Charlotte

Charlotte entered the world on November 29, 2008 at 2:18 pm.  She weighed 6 lbs. 3 ozs and was 18 1/2 inches long.  You can read more about her here.  

Grace and peace.  

Merge

Lately it has crossed my mind that as this baby gets ever closer to arriving and as it gets close to that one year anniversary of losing Joshua that it might be time for me to "merge" Joshua's blog into our family blog.

I needed a separate place to put down all of thoughts and feelings for a while, I'm not sure if I can explain why, but it somehow seems more "right" to stop posting these parts of life in separate places. I'll see if I still feel that way in a couple of weeks. For now, I am remembering this time last year as the last few days that he was still a part of me. At the same time I am looking forward to this Saturday as the day we will welcome a baby girl into the world. The weird intertwining of it all is what makes it seem like I should somehow find a way to put all of these parts of me together in one place; spiritually, emotionally, and in the case of these blogs: physically. Again, we'll see if that feeling persists in the days and weeks to come.

No matter what I decide to do, this story is far from over! God is working in and through us and the blessings and tragedies that he allows to come our way.

Grace and peace.

Coping

Whenever I see articles in magazines or online about miscarriage and stillbirth I am, understandably, drawn to them. I want to see what other peoples' experiences have been and what are they trying to tell other people through their writing. As I read a magazine article in some rare quiet time yesterday, I knew I wanted to share it with others and I found it online today.

The article really took me off guard a bit by how close to home it hit. Today it's been 11 months to the day since we found out at that awful ultrasound appointment that Joshua had died. I can say that without crying uncontrollably now and I often go weeks at a time without getting overly emotional about our loss, so I guess the depths at which this article struck me caught me off guard because I have felt so "together" in so many ways in the past couple of months. Remembering is good though and I need to be brought back into the reality of loss without losing sight of our impending joy. The intermingling of the two is where I am caught right now and I think reading this article made me think more seriously about the coming days where that will be become more and more "real". In all likelihood, our baby girl will be born just days before the one year anniversary of the day Joshua was stillborn.

Here's the link to the article.
And here's a link to a related piece in the same magazine.

A divided heart

I read on a blog some counsel that a pastor offered to a couple whose girl was stillborn the day before her due date. The pastor said that it was important for the family to recognize that as a family they have two desires that are separate and distinct. There is one desire to have their daughter with them. That the hole in their lives left by the loss of their daughter is unique and will not be filled by anything else, not another child, not time, not some revelation about what God is up to. There is another desire that is the desire for more children and having another child, be it through having another biological child or through adoption is totally separate and distinct form the first. The first is not diminished in any way or made "all better" by fulfilling, or thinking about fulfilling, the second.

That was an important truth for me to hear, because I so did not want another child to replace Joshua and the thought of having more children sometimes made me feel guilty as if I was in some way betraying him. It was helpful for me to hear that I can grieve the loss of my son and wonder where is the redemption in his death and still invite another person in our lives.

Especially in the coming weeks, I know that truth will hit home in a new way. It is important for me to not feel that I'm doing something wrong by celebrating and being joyful over the birth of our second daughter. It is equally important for me to not feel that I'm doing something wrong by still grieving his loss and wishing Joshua was here with us to welcome her into our family.

It is an interesting paradox that we will welcome our daughter into the world likely days within the one year anniversary of the day that we lost Joshua. This truth has really helped me as I think about facing those two days with a divided heart.

Grace and peace.

Anything?

Right after Joshua died last December, Jeff started reading through the Old Testament book of Joshua. He found a lot of encouragement and insight, as well as comfort and some truth he needed to hear. A few weeks back, I decided that I'd like to read through the book as well. It is a book with stories I think most Christians are familiar with and I'm trying to re-introduce myself to some the OT stories that I haven't spent much time with in recent years.

Early in the book of Joshua, there is an account that focuses on the spies Joshua sends to Jericho to scope out the city before the Israelites were going to take the area. Joshua 2:1 tells us that the spies went to the house of a prostitute named Rahab to stay while they were there. If your Sunday School lessons were anything like mine, the teacher always made a point to say that the spies went to stay in Rahab's house because it was such a good place to hide and they wouldn't be conspicuous there. Your Bible study notes might say the same thing, and for all I know that might be true. But, what if it's not? The Bible itself doesn't say so one way or the other. I'm not saying that my Sunday School teachers or your study notes are wrong, but I can't say with certainty that they are right.

Reading that got me thinking for the first time that maybe the spies' intentions in staying at Rahab's house were less than honorable, perhaps staying there was not part of a bigger plan to elude the authorities. What if they were there for the reason all the other men who walked through that door were there?

If you go on reading the account of the spies in Jericho, you read that the King found out there were spies in the land and went to Rahab's house to call the spies. The spied hid on the roof and Rahab lied for them and said that they had already escaped. We learn that Rahab lied to her King because she knew about the God of the Israelites and she believed in Him. We can't know what Rahad had heard about this God of the Israelites and what she believed about Him, but we know her convictions about Him was strong enough that she lied to the King of her city and endangered her own life to protect the spies. In return, the spies promised to spare Rahab and her family when the Israelites returned to take the city. God used this prostitute who believed in Him to hide the spies for His Nation and ultimately spared her life and made her a part of His bigger plan.

So, going back to those spies and their intentions on entering Rahab's house: it is amazing that God can redeem ANYTHING for His purpose. He can redeem and use two men who possibly went to use the services of a prostitute and protected all of their lives in the process and allowed all of that to be worked into His plan. If you continue reading Joshua, you see how true that is and how that thread of redemption is woven throughout.

It's honestly eye-opening to see how God worked thousands of years ago. It is the same way he works today. He can redeem the mistakes and the disobedience that I bring to the table as well as the pain and hurt that the fallen world bring.

I want to end with a disclaimer to say that I honestly have no clue as to why those men went to Rahab's house, so I'm not trying to disparage the story or how God worked in it. I'm simply reminded by all of the unknowns that God can use anything and work it for good.

Romans 8:28 "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose."

Angie Smith has a great post, much more eloquent that mine on the same story - albeit from a different perspective. You can see that here.

judgment

One of the things that I hope I am getting better at, and I can only give God credit for, is being judgmental of others. After losing Joshua, one of the things that started to come into focus for me was how others' each have their own story. Each person I come across each day of my life, they have a story. God created that person. He allowed them to make it to birth and allowed them to wake up this morning. They have a mother and a father, those relationships might be good, and they might be bad. That person is loved and cherished by someone (and if they're not, then they have a whole different story). They have things that have brought them joy and pain and things that have shaped who they are and the decisions they have made. Even in the midst of trying to not judge others, I still recognize that not everyone is going to be my friend and of course we are all sinful. But recognizing the sin in them is kind of like recognizing it in myself; I am sinful, yet I hope my sin is not what others see first when they see me.

This exercise in trying to escape judging others goes beyond just "not thinking bad things" about another person; it is opening my eyes to the whole story of each person's life. Questions about people's decisions to have children, or the decision to have more children, or children very close in age used to be things I didn't really think fell into the category of judgment, but I see it differently now. The comments: "Wow! Another baby? They sure are going to be close in age!", "Really, you don't want anymore kids?", "So, when are y'all going to have kids?". Those questions and others like them aren't intended to cast judgment on the person, but even unknowingly, they do. I am humbled by seeing the inside of how things that happen to you can transform your views on life and the decisions you make.

More often than not, I don't know that family's story. The family who struggled for years with infertility or multiple miscarriages just can't bring themselves to go through that again to have another child. Or perhaps medically, they cannot. That family who financially just cannot sustain another child. That family who is expecting another child when they have a three month old at home, they were told they couldn't have children. That family with six kids and a crazy house, God's blessing came with each one of those children. People's decisions are their own and based on a lot more than my eyes looking from the outside in can see. My questions, even unknowingly, are filled with my own perspectives and judgment.

I'm not always good at avoiding my natural inclination to make a judgment on sight or sound of a person, but I am working on it and I am praying that God will continue to strip away my natural inclinations and replace them with His perspective.

I read this today and thought about all of the judgments we all carry around, and I thought I would share the link to a mother's story.

Grace and peace.

