Do you have empty arms?
Remembering May 15, 1987. May God heal every broken heart who reads my story. He has healed mine.
Note: This post was originally written in 1987. I have re-written it over the years. God’s truth still stands. He is good and He is faithful. I pray my God-story will bring healing to anyone who has lost a baby, child or loved one. It is a long post but hopefully worth it.
Today is the anniversary of an event that feels like it happened yesterday. Thirty-two years ago, God worked in ways I did not anticipate or expect. Let me take you back.
Phillip Troyer and I had four children when we were blessed with the news of a baby to be born in September of 1987. I had a routine exam on Monday, May 11, 1987. Arriving at the doctor’s office for an early morning appointment, I was a pro at this routine check-up stuff. I’d been through it four times and new exactly what to expect. Weigh-in, blood pressure check, urinalysis, stethoscope, monitor to hear the baby’s heart beat – but today was different.
The nurse couldn’t find a heart beat. She repositioned me and repositioned me. I didn’t think too much about it until I looked at her face. She called in my doctor and he tried. Nothing. No heart beat. Dr. Graham asked his nurse to schedule an ultrasound asap.
I felt ill. I couldn’t believe this was happening. This had to be a nightmare and I would wake up to life as usual. There had to be a heartbeat.
The ultrasound was scheduled for three hours later. Those three hours were the longest of my life. I prayed. I cried. I begged. I cried more. I prayed more.
Then it was time. I entered the ultrasound room. The technician applied the cold gooey cream on my growing tummy and began the procedure. She gently moved the device across my mid section. I could see our tiny baby on the screen. The tech wasn’t allowed to tell me the results. But she didn’t have to. I saw. I knew. No movement. Our lifeless baby.
Dr. Graham came in and took my hand. His eyes said it all and then the words, “I’m sorry.” “Kathy, do you want to wait for the baby to abort naturally or do you want to schedule an inducement?” I could hardly take in what I was hearing. Naturally abort or be induced? I was suffocating. This didn’t happen to me – I got pregnant – I had babies – I took babies home – I held babies in my arms. That’s what is supposed to happen. Just not this time.
I called Phil at work from my doctor’s office. He asked if I was okay. I lied. I wasn’t okay. After we discussed our options, I asked Dr Graham to schedule the inducement for Friday, May 15. We chose this direction since we had four other children and did not want the loss to occur at a time when I was alone with the them.
Leaving the doctor’s office, I fell into the driver’s seat of my van, turned the radio to The WBCL Radio Network and sobbed. I heard a soothing voice on the radio. Dr. Chuck Swindoll was speaking. “Whatever you are hanging on to with a closed fist, let it go. Release your grip. It’s in the letting go that God can fill you up again.” I thought for sure he was talking directly to me. “Open your hands, Kathy. Open your arms.”
God ministered to me that day in 1987 through Chuck Swindoll via radio waves. “Let go, Kathy. Let go, of this little one that you have been carrying for five months. I love this child even more than you do. Your child is in my arms. Now let me fill your arms with my love and peace.”
I honestly don’t know how I drove back to our house in Laotto that day.
Later that evening, we gathered our children on the couch. Scott, Kelly, Matt & Eric cried when we told them. Our loss was their loss, too. My heart ached seeing their sorrow.
On Friday, May 15, 1987, Phil and I drove to Parkview Hospital on Randalia Drive. The 20-minute drive felt like hours. I don’t think we talked much that morning. We were numb. We were broken. We didn’t know how we would get through this painful event.
We checked in and were taken up to the maternity floor. Sounds of mothers, babies, fathers and grandparents filled the hallways. I was given an IV to begin the inducing process.
Eight hours later, Katie Lynn Troyer, was handed to us. She was so tiny. So fragile. Perfectly formed. A precious little girl.
Our nurse, Amy, who I swear was an angel, held my hand and cried with us. Dr. Graham sat on the edge of the bed and held my hand as well. He said, “We don’t know why this happened. Only God knows for sure.” He expressed sympathy and asked if we wanted to remain on this floor or move to a non-baby floor. We chose the non-baby floor for my overnight stay. I didn’t think I could handle hearing the cries of little ones when my arms were empty.
The next morning, we were dismissed and I kept thinking, “I can’t do this, Lord. I can’t leave here with empty arms. Why can’t we leave here with a healthy baby like the previous four times? It’s not supposed to be this way.” Phil was sent to retrieve our car. The nurse helped me into the wheel chair so I could be taken downstairs.
As I was being wheeled down the hospital floor toward the elevator, I cried out to the Lord, “I can not leave here with empty arms. Help me, please.”
We approached the elevator door when a young volunteer called out, “Mrs. Troyer! Mrs. Troyer! Wait, I have something for you.” She placed something in my arms saying, “I was worried I would miss you. I’m glad you are still here”.
Tears flooded my eyes as I read the little card. It said, “With much love and deepest sympathy from your Laotto Wesleyan Church family and friends.”
I held in my arms – a vase – filled with the most beautiful tiny pink rosebuds. Tears of gratitude to my Heavenly Father trickled down my cheeks. I let go of a baby girl and God filled my empty arms with His love in the form of tiny pink rosebuds.
That card along with her hospital bracelet and other memorabilia are tucked away in a small box as a reminder of God’s love.
Friends, I don’t know what you are clutching with your fist but whatever it is, let it go. It may be the toughest thing you’ve ever had to do – but release your grip. Open your hands. Let God fill you with His love. With His peace. With His care. Trust me, with His help and over time the pain will ease – the sorrow will lessen – the grief will subside.
May God comfort you, my sweet friends, in your difficult situation. I’ve found it’s in the letting go that we fully experience Him. May God help us let go of whatever is keeping us from knowing Him and living fully for Him. May He comfort us in our brokenness. May He fill our arms with blessings beyond our wildest dreams.
“And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.” Philippians 4:7
“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” Romans 15:13
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