In His Arms: The Story of Elijah and God’s Faithfulness

There are circumstances and pivotal times in our lives that we can look back on and be reminded of the goodness of God and His love for us. One might think miscarrying at 17 weeks—on a holiday in Hawaii—would not be one of those times, but I can say that the Lord took our baby and showed us how much He loved us all at the same time.

This is the story of Elijah, our son.

It began in 2004 when my husband and I were living in the US while he was attending chiropractic school in Portland, Oregon. We had been married for a few years and were excited to start our family, and on January 16, 2004 those two little pink lines showed up on the pregnancy test. We were over the moon! Our dream of becoming parents had come true.

Time flew by, and soon we were seeing our growing baby at the 12-week ultrasound. He seemed so peaceful with his arms behind his head, and we were now fully digesting the fact that we were becoming parents!

In March, we had the opportunity to go to Hawaii for my husband's Easter break and we looked forward to coming home for our 20-week ultrasound where we’d find out the sex of our baby. However, the Lord had other plans for this holiday.

About a week into our trip, I started spotting and cramping. While it was alarming, I dismissed it—I had heard of other friends who had similar symptoms and went on to have good pregnancies and healthy babies. I naively thought I was in the “safe zone” as I was entering into my 17th week. However, I had been concerned enough to share my symptoms with a friend, who was also a new mom at the time. She suggested that I go to emergency to get things checked, and we took this advice for our peace of mind.

That night, my husband and I were in emergency for over six hours, and received every test possible, including an ultrasound where we could see the baby moving, stretching, and tilting his head. We were sent home at midnight and were told that everything looked good, and we were so incredibly relieved!

But, at 5 a.m. I awoke to a cramp, a bubbling sensation, and then a burst of fluid. We rushed back to the hospital where a heartbeat was found, which brought us a glimmer of hope. We were sent up to the labour and delivery ward. There the doctor further examined the situation, and her face turned sympathetic. We were told that his little foot was hanging down, and any hope that we still had disappeared. She confirmed that we were losing the baby and that I would need to be induced or have a D&C. 

I had just heard the heartbeat minutes earlier, and now I was consumed with heartache wondering when the baby would die. Was he suffering? Was there truly nothing we could do?

The labour was long—three days. During that time the baby's head was decapitated. Things couldn’t get any worse, with every day growing more emotionally and physically torturous, but we knew God was with us because, despite the circumstance, we felt His peace—the kind that transcends all understanding.

On the third day, the baby was delivered. He was a boy. A weird rush of emotions followed, a mix of relief and grief. During the pregnancy we had tossed around baby names, but it had been so early that none had stuck. However, after he was born, the name Elijah came immediately to my heart. It wasn’t a name that we had ever discussed before. I didn’t share the name aloud, so I asked my husband if he had a name. Without hesitation, he said, “Elijah.”

I couldn’t believe my ears! The Lord was there with us in our heartbreak, giving us the perfect name for our son! We later learned that it means “Yahweh is my God,” which I absolutely love! 

The days after had us reflecting on the whirlwind we had just come out of. We could clearly see how the Lord never left us in that storm. He had even lovingly prepared our hearts; He truly did take our son and show us how much He loved us. How, you might ask? This is where God is so detailed and my words seem inadequate to describe the love and mercy He showed us in those days, but I will try:

First of all, when I found out that I was expecting, my mother-in-law had a dream. She dreamt that when the baby was born, no one was excited. Why would she share such a thing? But in the hospital, it came back to me and I understood why.

The week before we lost Elijah the Lord had spoken to me and asked, “If I took your baby, would you blame Me?” I repeated the unsettling question aloud to my husband, and answered in my heart that I would never blame Him—I could never survive such a thing without Him!

Looking back on the three days of labour, I was so grateful we didn’t agree to a D&C, though the medical team encouraged it. I knew that a D&C procedure would take the baby in pieces and that didn’t feel right in my spirit. I wanted to see the baby whole, learn if it was a boy or girl, and honour his or her life. Going through labour allowed us to see him as our baby. I feel that God honoured our decision not to have a D&C because, though a typical labour is filled with pain, mine was not.  They gave me Pitocin, which should have caused me extreme pain, but I experienced next to nothing! Over the three-day labour, I was able to decline every offer of epidural or morphine. What a miracle! 

The nurses and doctors placed in our lives those days were ordained by God. The last nurse we had during our hospital stay spoke of Elijah in such a way that he became alive in our hearts. She brought us a memory box that we will always treasure, and in it were his precious hand and footprints, weight, name, birthdate, a sweet outfit and hat, and a photograph. Yes, they had placed his broken body back together for us. The way they respected his little life touched us greatly.

On the fourth day, the day I was discharged, we decided to have a service for Elijah. The Lord had planned that as well, as we were in no frame of mind to arrange one. We draped a sheet over a table in the corner of the room, placed on top an orchid arrangement that our friends sent us, along with our Bible, his memory box, and some juice and crackers for communion. We called the nurse and she brought Elijah in. We saw our baby for the first time. He was in a beautiful basket, wrapped in a blanket, with flowers around the edges.

The impromptu service couldn’t have been sweeter—kissed by God. We were able to see our little guy, and inspect his fingers and toes. We laughed, we cried, we prayed, and shared in communion. We wrote him letters and placed them with an orchid beside him and said our final goodbyes. We agreed that every time we saw an orchid, we would think of our son. That day we left the hospital with an unexplainable joy. We left with Elijah in our hearts, knowing we would see him again one day.

That evening, we went out for dinner. When our plates arrived, each plate had an orchid sitting on it. Once again, we had another good cry. God’s love for us is so detailed.

We left that holiday much different people.

One year after losing Elijah, I gave birth to my daughter. Two years later I had another daughter! What a blessing they are! This day, 21 years later, our family keeps an orchid in our home, in honour of Elijah and as a reminder that God will never leave us or forsake us! He is faithful and His promises are true.

May the story of Elijah encourage your heart today with any hardship you face.

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” Psalm 34:18