Faith and love

I started writing this post by trying to summarize what I read here. I can't do it justice, so I will say just click on the link to read a beautiful story of faith and love.

purpose and adversity

The devotionals in Oswald Chambers' My Utmost for His Highest over the past week or so have really hit home with me.  I've read that same daily devotional for years off and on and they never get old , and often some speak right into my life, right as I need to hear it.  

His writings lately have been about God's purpose in your life and how that purpose plays out in adversity.  In the July 29th entry Chambers writes about clouds as the sufferings or providential circumstances that seem to contradict the sovereignty of God.  He goes on to say that the clouds actually help to teach us to walk by faith; if there were no clouds, we wouldn't have need of faith.  Clouds, he writes, are what we find at the feet of the Lord.  The clouds may make you doubt and may make you question, but ultimately, they can lead to a simple and child-like faith that He calls all of us to.  I've written a lot of about how the trial of losing Joshua has stripped away so many things, it puts life and faith and God and myself into perspective.  While I still can't say that I wouldn't change things if I could, I have come to see and appreciate what this particular set of clouds has brought into my life - or perhaps, more accurately, what those clouds have taken away.  

In the August 3rd devotion Chambers writes that for Jesus, Jerusalem was the culmination of God the Father's will in His life.  Think about that.  The place where he would be venerated, celebrated, and then mocked, crucified, and buried was the culmination of Jesus' life and ministry!  I had to let that sink in, because, honestly, that's not where I want my faith in God to lead me.  I want it to lead me to something comfortable and fulfilling for me personally.  In the midst of all that Jesus went through, if you are looking through human eyes, He had every reason to proclaim that God wasn't good - I mean look at what God led His own Son into!  Jesus' life at the Cross had to look like an utter failure to the world.  He was an unmarried, childless, itinerant rabbi who was being killed for proclaiming that He was the Son of God.  Jesus cried, He dreaded it, He asked for there to be another way, and when there wasn't, He trusted in God's purpose and not His own.  "The greatest thing to remember is that we go up to Jerusalem to fulfill God's purpose and not our own."  What in your life looks like tragedy or defeat, that could be the very thing that God is using to fulfill His purpose in you and in the world.  That tragedy, that circumstance, that trial could well be your Jerusalem.  

What in the world could God be doing with all the tragedy and sorrow that this world brings?  I honestly don't know, but I trust that he is redeeming what looks to be failure and what looks to contradict His goodness.  

Grace and peace.  

control

I started this post last Tuesday and I couldn't really get my thoughts together for it and had to keep coming back to it.  I'm still not sure if I made any sense, perhaps it's a work in progress, much like me!   

I am a typical "oldest child", type A personality, driven, rule-following, self-reliant. You name those prototypical oldest child stereotypes and I fit most of them. I like to be in control (and maybe I'm just humoring myself, if so, friends speak up - but for those of you who don't know me or don't know me well, I don't think I'm "controlling", but I like to know what's going to happen). In school I hated group projects because not everyone cared. about making an "A" and I'd usually end up doing most of the work, just to be sure it was done "right". In hindsight so much of that sounds selfish and self-centered, but there you have it - oh, and another thing about me is that I am a horrible liar.

The type A, oldest child in me has been on quite a journey these past few months. While I have always known and "trusted" that God is in control, that belief and trust has been put to the test in a huge and unavoidable way. I have been wrestling with questions like, What is faith? What is trust? What do they look like on a daily basis?  

I can't remember where I heard this, but someone recently said that trust doesn't mean the road ahead or the road behind is all okay, it just means that I promise to walk with you no matter what that road brings; trusting that God will walk next me, has walked next to me each step of the road I'm on.    

 We had our 20 week ultrasound this past Monday and the weekend leading up to it was filled with a spectrum of feelings, from excitement and anticipation to fear and anxiety.  The wait for that appointment was enough to make me sick.  That oldest child in me who wants to know how it's all going to go down and to prepare and be in control was lost!  I had absolutely no say or control over how things would go in that office Monday morning.  As the ultrasound began, my fears were taken over by my joy at seeing a beautiful heart beating, an active baby moving around just like her big sister did on her 20 week ultrasound 3 years ago, and all the measurements coming out "normal".  Worry and anxiety don't change the way things turn out though, so why do I continually return to those feelings?  My worry didn't make the ultrasound go well or cause us to get good news on Monday.  

The more I think about it, the more I see that anxiety as my last ditch effort to control the outcome of something I consciously know that I have zero control over.  Obviously, I need to stay healthy and eat right, take my vitamins, give myself my shots, etc., but so much of what could go wrong is out of my hands.  

God, help me to loosen that grip of control, to live in the light, to see my blessings, to trust and hope in you - to be less of me and more of Jesus.  

I hope that I don't constantly sound like all I think about is the negative, because that is certainly not the case, but these questions plague me and writing about them somehow helps me to make sense of it.  

Answered prayers

I posted this over at our family blog today. I don't know how many people read both, but it seems like it fits well here too, so I'm just reposting the same thing.

Lately I've been reading back through an old journal of mine. It is from 2005, when I was finishing up law school, studying for the bar, preparing for Caroline's arrival, etc. I wrote just about life and what was going on, but mostly it has written prayers from my morning quiet times. As I read through the entries, starting in probably February of 2005, I was struck by often I prayed for God to give me His Peace and Strength. I must have been reading through Psalms, because often I'd write a verse or two from Psalms at the beginning or end of an entry. So many of the Psalms are cries out to God for peace and protection or thanksgiving for where He brought the writer.

Today, I read a few entries from July of 2005, which was crunch time for me as far as the bar exam goes. I was studying hard day in and day out to be ready to take the test which was the last week of July. On July 20, I wrote a short entry for asking for peace and a calm heart and wrote this verse, "For in the day of trouble he will keep me safe in his dwelling; he will hide me in the shelter of his tabernacle and set me high upon a rock." Psalm 27:5.

Later that day while I was at my doctor's appointment, Jeff fell off the roof of the sorority house where my mom is the house mother. He had been cleaning leaves off of the roof and he backed up into a skylight, lost his balance and fell through to the concrete below. He apparently fell on the back of his head and his shoulder. My mom and my doctor are friends, so she called him to let me know what happened and sent one of her friends over to get me from the doctor's office to bring me to the hospital where the ambulance had brought Jeff. As I heard the news and on the ride over to the hospital, I was strangely not freaked out. As I walked into the ER waiting room and found my mom and another friend who had met her at the house when Jeff got hurt, I was struck by the look of concern on their faces, but I was strangely peaceful. Jeff spent a couple of days in the ICU and then a couple more days at the hospital in a regular room, but after recovering slowly at home, he was fine and thank the Lord, he did not sustain any permanent brain injury.

With all that I was facing late that summer, bar review, studying, the bar exam itself, moving into a new house, being pregnant in July in Louisiana (HOT), and preparing for a new person to enter our lives, PEACE was surely what I would need to get through adding my husband's accident to that mix. I had no way of knowing that in the months leading up to July 20, 2005, but I trust that God did. I've always kind of wondered why I didn't lose it when I saw Jeff in the hospital with bloody hair and a dazed look on his face. I honestly wondered if I was just delirious from so much studying and baby-thoughts that I didn't fully comprehend it, but now, looking back I think God prepared me for that day and gave me the peace I needed to get through those days.

Looking back on that has truly been an encouragement to me, I should take more time to remember God's goodness to me and I hope that each of you can do the same.

Sunday

On Sunday I went out to Joshua's grave for the first time in a while. I'm not sure if I had been consciously avoiding going there or if it has just been the busyness of life that has stopped me. Maybe a little of both. Jeff had some things he needed to do, so when Caroline woke up from her nap, I told her that we were going to go the cemetery for a little while to go to Joshua's grave. She said that she needed to draw a picture for him before we left, so she pulled out a coloring book and went to town with her new markers. She had me write his name on it when she was done. Before we left, she said, "Oh, Mama, us need to bring Joshua his bear." What a memory this girl has! Probably two months ago she saw the teddy bear that the hospital gave to us when we delivered Joshua and we told her that it was "Joshua'a bear" and she hasn't seen it since. I told her that we would keep his bear for him at home, but we can bring him his picture today.

