“For behold, the winter is past; the rain is over and gone.” –Song of Songs 2:11 (ESV)

The winter of 2003 arrived bitter and cold. Despite the 15-degree blizzards and drifting snow banks, our home was warm and bubbling over with excitement. Though not planned, our 16-month-old son would soon become a big brother. The three of us cozied up together before our crackling fire, crafting felt ornaments imprinted with cubby toddler handprints. We experimented with baby names, clever monikers for what we were sure would be our second son. Yet, less than three months into the pregnancy, I miscarried.

I was heartbroken. My minister husband felt shattered and alone. Though he experienced the intensity of the loss, Brad didn’t feel free to grieve. He perceived that he simply needed to accept God’s decision in this matter and move on. He pushed forward in ministry, pretending it didn’t hurt, pretending the pain wasn’t eating him alive from the inside. He mulishly ...