Life Actually By Kari Kampakis: In a world that’s hurting, you need stubborn hope

The day before my 29th birthday began with utter bliss — and ended with gut-wrenching pain.

Just three days before, I’d learned that I was pregnant, and Harry and I were ecstatic.

We laughed and dreamed as we drove to the beach to spend a weekend with his friends. Already, we felt like proud parents. We couldn’t stop talking about baby names, the nursery and starting our own family.

Then, as we stopped to see a friend, our excitement came to a halt as I felt the startling signs of a miscarriage.

I called my doctor, and he said if it was a miscarriage, there was nothing I could do to stop it. Instead of driving home, he advised us to go to the beach, take it easy, enjoy the weekend as best we could and see him on Monday.

Harry and I held out hope, but when the cramping continued for hours, we knew it wasn’t good. Around midnight the pain kicked in, and as Harry ran to the store to buy me ibuprofen, I curled up in bed and cried like a baby over this treasure we lost on my 29th birthday. It was one of the most disappointing and jolting days of my life.

It had taken us a year to conceive, so we kept an appointment that I’d scheduled before we got pregnant to see a doctor who could run some tests. He uncovered a cause for concern, and he grimly predicted that getting pregnant again might be difficult.

My lifelong dream was to be a mom, and to suddenly question that possibility triggered deep sadness and fear. What if our pregnancy was a fluke? What if it never happened again? How would we afford adoption when money was already tight after paying graduate school tuition?

It was a lonely season of waiting, praying and doubting. I learned a lot about myself and trusting God’s plan as I attended baby showers for friends and often felt like an outsider when the conversation turned to kids. By God’s grace, I got pregnant six months later with my oldest daughter, Ella. Around her first birthday I got pregnant again — only to miscarry this baby before Christmas.

Once again my heart was heavy, and though it made a huge difference having Ella to hold, I also felt the grief of her losing a brother or sister.

Looking back now, it is clear God had a plan. Over the course of my 30s, I birthed four beautiful baby girls, and even if we had not conceived them, I know my prayers to be a mom would have been answered. At the time, however, I couldn’t see past the unknowns. I only saw one road, the most common road to motherhood, and if it didn’t work out, the future looked dismal and dark.

My faith was not as deep then as it is now, yet it took trials like this to deepen it. What I wish I could tell my younger self is that God takes care of His people. His plan is good, perfect and always on time. His vision is bolder and grander than any tunnel vision we get, and if we wait patiently, He’ll author a better story than any story we could write.

I’d also tell my younger self that life is full of mysteries, and we’ll never get full answers to suffering on this side of heaven. But what we do know, as believers, is the best is yet to come. Faith means being sure of what we hope for — and certain of what we do not see. (Hebrews 11)

Still, hope can feel non-existent during times of loss. Our culture of doom-and-gloom only compounds the problem. We are surrounded by negativity in media and pop culture, and many popular movies, books and works of art leave us feeling terribly depressed because they use the framework of our visible world to process sad events. They show no light at the end of the tunnel, no purpose behind the pain, no hope for the future.

If we believe this world is all there is — that how we feel today is how we’ll always feel, that we’ll never be happy unless our prayers get answered exactly the way we hope, that there is no afterlife to anticipate, that suffering is as senseless as it appears — then we’ll despair. We’ll stay stuck in hopeless places.

But through Jesus, God births HOPE. He shines a light that conquers darkness and death. A Christian’s hope boils down to three key words: He is risen. Seeing the world through this framework changes everything.

Life on earth feels permanent, yet it is fleeting. Our real home is in heaven, and the ache in your heart that never goes away, that earthly joys and blessings can only temporarily quench, is really a longing for heaven. God created you to crave Him, and He placed eternity in your heart as a homing device to draw you home toward Him.

Feeling dissatisfied with this world reminds us that we were made for more. We are walking toward our final destination — where perfect peace, love and joy exist.

God brings new life from heartache, and just as the grief of Good Friday preceded the joy of Easter Sunday, today’s trials can lead to miracles. It is only Friday — and Sunday is coming. The darkness in between can feel like light years, and you may need years (or decades) to feel hope again, but that hope is worth fighting for. It is worth remembering how the first thing God did after creating the heavens and the earth was bring light into the darkness.

He began the story of humanity by setting the stage for the light of Jesus.

Darkness may be part of your story, but it isn’t the end of your story. Circumstances come and go, but God is forever. Put your trust in Him, not what happens to you. Fix your eyes on what is real, and when you feel scared of the unknowns, cling to the virtue of hope.

Kari Kubiszyn Kampakis is a Mountain Brook mom of four girls, author, speaker, and blogger. Kari’s newest book, “More Than a Mom,” and other bestselling books are available everywhere books are sold. Join Kari on Facebook and Instagram, visit her blog at karikampakis.com, or find her on the Girl Mom Podcast.