As we drove to the cemetery, she asked if we were going to see Joshua, and this is the point at which I always get a little careful about what to say and how to explain this situation to her. Of course I don't want to explain too much, but at the same time, I don't want her to expect him to physically be there either. I can't remember the words I used, but after I explained that we weren't really going to "see" him, she said, "And the angel is going to be there?" There is no angel on Joshua's grave marker or anywhere near his grave marker as far as I could remember, so I asked her if there was an angel there before. She said that there was an angel there, so I just told her that there might be an angel there again, I figured that she must know better than I!

As we walked up to his grave, she wanted to "give him" the picture she colored, so we figured out a way to stick it in the vase for his flowers. Mom had been there the day before, so he had some pretty wild flowers to go with the picture from Caroline. We cleaned off his grave marker as well as the ones for other babies nearby. I always feel like I need to "do something" while I'm there, like pull up weeds, clean his marker, pick up sticks. I read on another blog from a mom who lost an hours old baby that those things were her way of "parenting" her child, even though the child is gone. I totally identify with that and it gave me words for my feelings. As we left, Caroline said "I want baby Joshua to come home with us." Tears streaming down my face already, I told her "Me too Caroline."

Lately, in the midst of being torn between the throes of joy and anxiety about Baby #3, I have been trying to make more sense of all that has happened to us. Coming to grips with the plain truth that God could have changed all of this and we could be taking care of a baby who (based on his due date) would have been three months old yesterday. Instead we are not. We are visiting a cemetery to leave flowers and pictures and to wipe dust and mud from a grave marker. I know with all that is in me that God is real and true and good. Truth and Goodness have no meaning apart from Him, and yet He allows these things that feel so wrong. I come back to this point over and over: I will likely never be able to grasp why he allowed this. I have no idea why he allows things like this and much worse to happen to those whom he loves. I suppose that is my circular path of trust - I keep coming around to that painful truth, and I have to trust and hope in Him.

"For you did not receive a spirit that makes you a slave again to fear, but you received the Spirit of sonship. And by him we cry, 'Abba, Father.' The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God's children. Now if we are children, then we are heirs—heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ, if indeed we share in his sufferings in order that we may also share in his glory." Romans 8:15-17

Grace and peace.

More words from the Pipers

In a recent post, I linked to a post on stillbirth by Abraham Piper (whose blog is really great); I've linked to his wife's blog (which is also really great) before, but today I read an article she wrote as a guest poster on Rocks in My Dryer. She has great words for those of us who have lost someone we love and great words for those of us who are friends of those who have lost (sooner or later you find yourself in both categories). You can read it here.

Getting closer

As I approach the 20 week mark in this pregnancy, I am honestly surprised (unpleasantly) at how anxious I have been lately.  Even though I have no tangible or medical reason to think so, I have this feeling that at that 20 week mark, there is this looming, inevitable bad news waiting for me.  This pregnancy has been complication-free and my doctor tries to reassure me that while each pregnancy comes with its own set of risks and possibilities, there is no reason to think that we will lose another baby at 19 or 20 weeks.  Then the logical side of me says, "There weren't any complications last time, at least not that we knew about."  

I read somewhere that every time doubt or fear or anxiety creeps in, to fight that with a prayer of thanksgiving to God for this baby.  I have started doing that and it does help for a moment-in that moment-but moments have a way of sneaking away for a while and then reappearing without warning.  I've been reading some in the Old Testament lately, and this morning I was reading through a few Psalms.  They reminded me of where I need to bring my doubt and anxiety, each moment of it.  Instead of letting those thoughts take hold and run me into the "future" (the future that I make up in those anxious moment), each anxious thought, each doubt and fear needs to go to God first.  David and the other writers of the Psalms were certainly not immune to doubt or fear or trouble, but their wailings and complaints and questions went to God, not solely running circles in their own minds and hearts.  Perhaps there is a way to keep from having anxiety and fear in this life, if you know how, please let me know!  But for now, I have to rest in the fact that I can trust God with my unbelief, my doubt, my anxiety, my fear, each and every time they come up.  To be honest, it is easier said than done, but my prayer is that God will give me the strength to let go.   

Grace and peace.  

Silence

I haven't posted anything here in a few weeks, mostly because every time I sit down to type something, words escape me. I'm not quite sure what to say (and not in a bad way, I'm doing okay), so I figured it was better not to force it and just wait. This morning I still don't have much to say, but I did read something that I thought was worth sharing. Click here to check it out.

Micah 7:7

I read something earlier today that captured the sentiment I was trying to get at in my previous two posts. I feel like I'm constantly quoting others, but I don't pretend to have words for all that I feel, and sometimes others say it so well that I couldn't say it better if I tried. This woman was writing about being in the hospital for 10 weeks while she was pregnant with her twins. This was her second pregnancy, and after losing the first to miscarriage, these were her feelings while in that hospital for all that time:

"I believed in Him. The whole story. I loved Him fully, but I learned to keep Him at arm's length in the event that He let me down. I hate that part of the story, and if I could do it over...well, I can't. I just have to know that He pursued me even when I acted like a jilted bride. He wanted me when I didn't want Him. He taught me about Himself, even as I resisted loving Him back. I am forever grateful for the tenderness He showed me during that time, and the grace He showed me when I came running back with remorse in my heart." (Here's her original post. Truly an amazing woman with a wonderful story of God's faithfulness in the midst of some unimaginable circumstances).

That's where the hope comes in. Belief is one step; trust is another, slightly more difficult step, and then hope is the ultimate in letting go and giving your life, your situation, your problems, your joys to God. I feel like I stand on the edge, believing and trusting, but only opening the door to hope a teeny bit. I don't mean that to say that I don't already love this baby or that I don't hope for good things for this child, for Caroline, or for Jeff and me, because "I certainly do!" is the answer to all of those. Maybe I'll find a quote someone else that puts words to it better than I can, but for now at least, it feels like my hope is a little garden with walls around it (I keep picturing The Secret Garden); it's not quite public and ready to open the hope up to the world, but in a small way it's there.

"But as for me, I watch in hope for the LORD, I wait for God my Savior; my God will hear me"

Grace and peace.

And more

This "trust" theme keeps popping up. Here's another quote from a not quite so famous person as John Piper, but wonderfully said all the same. She lost her first baby a year ago and her second child is due two days after the anniversary date of that loss. Oh, for clarity, this was not written to me.
"I am so thankful that God is going to take a terrible day and hopefully give me such joy. Like you, I am still grieving the loss of my first child, but your words were so helpful as I went through those dark days. . . . I have enjoyed every moment of this pregnancy, knowing that God could allow it to end at any time, but that He would also bring me through that as well...stronger than before. I must admit that we didn't paint the nursery or put furniture together or even complete a registry until well into the 3rd trimester, but it wasn't because I didn't trust God. He had just taught me that He is in control here, and that these babies are not mine, but His. And if I am not meant to take care of them here on earth, I can't imagine anyone better than their Heavenly Father."

In thinking more about trust over the past couple of days, my mind has gone to the "next step". What is next if I do trust? What does my life look like if I trust? One word has come to mind over and over: Hope. If I (or you) truly trust, do we now entrust our hopes and dreams to God? Do we now dare to hope?

More on trust

I was reading something online today and came across an article written by John Piper after the loss of his granddaughter at 39 weeks gestation. She apparently died because of an umbilical cord accident. I'll quote part of what he said here: "This seems so preventable. By God and by man. Yes. So easy. But neither man nor God prevented this. Man, because he did not know it was happening. God, because he has his wise and loving reasons that we wait to learn with tears and trust. "

I think that is a beautiful description of how this experience has felt to me: so incomprehensible and preventable and heart-wrenching. That is the place where my faith and trust are tested; in the midst of that which could truly break me, will I believe?

Trust

It is hard to know whether you truly trust someone or something unless that trust is put to a test. I say I trust God, but does my life really show that I do? I am examining myself to see whether it’s true and each day I think I have to reevaluate. Trusting God does not mean that all things in life go your way or that God is going to make only great and wonderful things happen to you. Bad things do happen to “good people.” People who love God and follow him are afflicted and pained and touched by tragedy all the time. Of course good things happen to them too, but until something unfathomable happens to you, those tragedies always happen to “other people.” As I walk around the LSU lakes each week, I am always struck by the groups of college girls walking or running together and I love their carefree and untouched smiles. Who knows how each of their lives will be touched with beauty and tragedy over the next ten years?

