want to be safe.” A piece of my heart cracks as my eyes brim with tears and I steady my voice, “It’s okay to be sad and confused, this is hard. It’s not the way it’s meant to be, all of this. This is really, really hard.” Her deep brown eyes dive into mine and it feels like the whole world is wrong and all the brokenness lives right here in my home. We have a tiny thousand meaningful conversations by just making eye contact, me and her. I see her, even when she may not see herself. It’s sacred, this choice of standing in the gap with society’s most vulnerable. It’s sacred because we get to sit in the most broken, vulnerable pieces of kids’s stories with them as they process and unravel and come undone. It’s not pretty or cute by any means and none of us are heroes around here, just humans trying our best to love kids. No matter how long they live under our roof, these daughters have become family. And I will forever be changed by these two + their brothers and sisters. Forever marked with a love that hurts and is absolutely complicated but so, so genuine and real and worth it. I’ve always believed we can each love so much bigger than we realize: I want to keep daring myself to love bigger and bigger and bigger.
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#thebrennersfoster #embraceoregon #everychild #fostermom 📷: @pdxkersten
My answer 👆🏼 to the question I’m asked most often. Love them to pieces.
#brennerbuds #adventureswithsageandira #thisundeservedlife #letterfolk #virtualtwins #twinsofinstagram #27monthsold #22monthsold
April is #cesareanawarenessmonth. My gut tightens when I hear the phrase “c-section.” The term triggers my body, tensing up my muscles and sends sadness through my system. Maybe I’m dramatic or maybe I’m honest, 🤷🏼‍♀️
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My full birth story is in my book + on my blog; I’ve also shared it on a few podcasts. But in IG form: even after being a doula + birth photographer for MANY different births (homes, centers, hospitals -cesarean ), I still didn’t process that MY birth could possibly end in a cesarean. I just didn’t.
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We planned + hoped for a home birth, palms open knowing we may transfer because of my high risk pregnancy + birth with my blood clotting disorders.
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After 3 full days of intense labor with an asynclitic baby Ira + the worst caput ever seen, cesarean was all we both had left to survive as his heart began to drop. I was proud of how hard I fought + how strong I was, more than ready for that magical meeting moment where they place him on my chest. You know the moment.
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Turns out, my body metabolized 3 different types of numbing medication used for cesareans. I had to be completely put under while Loren was forcefully removed from the room because he refused to leave his wife’s side. Only to wake up an hour later with 8 fresh layers of sliced midsection, ZERO medication to numb my pressed on midsection, + a newborn miracle who had been resuscitated while his mama was being sewn back together. 🌧 🌈 
The first memory I have of meeting Ira is of a proud Loren bringing him over to me as I screamed in agony + sobbed that I didn’t want to meet him like this. 🌧 🌈 
There’s much more to this story. I learned the hard way cesareans are absolutely not the easy way out. And no matter how prepared + excited you are about birth, you may still end up with a terribly traumatic birth that will scar you Forever. 💛 Please do not tell me to look at the bright side: I can be BOTH sad and grateful. Jesus sits with me in all of it.
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I’m not ashamed of having a cesarean; I don’t believe birthing a child in ANY way or at all makes me more or less of a mother. I am grateful Ira is in my arms + I get to celebrate his life. He’s a gift. #iravyou #rainbowbaby
I’ve always imagined my table would be full, a space of joy and laughter. I hope to always be breaking bread with people living different experiences than I. Lately our table has overflowed. I knew when we stepped into foster care, it meant gaining family in untraditional ways; what I couldn’t have foreseen was the intricate way it has been weaving together. Sage and Ira have two “sissies” they adore, but also have gained a couple big brothers through those sissies; they simply live with our friends instead of us. Sage and Ira ask about the boys every day, just as their sissies do. And then there are older, now-married sisters to these extra kiddos, who we invited into our life for over six hours today. Today I learned more about Ramadan and feasting and fasting and celebrating and tradition. I cheered a bunch of kids on in a fun run. I rejoiced in tears about extra visits with Older Sis. I chased six kids, with a few other adults, all trying to keep track of everyone at the park. Got kicked out of the library #IravYou. And did hair care on four kids. This is an adventure of pure chaos and heightened cortisol levels, but it’s entirely more beautiful and transformative than I could have ever imagined. The layers of being a foster family are just that: layered, but they’re worth diving into. Jesus is so real. Grace is so big. Foster care, you’re a gift to us. 
#adventureswithsageandira #thebrennersfoster #thisundeservedlife #embraceoregon #everychild #fostermom #multicultural
  • Natalie Brenner
    26 years lived as me 🎂 🎊 Master of Arts in Teaching for him 📚🥇 Lots of gratitude and… https://t.co/HyCmPFKOzl
    about 23 hours ago
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Wholeness Despite the Brokenness — download a free grief guide

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