“Jesus, You are the only One worthy of our hope.” I whispered into the darkness. “And at the end of the day, You’re the one we cling to.” I prayed through my tears that night, resting my hand on my rounded belly. We had learned that our child was no longer living, and we prepared for the days ahead. In that moment, crying out to God as He whispered to me through the night, I understood on a deeper level than ever before that baby Jesus coming to earth is the only baby in which we could truly put our hope. My faith deepened in spite of my pain.

It doesn’t feel like Christmas to me, even though according to my calendar we are just days away from the holiday. No decorations hang in my home other than Christmas cards hanging on the wall. Christmas carols are few and far between, a pile of gifts lies unwrapped, and a traditional family recipe calls for my attention. This week, social media has shown me holiday photos, fresh snowfalls, and rosy cheeks bundled up in winter hats and scarves. For most of my life, cold weather is something I have loved to associate with Christmastime. Cold weather and happy feelings remind me of Christmas. However, my walk outside yesterday—feeling the hot sun on my bare shoulders while watching palm trees sway in the breeze—that experience certainly did not trigger those usual feelings of “Christmas.

But it’s so much more than that: it is hard to feel like celebrating after a recent loss.

This December, I delivered our stillborn baby, the son we had prayed for by name for many years. Noah. At exactly 34 weeks gestation, he stopped moving in the womb, and a visit to the hospital revealed that his heart had stopped beating.

Noah was born into the arms of Jesus on December 12, 2020, at a hospital in Honolulu.

Just a few miles away from that hospital sits a hotel where on December 13, 2019—one year earlier—I discovered that I was pregnant for the second time in my life after nearly a decade of trying to have children. We were visiting Hawaii for the first time that week, making preparations for my husband’s job to move us there in January. I took pregnancy tests for several days in a row in that hotel, and I soon realized that things did not look good. The test line did not become darker to indicate an HCG increase, and my first miscarriage happened in Honolulu on December 18, 2019, just days before Christmas, and days before my 40th birthday.

One year apart. Just before Christmas. Two babies, gone to Heaven too soon—at least in our minds. These losses happened after I thought our long road of infertility was behind us.

When our daughter was born in 2018, I thought that the constant ache of an empty womb was over. Now we have experienced a sorrow we have never known before.

As I write this post the week of Christmas, I think about what a fun and busy and festive time Christmas was when I was growing up. Parties, decorations, tradition, shopping for gifts, and of course, celebrating the birth of Jesus. My birthday is two days after Christmas, so it is usually an extra special time of year for me! However, as I entered adulthood, Christmas and my birthday began to be a time when I remembered what I didn’t have. Through most of my twenties, those special days reminded me that I didn’t have a husband or boyfriend like many of my friends did. The greatest desire of my heart was to be a wife and mother. Instead I felt lonely and I focused on my lack.

Finally, not long before the Christmas when I turned 29, my husband and I were married. He made Christmas so much better! When I was 30 and we began trying to have a baby, we soon realized that we were struggling with infertility. That Christmas, I desperately wanted to share a baby announcement with my family, but my womb was empty. Instead I hid my tears when a friend’s pregnancy announcement popped up on social media.

As we longed for children year after year, I unintentionally began to associate Christmas with grief. Oh, how I wanted to hold a baby in my arms at Christmas! Instead, there was no baby and there were Christmas tears each year from 2010 until 2017, when I finally experienced the joy of being 6 months pregnant at Christmas. The following year we finally enjoyed Christmas with our baby—such a long-awaited bundle of joy!

Then the losses began. The early miscarriage last year. This year, I was delighted to have a healthy pregnancy at 40. My belly was growing, nothing indicated any problems, and our baby boy frequently moved and kicked to make his presence known. He swam in the Pacific ocean on the Hawaiian coast from the security of my womb. He heard his sister sing the ABCs over and over and over. His life was full of peace and joy, and we looked forward to his arrival in January.

The day we discovered that Noah’s heart was no longer beating, we wept, and we felt shocked—this was so unexpected! My parents quickly made arrangements to travel from the East Coast to Hawaii during the pandemic. I spoke with my doctor about the process of inducing labor and learned what to expect.

We had a few sleepless nights as we anticipated Noah’s birth. But I was not awake in the night feeling fear and dread. Yes, I was crying because my baby had died. But God was speaking peace to me. Scriptures and words from faith-filled songs ran through my mind as I lay awake in the night. God’s peace surrounded me as I sat on my couch in the wee hours of the morning. Isaiah 9:6 describes Jesus as the Prince of Peace.

During those nights when God was speaking to me, one of the things He showed me so clearly is WHERE are we putting our hope during infertility? WHERE are we putting our hope when the babies finally arrive? Are we putting our hope in the baby? Or are we putting our hope in God? Up until now, I probably would have answered “both.” I am putting my hope in God. But I was also really, really hoping for babies. I really, really love my babies. I was so glad when God brought our daughter into our lives. I was so glad when He answered our prayers again and I found out I was pregnant with our son.

But when my prayed-for son went to Heaven and I spoke with God in the stillness of the night, I realized one important truth in a brand new way.

The only baby in which we can really put our hope is Jesus.

At the end of the day, all we have is Jesus. At the end of the day, He’s the only one I have to cling to.

I’m afraid this might sound cliché. But friends, I will never forget the son who grew in my womb, the baby boy I held briefly in my arms, the precious child who went to Heaven just before Christmas. I miss him, especially at night, and we will continue to miss his presence in our lives.

But if it weren’t for the hope we have in Jesus and our knowledge and confidence of Heaven, our pain would be unbearable. Jesus truly carries our burdens and He gives us hope. Yes, we are still grieving. Yes, we’re going to miss Noah so much in our future. But at the end of the day, one thing remains—our faith in Jesus Christ.

Every year for at least the past decade, the only thing I really wanted for Christmas was a baby. This year, I would have chosen to have that baby boy in my womb or in my arms, but he is with the Lord. I’m choosing to not be offended that God’s plan was different than mine. (Read some raw processing of “not being offended by God” in this blog post.) I am so incredibly thankful for our daughter and for the joy she brings, but I wanted our new baby too. This Christmas, I will miss the tiny baby who we wanted so greatly.

But this Christmas, I also have a new perspective that I am grasping better than ever before. The baby Jesus we see represented in the nativity in December? That’s the baby that brings eternal hope and eternal life. Isaiah 7:14 foretells that Jesus will be called Immanuel, meaning God with us. God is with us, even in this. Especially in this. Jesus is the only baby worthy of my all. Jesus is the only one I can trust with my pain and my grief, as my husband and I are truly and deeply believing that He is good toward us, even in this.

I don’t know if I’ve said it well. I’m sure I’ll keep writing about these concepts for a very long time. Your family is worth fighting for, but surrender to God is even more vital. Seek Him, friends. Do all you can do to look for Jesus, the Prince of Peace, Immanuel, God with us. He truly changes everything.