I thought that once the first trimester of this pregnancy came to an end, I would have some big weight lifted off of my shoulders and I would feel more able to trust God that whatever happens with this child, He is in control. I think I really meant that once the first trimester ended, I would feel more at ease that this pregnancy would end happily. While I am getting more excited about a new baby by the day, I am too aware that anything can happen at any time. The threat doesn’t end with a live birth of a healthy baby. I read a tragic story of a seven week old seemingly healthy boy who suddenly died in the night a couple of weeks ago. Toddlers are lost in accidents; children sometimes do not come home. I think God is opening my eyes to this reality that life can’t be controlled and it has helped me have a greater understanding of what trust means. Trusting God and especially trusting God with my children means that I relinquish my false sense of control; I lose those defense mechanisms that “protect” me from all the possibilities and allow myself to love and know that no matter the outcome of anything in my life, God is working these things together for good. How? I wish I knew, but for now, I just believe.

As I pondered how to trust God with this new life and with the life of our sweet Caroline, I was struck by the image of God putting his son in this world, letting his child go into a world that would hurt him and reject him and kill him. He had to let go of him to save us and all that he is asking of me is that I trust him, who loves me and my children more than even I do (which I can’t really fathom, because, well, I really, really love them), that I trust them to him. It isn’t even really a comparison when you look at it like that. He gave his son to the world that he knew would not accept him, and he’s asking me to entrust my children to him, the lover and creator of their precious lives.

Do I struggle each day with trust? Absolutely. Without question, it is a choice I have to make multiple times in a day. Each time I make it though, I think I love a little more, a little better, and fear a little less.

Redemption

I said a while back that I would post about what redemption does not look like because then, and still now, I am not quite sure what it does look like in light of losing a baby. In the large and most important sense, redemption means that because of the life, death, and resurreciton of Christ I am made whole and right before God. In the individual circumstances of each of our lives though, what does redemption really look like? That's the part I'm not sure about.

Because I am the sort of person that I am and I just turned 30, so I think I've settled into myself and I am okay with that, I had to see what Webster has to say about redemption. Here you go:

redeem

Main Entry:
re·deem
Pronunciation:
\ri-ˈdēm\

Function:
transitive verb

Etymology:
Middle English redemen, from Anglo-French redemer, modification of Latin redimere, from re-, red- re- + emere to take, buy; akin to Lithuanian imti to take

Date:
15th century
1 a: to buy back : repurchase b: to get or win back
2: to free from what distresses or harms: as a: to free from captivity by payment of ransom b: to extricate from or help to overcome something detrimental c: to release from blame or debt : clear d: to free from the consequences of sin
3: to change for the better : reform
4: repair, restore
5 a: to free from a lien by payment of an amount secured thereby b (1): to remove the obligation of by payment (2): to exchange for something of value c: to make good : fulfill
6 a: to atone for : expiate b (1): to offset the bad effect of (2): to make worthwhile : retrieve

synonyms see rescue

After reading these definitions, it is somewhat clearer to me. I don't think that Joshua's death will be redeemed for me this side of Heaven. Of course, he is "repaired", "resotred", "free". But in me, that part that is him, isn't. Maybe one day I'll feel differently, but for now it still feels lost.

This reality has been brought home in a new and raw way in the past few weeks. I hesitated sharing this now on here, because I've gotten emails and comments from women going through similar and not so similar losses, but it's my reality and truth, so I feel like I should. We are expecting another baby. The way the timing on this baby and Joshua coincide is what made me so aware that the restoration I'm looking for might not happen the way I thought it would. I found out I was pregnant a couple of weeks before Joshua's expected due date. That alone was a little hard. I was so nervous about the outcome of this pregnancy and at the same time I was mourning the death of a child who should have been in my arms. December 12th is our due date for baby #3, which adds another interesting dimension to my life; I delivered Joshua on December 6 of last year. Still, the joy of the possibility of birth doesn't diminish the reality of one who was lost. That's where the redemption in this evades me.

All of this is to say, I am so excited and looking forward to having another baby, though the dark reality that anything can happen at any time is lurking next to that excitement. All looks good with this child so far; we had an early ultrasound and saw the heartbeat, a strong 158. I heard the heartbeat again last week at a doctor's appointment. Those sounds and sights have been needed reassurance for me, and though I wish I could trust and be confident without them, I have a sense that God knows I need them and they are gifts from Him. At least that's what I'm telling myself right now.

I am thankful and in awe and bewildered by the fact that the son we wish was here is now more perfect than I. He is in the presence of the One I try to wrap me mind and heart around. He knows Him in a way I do not. There is redemption there, for him and there is honestly joy in that for me. Part of my heart though still feels a little lost, a little unreparied, a little unrestored.

Grace and peace.

Jeremiah 1:5

"Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you." Jeremiah 1:5

That is one of the verses that people "use" when you lose a baby, especially one who dies before he has a chance to enter the world. I have certainly found great comfort in that, not only for Joshua, but also for me personally. In the past five months the sheer miracle and gift of life has been brought home to me like it never could have absent this experience. It is truly a miracle that babies make it to birth. The fact that you are here, alive, breathing, reading, is nothing short of a miracle. You just have to be faced with the ugly reality that so many things can go wrong to be aware of that. Pregnancy is the earthly beginning of an amazing miracle filled with joy and pain.

The verse above was brought into a whole new light of beauty and mystery last Friday night. Jeff and I went out to an art opening in Baton Rouge. A bunch of galleries and shops in one part of town open with new shows and wine and cheese (it is probably more of a social event thatn an art event). As I walked through one of the galleries, I went to the place where a particular artist's work is always displayed. I like her work a lot and am always admiring something that I either would like to get as a gift for someone else or I would like to buy for our house. This time there was a piece that words really can't do justice to, but I didn't take a picture of it (and the lawyer in me wonders whether I would be doing something wrong by posting an artist's work online without permission), so word will have to suffice for now. It was a bronze relief sculpture, meant to hang on a wall, of a beautiful angel with huge wings behind her. She was gazing downward, cradling a baby in her arms. The verse "Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you." Jeremiah 1:5 was posted above the angel. Stunning and simple. It touched me and took me aback like nothing I've seen or heard since we lost Joshua. Again, I know the words do not do it justice, but they're all I have for now.

Grace and peace.

Choosing life

I posted a while back about "everything being on the lawn" so to speak. I meant that I had put my beliefs and assumptions out to be examined before I brought them back in to my life. I said so in the earlier post, but just in case you never read that one, I actually got the analogy from another writer. The importance and impact of a life, a G0d-given life, is one of those things that was quickly brought back inside. This post has some wonderful truths about life, its preciousness, and often its pain.

The video is one I've seen before, but is touching even if you've seen it or heard this family's story before.

Held

There are a lot of songs out there that speak to painful places in each of us. Held, by Natalie Grant is one that I particularly like because it is honest isn't trite. Here's the song and the lyrics:



Two months is too little.
They let him go.
They had no sudden healing.
To think that providence would
Take a child from his mother while she prays
Is appalling.

Who told us we’d be rescued?
What has changed and why should we be saved from nightmares?
We’re asking why this happens
To us who have died to live?
It’s unfair.

Chorus:
This is what it means to be held.
How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive.
This is what it is to be loved.
And to know that the promise was
When everything fell we’d be held.

This hand is bitterness.
We want to taste it, let the hatred numb our sorrow.
The wise hands opens slowly to lillys of the valley and tomorrow.

This is what it means to be held.
How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive.
This is what it is to be loved.
And to know that the promise was
When everything fell we’d be held.

Bridge:
If hope is born of suffering.
If this is only the beginning.
Can we not wait for one hour watching for our Savior?

This is what it means to be held.
How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive.
This is what it is to be loved.
And to know that the promise was
When everything fell we’d be held.

Tuesday

This past Tuesday, April 22 was Joshua's expected due date. It was a sad day for us in a lot of ways. Jeff and I both took the day off of work and spent time together at home and then went to visit his grave. The day was also an illustration of how badly Satan wants to tear us apart from one another and from God.

I went to the store to buy some flowers for Joshua's grave and my debit card was denied. I knew that couldn't be right. First of all, the flowers only cost ten dollars. Secondly, I had looked at our account two days earlier and we weren't close to being overdrawn. I went home and told Jeff what had happened and he got in touch with the bank to try to find out what was going on. We of course then got into an argument about money. I won't go into the details, mainly because it is so silly now looking back on it. Suffice it to say that on a day we should have been clinging to the only other person who might know how we felt, we pushed each other away, even if only for a short while. Turns out that the bank made a huge, huge mistake and they credited our account. After an hour or so, everything was fine financially speaking.

The picture was painted for me though when it came to the reality of the two vastly different trajectories we can take in each of the things we go through.
Will I let hurt and sin push me away into my own solitude? Will I stick close to those I love?
Will I doubt? Will I trust?
Will I protect myself? Will I love?

Living life in the former of each of those is tiring and difficult; it is a trap. Living life in the latter can be painful and difficult; but it is freeing.

In the title of my blog, I say that I know our story will be one of redemption. I am not sure I had any idea what that meant when I wrote it, nor do I now exactly how it will look in my life. I know what it does not look like though - I'll talk more about that soon - but one thing I've learned or been reminded of in the past week is what redemption truly is. It is not primarily about me or my life, but about Christ and His life, death, and resurrection. Paying the price so that I may know the joy of the Creator and Sustainer of the Universe. Even in the midst of tragedy.

This quote says it well for me: "Christ saves us neither by the mere exercise of power, nor by his doctrine, nor by his example, nor by the moral influence which he exerted, nor by any subjective influence on his people, whether natural or mystical, but as a satisfaction to divine justice, as an expiation for sin, and as a ransom from the curse and authority of the law, thus reconciling us to God by making it consistent with his perfection to exercise mercy toward sinners" Hodge's Systematic Theology.

UPDATE: After posting this, I read a blog post that explained so well many of the thoughts and prayers going on in me lately. I long for everything to be "made right", and I won't stop waiting for it, but life tells me that this side of Heaven things will not be right, even if for a moment they seem to be. You can read it here.

Part 3

Well, so I suppose I lied. I said in my last post that I would post Part 3 soon, and it has been a couple of weeks. With apologies, here is Part 3 of our story . . .

Part 3

The nurses changed again. At about 2:30 in the afternoon of the 5th, I was totally exhausted. I hadn’t really slept in a couple of days and the toll of being in labor added to that exhaustion. The nurses had let me know that they could give me some drugs for pain or to help me sleep before I got an epidural, but I am not the biggest fan of pain medication, so I turned them down each time they offered. By 3:30 though, I decided to give in. The nurse told me they could give me a half dose to see how it made me feel and if all went well they could give me the rest of the dose. As she put the meds into my IV, I don’t think my eyes even stayed open to see her leave the room. I was out.

The next three hours were like a weird mix of hallucinating and sleeping. If people were in the room or outside in the hall, their voices were magnified. Jeff and my Dad were out in the hallway talking and it sounded to me like they were yelling. Jeff assured me later that they were whispering. I had these odd dreams full of childhood toys and the dishes we had when I was growing up. My grandmothers' houses were part of it in some indescribable way. I did appreciate the sleep, but that experience confirmed to me that I do not like pain medication, and also why I didn’t do drugs. Who would want to make themselves feel like that?

By 6:00 PM the drugs had worn off and I told the nurse I would certainly not be doing that again! We settled in for the night, all the while praying together and Jeff encouraging me with scripture and hugs and kind words. I’m sure we had visitors during that time too, but as I look back, really the only thing that marks the time for me is the nurse shift changes and the visitors and phone calls kind of slip in and out amongst the hours.

As the night dragged on, the contractions were getting stronger and closer together and my nurse assured me that that was a good sign and we were starting to speed things along. Finally at about 1:00 AM the pain hit the point at which I was ready to get the epidural. Our nurse called the anesthesiologist and he was there before I knew it and within minutes the pain had subsided. Even though I now remember it happening with Caroline, at the time I was surprised that as soon as the pain went away, uncontrollable shaking overtook me for the next ten minutes or so. The nurse told us that that happens because your body has been under so much stress and it is releasing it after you aren’t feeling the pain anymore.

After about an hour of calm and silence at 2:26 AM on December 6, 2007, our son Joshua was delivered – much too soon and much too late. He was gone before he arrived. After 22 hours of labor his body entered a world that his spirit will never know. 10 1/4 cm, 14.1 oz. He looked like a perfect, but very tiny baby. He could fit in your two hands cupped together.

The time that it would take scared me so much going into the hospital on December 5th, but as crazy as it may sound, I look back and appreciate that it took 22 hours and not two. Those hours were full of prayers and reflection and receiving and giving so much that I would not shorten that time if I could. Had Joshua been born alive and healthy, there would have been no limit on the time I would give to get him here, and for me the fact that he wasn’t doesn’t change that for me. Those hours were without question dark and hard at times, but also filled with love and healing.

Grace and peace.

still pondering

Here's a link to a great series on helping friends who are grieving. I've been reading her series and hesitated to post a link because I don't want any of you to think I was posting it to *nudge* *nudge*, give you some passive sort of idea for how to talk to me. I changed my mind though when I recently spoke with an old friend, whom I hadn't seen in years, about our loss and found out she lost a baby a few years ago too. That conversation reminded me that all of us encounter people who are grieving and even when you've been through it recently, it helps to be reminded what those people need. So here's the link. It's on part 7 now and each post has a link to the previous installment.

well said

I'm taking a little time to get the words "right" for part 3. As I am searching, I thought I'd share this; it is a post from a man with cancer. As my title for this post says: well said.

"My cancer has been promoted: I’m officially in stage 4. My doctors have found two cancerous nodules—a euphemism for “small tumors”—one on each of my lungs. I started chemo this week. Next week, I’ll see a thoracic surgeon who will, sometime this summer, cut those tumors out. Needless to say, this isn’t good news—though, thanks to medical advances (especially, thanks to those evil drug companies that politicians regularly attack), it isn’t disastrous news either. We’ll see what the future brings.

This is one of the biggest reasons I believe my faith is true: something deep within us expects, even demands moral order—in a world that shouts from the rooftops that no such order exists. Any good metaphysical theory must explain both of those phenomena: both the expectation and the lack of supporting evidence for the thing expected. The only persuasive way to get there, I think, is to begin with a world made good that was twisted, corrupted, bent. Buried deep in our hearts are hints of the way things ought to be; the ugliest reality can’t snuff them out. Still, that reality exists; it can’t be denied. Christianity sees that reality, recognizes it for what it is—but also sees the expectation, and recognizes where it comes from.

I do need to know some things. Three, to be precise: first, that I’m not alone; second, that my disease has not made me ugly to those I love and to the God who made me; and third, that somehow, something good can come from this." Less Than the Least (H/T: Professor Bainbridge)

The story continuted

Part 2

I woke up (I think it might be more accurate to say "got up", because I slept very little that night) at around 1:30 am on December 5th, took a shower, got ready and made sure my bag was packed. Jeff and I left the house around 2:30 am. Somehow it seemed "right", if there can be such a thing in this situation, to be driving in the middle of the night, in complete darkness, to go do the unimaginable. The only car on the road, driving past empty parking lots, empty stores lit up for for the holidays, and houses with people sleeping soundly. Just three days ago I had been one of those who slept soundly; then on a Monday morning, one moment changed my life. Fear and dread and confusion now crashed over me in waves. It felt like my heart and mind and spirit were stuck in the sand just off shore; every time we thought the waves were over, they crashed in again. It felt like slowly drowning, bit by bit.

The last time I went to the hospital in the middle of the night it was to deliver Caroline, so even though I was scared then, I was also joyful; I was prepared to go home with a baby in my arms. This time it was so different, so wrong. The fear was only tinged with anxiety and the dark knowledge that I would not be leaving this hospital with my baby this time. One line kept running through my head, "I am here to deliver my dead child." Harsh and horrible, I know, but true. As we walked into the hospital, I prayed that no one would ask how I was doing or whether we knew whether we were having a boy or a girl. Those good natured questions normally open a window of opportunity for people to share your joy; to us though they were questions I wasn't prepared to answer.

We were admitted to the hospital and they got me set up in room by about 3:15 or so. The nurses were wonderful, they got my IV started on the first try (with Caroline they had to call in the anesthetist to get my IV going after sticking me four times)! They gave me my first does of Cytotec (sp??), which is the drug they use to induce labor. By 4:00 am our pastor and his wife were there to pray with us (what a blessing - they are truly such servants. They slipped in and slipped out many times over the next 24 hours. They have such a gift of being supportive without being intrusive). My Dad was there by 6:30 and before I knew it it was time for the new shift for the nurses.

At 7:00 am We got another wonderful nurse who encouraged me and prayed for me throughout her time with us. Those first few hours were filled with anxiety, the nurses try to prepare you for what might happen, but every delivery is so different that all of the "ifs" and "mights" clouded my mind. All I could do was wait. Jeff did great, he encouraged me and talked to me, made sure everything was okay. It is hard to put words on the feelings I was having, the thoughts going through my head. I'm sure I wasn't thinking clearly or rationally as it was and to think on what my body was doing was enough to make me truly crazy in those early hours.

At one point about twelve hours into labor, I asked my nurse why didn't they just do a C-Section - the agony and waiting were really getting to me. I had taken a few doses of Cytotec, I was tired, and I was terrified about what might lie ahead. I won't try to quote what she told me, but she shared that she had been through the same thing years earlier and she prayed over me and asked God to grant me peace and endurance. He answered. Although the next fourteen hours weren't easy, they were filled with an odd peace that the first twelve had been missing.

That's probably long enough for one reading . . . too long perhaps, but I'll add Part 3 soon.

grace and peace.

answers

I certainly do not have all the answers. I do have the answers to some things though. Here are some things I know: losing a child is the most difficult thing I've ever been through. God has walked through this with us and continues to do so. God is the same as He was on December 2, 2007. God loves me (and you). God is still about what He is always about, redeeming me and the rest of His Creation.

I've gotten some really interesting questions from people via email and in person in the past few days and so I thought maybe now would be a good time for me to post "the story". I hesitated to do that early on because I do not want these past few months to become just a story to me. It is my life; it has been part of my life; I want to allow God to show me how to keep it as part "of me" and not just something that happened "to me". Some of you know it well, you walked with us and continue to walk with us through it, some of you may know bits and pieces and some of you may be learning this for the first time. Please feel free to ask questions whether you are learning this for the first time, or reliving it through this blog. It is good for me to talk about it, it may make me cry, but that is okay too.

That being said, I think I'll do this in parts because who really has time to read my rambling story in one sitting? So, here's the beginning of the story of Joshua:

Part I

I left work on December 3, 2007 to go to my ultrasound and Jeff was meeting me at the doctor's office. I got there a little early, signed in, and sat down. Jeff came in about five minutes later and before long the ultrasound tech called us back. Honestly, I was somewhat nervous; I wanted everything to be okay, but I think consciously the only real worry I would have been able to articulate was whether we would find out whether we were having a girl or a boy. The ultrasound started, she asked how I had been feeling and whether I had felt the baby move lately. I told her that in the past two days I hadn't felt the baby move much, but I wasn't overly concerned because I was just over 20 weeks and sometimes those movements come and go (or so I thought). She didn't say anything for a few moments and I was a little nervous about her silence. The next thing that happened will stick in my mind and heart forever. She grabbed my hand and said, "Ashley, I can't get a heartbeat." I just started crying, Jeff started crying, and I felt like there was no way this could really be happening to me.

Dr. Moore came in a few minutes later and he and the tech looked at the pictures on the screen for a while and talked to each other about what they saw in words I didn't understand, words that seemed like they couldn't be about me or my baby. We have the best doctor in the world and Dr. Moore just hugged us both and told us that they weren't sure what happened, but his heart had probably stopped beating recently, probably just a day or two ago. He told us to go home and just be together. It would be too much for us to talk about all of the "what nexts" right now. I'm sure the people sitting in that waiting room wondered what in the world had just happened to us, a pregnant woman crying uncontrollably and her husband red-eyed and somber walking into a waiting room full of happy-faced pregnant women. We went home and the calls and visits started - the barrage of love over the telephone and in person, in gifts of flowers and food started within just a couple of hours.

Dr. Moore called an hour or so later and talked to Jeff and then to me. He told me that we'd have to schedule for me to go the hospital to deliver the baby. What? Excuse me? I have to go to the same place where I had Caroline and go through labor? Yes, that is exactly what had to happen. So, we scheduled to go in at 3:00AM on December 5. To say I was dreading what this meant, how this would play out, would be a tremendous understatement. I was terrified. I found out that delivering a still born baby can take anywhere from two to forty-eight hours. The prospect of that was more than I could bear. The next day is a blur, probably because I was filled with the questions and concerns about what December 5th would hold.

The words "stillborn" and "stillbirth" became normal parts of speech for me that day. Before then, I don't know if I had ever even said those words before. In my mind, those words described something that happened in my grandparents' generation, not me, not in 2007. How sadly wrong I was though. Stillbirth does happen today - it is actually more common than SIDS. One out of every 100 to 200 pregnant women will experience stillbirth (the fluctuation is because each state has a different definition of when "miscarriage" ends and "stillbirth" begins - I'm not sure how much that distinction really matters).
I am now one of those every "100 or 200".

See part 2 here.

And part 3 here.

Reaching out - again

UPDATE: I posted this a month ago and after thinking more about it and reading some very thought-provoking books, I want to make a seemingly small, but really important edit. See the second to last paragraph for the edit.

As believers I think so many of us act and talk as though when difficulty strikes all we need to do (or all someone else needs to do) is "reach out" to God and He will respond. We'll then be carried through the difficulty. We say things like, "just turn to God", "just pray", "read His Word", "have faith". I can tell you that to a person going through the most difficult thing they've ever faced, you might as well say "just move that mountain over there." How do you even begin to do those things? When you are at your lowest, how do you force yourself to turn to God? How do you pray to or read the Word of the Creator and Sustainer of the Universe who just allowed this tragedy in you life? How do you do anything, really?

But I think the glory is that we couldn't be more wrong when we start with the premise that WE must take the first step, or any step, that WE must be the one to reach out to God. He carries us and takes care of us despite our failures. Even when we can't reach out, can't trust, can't pray, can't read, He is bigger and can overcome my failures. He is bigger than me and my circumstances. When I woke up yesterday morning I was thinking about all of this and then I read Oswald Chambers for the day, and then today, a wonderful friend emailed me an encouragement along the same lines. God truly knows how to weave things together. Chambers says: "The reason some of us are such poor examples of Christianity is that we have failed to recognize that Christ is Almighty. We have Christian attributes and experiences, but there is no abandonment or surrender to Jesus Christ. . . . We struggle to reach the bottom of our well, trying to get water for ourselves."

There's the trap, we think we must reach out to God to get to Him. It's impossible, we're the ones at the bottom of the well, we can't do it. To me that's where others' stories of faithfulness came in. If I couldn't read His Word, I could read the story of another person's loss and victory in that. If I couldn't pray, I could rest in the prayers of family and friends.

So, how do we "get to God" in these tough times (that we ALL face)? I think if you are a believer, the answer is "you're already there." God reaches out to all of His Children. I'm here to tell you that it might take two or three months to see it, to feel it, but it was always there.

Psalm 34:18
"The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in Spirt."

Grace and peace.

A Grief Observed

The seminal book ( or at least one of them) on grieving as a believer has to be A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis. Lewis writes the very intimate details of his grief following the loss of his wife; his thoughts on God and His place in that loss, his thoughts on faith and grief in general. While I do think it is true the each person grieves in a different way, there is a commonality in grief. Lewis lost a wife, I lost a son, another may have lost a parent, but Lewis' words resonate deeply. I'm going to quote from the book here:

"What sort of lover am I to think so much about my affliction and so much less about hers? Even the insane call, 'Come back,' is all for my own sake. I never even raised the question whether such a return, if it were possible, would be good for her. I want her back as an ingredient in the restoration of my past. Could I have wished her anything worse? Having got once through death, to come back and then, at some later date, have all her dying to do over again? They call Stephen the first martyr. Hadn't Lazarus the rawer deal?"

Of course the self-centered nature of grieving a loss is natural and, in my mind, right. I wouldn't be human if I was instantly happy for the gain of the one I've lost. Heaven has gained something, Joshua has gained everything, but as a mother, I've lost something very precious - is there anything more precious here on earth than a new life?

We went to visit Joshua's grave on Easter Sunday. It was the first time we have ever been there as a family - Jeff, Caroline, and me. Caroline is the consummate two year old. Every other minute, she's asking "what's that?" As we entered the gates of the cemetery, Caroline said, "what's dis?" I said, "we are at the cemetery, Caroline." She then pointed to the grave markers and said, "what's dat?" I said, "Those are graves Caroline." She pointed at others and asked the same question again. Jeff tried to explain a grave in as simple as possible of an explanation. The explanation satisfied her and as we stopped the car, she asked where we were going. I said, "we are going to visit Joshua's grave." She said, "He go to Baby Jesus." Not a question, a statement. I'm not sure where she got that from, but I know it wasn't from her parents. The more time I spend with this precious little person God has given us, I am keenly aware of the truth that comes with innocence.

We're trying to strike a delicate balance of acknowledging Joshua as part of our family, but not trying to expose Caroline too much to that which she cannot understand. I think that will be an on-going process in our lives for now, but I suppose our first family trip to his grave is a start. As Jeff and I put flowers out and cleaned his grave marker (and Caroline helped clean for a while) and then prayed, she commenced doing what she does best - playing. She collected a bunch of sticks and made a stack right next to his grave; her way of "doing something"? It was a beautiful day.

The Week that Changed the World

I read the following this morning, and I'm almost too ashamed to admit that the thought that we are now in Holy Week hadn't yet occurred to me. In the midst of all of my busyness and self-centered-ness, my own worries and tragedies and joys, this is a nice reminder to shift my focus this week and hopefully, each week that follows.

"This week, take the time to wonder about what we are doing, and what we are remembering.

For close to two thousand years, we have gathered like this, in places like this, to light candles and chant prayers and read again the ancient stories of our deliverance and redemption.

But are we aware of what we are doing? Do we understand what it means? Do we realize the price that was paid? A proper accounting is impossible. The ledger—His life, for our souls—seems woefully unbalanced.

So try this. This week, take a moment in each day that passes to wonder: What was He doing during this time of that one week all those centuries ago? What was crossing His mind on Monday, on Tuesday, on Wednesday? What sort of anguish? What kind of dread?

Has anything we have ever worried about, or lost sleep over, or agonized about, even come close?

He was a man like us in all things but sin. He must have been terrified, His mind buzzing with questions. Long after the others had drifted off to sleep, did He stay awake and worry? Maybe He sat up alone, late at night, whittling a piece of wood, the way His father had taught Him, until a splinter sliced His skin, drawing a rivulet of blood. He might have flinched and thought: Well, this is nothing. And still it stings. How intense would the pain of death become? How long would it last? How much humiliation would He be forced to endure, stripped and bleeding? And: What about His mother? Is there anything He could do to spare her from this?

As you shop for Easter baskets and dye, think of this. Ponder this. Wonder about it. Make it a kind of prayer.And then, remember what we are doing, and why.

Because, of all the calendars in all of human history, this is the week that changed the world."

The Deacon's Bench (H/T: The Anchoress)

I've always (well, as long as I can remember) been torn between living in Grace so much that I don't pay enough attention to the price that was paid on the one hand, and being brought down by the immense nature of my own fallen-ness. That feeling is brought to the surface especially at Easter. There is the joy of resurrection just waiting to be celebrated, but in order for there to be resurrection, there has to be death. Living in that moment between the two is where I feel torn.

On a real tangible and personal level, that is the precise place that I've found myself lately. Living with the knowledge that Joshua is full and complete in Heaven, never knowing the pain that this broken world brings; but also living day in and day out with the knowledge that our family will never know him here on Earth. Although I couldn't have said this a month or two ago, I honestly can say that there is joy in believing that he is more whole than I, there is the sting of being left behind much too soon.

Grace and peace.

Here's another good read to start off the week: God Issues

Pressing in

I was reading one of the blogs I check from time to time. This particular blog is written by a young woman who lost her daughter at 31 weeks (I think that's right) due to a placental abruption. Once again, I don't know her, haven't ever spoken to her or emailed her, so I'm not going to post a link to her blog, but she said some things I thought very profound recently and I'll quote them here:

"i feel so very different, so very set apart from society right now, like i have special glasses on that see the world in a WHOLE new way, a clearer way, but a sadder and more realistic way than many others get to...that special "gift" those of us receive when our world is turned upside down and we "get" to see everything so painfully differently....i feel at times that i am not ready to re-enter the world with everyone like that yet, almost like i am waiting for everyone else to "wake up" and taste life the way i do, the way i have to..waiting for others to catch up..but it doesn't work that way. i know that. everyone is plugging along doing their own thing. their loud worlds are rocking along even if our quiet stillness is idling.....that's ok. this is our season to mourn. not theirs.

the man, whose wife died 6 weeks after her cancer diagnosis, he buried her last week, he has their kids to raise alone now. the woman who lost her only brother in iraq almost 3 years ago, she is still devastated when she talks about it. the young mom who has to sell her house this month, the one her kids grew up in and has to move into an apartment after her marriage fell apart, she has to start over on her own, she is hurting. the young woman in line at the grocery store with the dirty brown hair in a messy ponytail with a sassy 3yr old little boy in tow, she's wearing a fake half-smile and her tired eyes are hiding behind her own veil of sunglasses. she lost her daughter. she died."

Honestly, I feel pretty good most of the time now. Different, changed to my core, in the process of healing and being delivered, but all in all if you ask me how I am and I say "good", I'm probably not lying. Words like this woman's are refreshing reminders that we ALL face difficulty. If you haven't, you will. One of the things that this experience has brought home to me is the necessity of "pressing in" with others. The avoiding and awkward silence are no good. When we were in the midst of the heaviness of our loss, I would have much preferred someone to say something, anything, even if it felt so horribly weird to say it, than to say nothing at all. The people and conversations I remember the most in those days and weeks after we lost Joshua were the ones who asked questions, hard questions, uncomfortable questions, personal questions. Even before we lost Joshua, Jeff and I had been talking about how people don't "press in" to one another's lives enough. In the interest of not seeming pushy or nosy, we see someone in possible pain or heartache and we would offer something less than helpful. We don't ask questions, we might not even be sure if we would know what to say in response if we did ask questions. Of course that is understandable; it is comfortable to not push too much and to stay on the periphery of others' lives. Love is difficult though, it is hard and messy and uncomfortable.

I guess this reminds me that I need to use my life to do a better job of pressing in on those who are hurting around me. Ask the hard questions, make myslef uncomfortable, be a little too pushy, and then listen and love.

perspective

Death has a way of putting life in perspective. What is important? What is necessary? What is true? You see things in a new light. Things that once seemed important are suddenly non-essential. Things that you took for granted are now cherished. Things that you always accepted as truth are being held up to the light. I guess in that way, death and grief are equalizers; it doesn't matter how much money you have or don't have and your material possessions bring no comfort. I've never really understood the verse in I Corinthians 13, where Paul says, "And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love." It sounds like this sentence should come after some explanation of other things falling away or why other things are insufficient. Even though I've never understood its placement, I've always loved it and I would think it rings very true for most people. I feel like that "missing part" before verse 13 is where I've been, and maybe where you've been too. The place that when you look back on it you say, "All that is true is what has brought me through this; all that is essential is what remains. Faith, hope, and love."

Grace and peace.

Faithfulness

"I remember my affliction and my wandering, the bitterness and the gall. I remember them well and my soul is downcast within me. yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness." Lamentations 3:19-23

Reaching out

As believers I think so many of us act and talk as though when difficulty strikes all we need to do (or all someone else needs to do) is "reach out" to God and He will respond. We'll then be carried through the difficulty. We say things like, "just turn to God", "just pray", "read His Word", "have faith". I can tell you that to a person going through the most difficult thing they've ever faced, you might as well say "just move that mountain over there." How do you even begin to do those things? When you are at your lowest, how do you force yourself to turn to God? How do you pray to or read the Word of the Creator and Sustainer of the Universe who just allowed this tragedy in you life? How do you do anything, really?

But I think the glory is that we couldn't be more wrong when we start with the premise that WE must take the first step, or any step, that WE must be the one to reach out to God. He carries us and takes care of us despite our failures. Even when we can't reach out, can't trust, can't pray, can't read, He is bigger and can overcome my failures. He is bigger than me and my circumstances. When I woke up yesterday morning I was thinking about all of this and then I read Oswald Chambers for the day, and then today, a wonderful friend emailed me an encouragement along the same lines. God truly knows how to weave things together. Chambers says: "The reason some of us are such poor examples of Christianity is that we have failed to recognize that Christ is Almighty. We have Christian attributes and experiences, but there is no abandonment or surrender to Jesus Christ. . . . We struggle to reach the bottom of our well, trying to get water for ourselves."

There's the trap, we think we must reach out to God to get to Him. It's impossible, we're the ones at the bottom of the well, we can't do it. To me that's where others' stories of faithfulness came in. If I couldn't read His Word, I could read the story of another person's loss and victory in that. If I couldn't pray, I could rest in the prayers of family and friends.

So, how do we "get to God" in these tough times (that we ALL face)? I think if you are a believer, the answer is "you're already there." I'm here to tell you that it might take two or three months to see it, to feel it, but it was always there.

Psalm 34:18
"The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in Spirt."

Grace and peace.

the unknowns

I was walking around the lakes again on Sunday and I passed a little boy who must have been about 7 or 8 with his Dad. The little boy had red hair and was wearing a Germany soccer jersey; I caught myself staring at him. Is this what Joshua would have been like? No, I thought to myself, he would have had dirty blond hair like Caroline, but of course, I have no idea. What would he have been like? Would he have been a happy baby, a good sleeper, a good eater, a red head, a soccer player? I wish I could know. All of the unknowns make it hard to reconcile that reality with the fact that God allows things like this to happen. Every day. Why would God allow a mother to never experience all of the "firsts" with a child? Why would God allow a mother to experience those firsts and then lose a child before he goes to high school, or college? Why do children lose their parents? It doesn't make sense to me. Even though in my head, I know the "right" answer: we live in a badly broken world where the children of God (all of us) do horrible things to one another and where disease does horrible things to us.
I can't help but think of my own relationship with Caroline, it is literally painful for me to see her in distress or in pain. On our way to Lake Charles this past weekend we were getting off the interstate for a quick pit-stop and Caroline started crying hysterically (which, for those of you who don't know her, she is not prone to do). It was all I could do to not pull off my seat belt and get into the back seat with her to comfort her and find out what was wrong. I imagine that is how God feels when he sees his children in pain or distressed. Does it take all the power of Heaven to keep him from coming down here to comfort us? To be sure, he gives us friends and family who are here physically to offer comfort and love when we face difficulties. But we can only offer one another so much, it sounds so cliche, but we truly all grieve in different ways and what might look like comfort or help or love to me might look like intrusiveness or a bother to you. From where I sit now I can see, even if only to a small degree, that God carried us through losing Joshua. And he continues to do so, but so often when you are in the midst of it, it doesn't feel like it - it takes getting two or three or twenty steps back to see it.
I think it goes back to how suffering overflows to us and along with that we get the comfort of Christ so that we can offer it to others. Paul doesn't say that God brought us the suffering so that we could comfort others, he just says that we will get suffering and likewise we will get comfort so that we can give it. Maybe that is how God can even stand to not be down here with us giving us comfort, he entrusts those he loves to do it in his name and on his behalf until he can give it to us in full.

Suffering & Comfort

Before we lost Joshua I would hear Christians talk about suffering and they would say, "We suffer because Jesus suffered." That would always ring a little hollow for me, a middle class girl living in the United States (in the southern United States, even more so). What did suffering even look like? Maybe getting a weird look when you say a blessing out to eat at a restaurant? Having to put up with jokes about Christianity? People questioning you and your faith? Maybe feeling alone in many settings? While all those things might be difficult to endure in some ways; when I think of suffering in the big picture, those things are nothing. In fact even from where I stand today, I feel like I've only had a tiny peek into what suffering truly is.

Paul says "For as the sufferings of Christ flow into our lives, so also through Christ our comfort overflows." 2 Corinthians 1:5. There is a comfort that I've only experienced talking to others or reading the words of others who have been through similar situations. Almost nothing needs to be explained, you don’t feel so alone, you don’t have to make excuses or try to put words to what is truly unspeakable. The circumstances are different, but the thoughts and feelings run like a common thread through each loss. This must be a glimpse of what it is like to go through a traumatic experience with others who you don’t know, like hostages or a plane crash. None of us can know, and to try to relay it all with words is so insufficient, but they know what words cannot convey.

Maybe that’s how it is with Christ and His Church. When we experience suffering, to whatever degree, it gives us a kinship with Christ. Through that, the comfort of Christ then can overflow to others. I don’t believe for a second that God made Joshua die, but I do believe that he allowed Joshua to die. Why - I’ll never know on this earth. But I do know that what this world broken by sin and the evil one who prowls around like a roaring lion waiting for someone to devour brought to me, God will use for good; God’s story for his people is a story of redemption. In some small way, perhaps now the mind of Christ is a small but growing part of me. That doesn’t make it all better, but it does bring some comfort.

Grace and peace.

Mine is not a new story

I was walking around the LSU lakes a few days ago, it was a beautiful afternoon, perfectly clear sky, wind blowing, sun reflecting off of the water; but as right as everything in the world looked, something in me felt the ache of the broken world in which we live. Here I was, in the middle of February, 2008, two months from when I should be giving birth to my son, and no one would even know that. No one would know that two months go I lost him. Time is so mysterious; it is a healer in a lot of ways, but it is also a marker of the pain. I can’t help but go back in my mind to “where I would be” if Joshua hadn’t died. I would be seven months pregnant now, I would be getting his room ready, making sure everything was in order, so close to welcoming our little boy home. But all of these things are dreams that will never come to be for him and for me.

Losing Joshua has shaken my faith and made me question my faith, but I am far from losing my faith. Another young woman who has suffered a loss more agonizing than my own in many ways put a great visual on the process I feel like I’m going through: my faith is a house and I still have the house, but all of the "stuff" in my house, my set of beliefs that the structure-loving me wants to hold on to has been brought out on the lawn. I'm inspecting it all to decide whether I'll bring it back in or not. But, no matter how I feel at any given moment, something in me believes. Maybe it’s the years of “feeling it”, maybe it’s growing up in the church, in a Christian home, but most of all I think it’s God. Grace, hope, faith, and peace are gifts and I could not will myself to have them if I tried. People always say that faith helps you get through the difficult times; this experience has brought that home to me in a huge way. If I didn’t trust that God is good, if I didn’t believe that God loves me and my family, if I didn’t believe that I will see Joshua again someday, I don’t think I could get through it. If I didn’t believe these things to be true, I think I would either have become a drug addict or alcoholic, honestly. That sounds terrible, but I can't imagine not being able to find solace in the good that is God, in the love that is God. The meaninglessness of my pain and suffering would be too much to bear.

Right now, I question, I am angry, I am hurt, but despite my feelings and my circumstances, God is today the same as he was on December 2, 2007, when all still seemed right in my world. I have changed, my life has changed, and I’m still trying to figure out how to live in this changed life, but God has not changed; I know it even if I don’t feel it.

There is something about art that really gets to the painful places in a special way. Music, writing, paintings; they all speak to something in me in a way that my own words don’t quite adequately say. As I was walking around the lakes listening to my iPod, a few songs came on that I hadn’t ever really listened to the words of, or paid attention to the words of, but that afternoon they caught my ear and I was thinking to myself, “yes, that is exactly it!” In the song Bittersweet Symphony, there is line that goes something like, “tonight I’m on my knees, I’m looking for a sound that recognizes the pain in me . . .” That is exactly how I feel, I’m trying to hear something, find something that can puts words to and “recognize” the pain now. In the weeks just after we lost Joshua, tears and despair were the feelings I had and everyone around me could see that, but now, two months later, what does this look like, what are the words for it? Another song, The Drugs Don’t Work, also reaffirmed the feelings I wrote about earlier. The thought that without faith, I would be stuck exactly where the writer of the song was stuck; relying on something external to help make sense of the pain. Then, in a song by The Fray that I wasn’t really listening to consciously, came the line “Mine is not a new story, but it is for me.” That is the comfort and the agony. Others have walked this road and roads much more painful, and I get comfort from those who have do so, but I haven’t walked this road before and now I have no other choice. Mine is not a new story, I am well aware, but it is for me.

Grace and peace.

First Post

After reading some blogs from amazing young women suffering through the loss of children at all different stages (some through stillbirth, some just moments after birth, others within a few days or weeks after delivery), I've been inspired to create my own blog that will be a journal of sorts. I guess this will be me sharing with you my life and loss and (because I have faith) redemption. Feel free to read or share or comment.