Happy Birthday, “Sam”

January 26, 2012 was a holy day for me. A day where I held both life and death.

A day where I truly understood what life meant to me.

And a day where I truly understood death.

And while today I go about making craigslist deliveries, buying stamps, working out, fixing broken hairbows, cleaning bathrooms, cooking dinner, and all the other things Moms do on Saturdays if they’re lucky enough to have a dad home to help out, my heart grieves for my losses.

But, I also think about my gifts. I’ll take my 3 year old gift out with me today to teach her a few things about the post office. I’ll read on the couch with my 6 year old – actually, she’ll probably read to me. That’s two gifts right there.

Because, while January 26th was the most awful day of my life (thus far), it grew something beautiful in my heart – a desire to count my gifts. And that day, the first gift I counted, was one I gave to God.

Happy Birthday, little Sam. Sesame Sam as we called you. Celebrate big. Because I don’t think anything Happy in Heaven is small.

 

Fear. It’s a big mountain to climb.

Over Labor Day weekend, my family and I drove a bit northwest to a lovely little spot called Bald Rock. It has no markers, except for (usually) several cars parked in a little gravel spot right off the side of the highway. All you can really see from the road is a small wooden bridge that crosses a little mountain stream – the kind of stream so small that it really doesn’t even need a bridge to cross over it. That wooden bridge leads to a large rock outcropping. You can’t really see what’s on the other side of that rock, until you cross that bridge and climb up that rock a bit. It’s not a big climb by any means….it just kinda looks like it at first. You can’t see anything but a rolling rock moving higher towards the sky. I’m guessing some people decide not to tackle it. Especially if they don’t realize how simple it really is. And what the payoff at the end is.

Because if you did happen to make the small, gradual 100 yard climb, you’d be greeted with something so spectacular, you, like most other first time viewers, would most likely be left speechless.

I was sitting right here on this rock, thinking this day about a lot of things. My next doctor’s appointment – Tuesday, 9/4th. And the fact that when the doctor made that appointment two weeks and a day ago, he said, “you’ll probably not be needing this. I have a feeling you’ll have delivered by then.”

And my first sweet little baby that was born into Heaven back in January. Today, Tuesday, 9/4th, was its due date to be born here into our arms.

And while I’m so happy for that little one who has had 7 full months of pure happiness in Heaven, I’m also fearful.

I’m afraid of what we’ll see and hear tomorrow. And what we might not hear (during that ultrasound). I’m afraid that while my mind dwells on one lost child, my heart won’t be able to keep trusting…beating… if I see the loss of the one I’m carrying now right in front of my eyes.

I’m afraid of what the following medical process would be. Followed by the medical bills. Followed by the grief. And more decisions.

I’m even afraid of what might happen if baby is still alive.

Basically I’m afraid of a whole bunch of things. And I don’t know which one will happen. And that is by far the absolute most difficult part of this journey.

The unknown.

I can’t think about buying baby clothes. I can’t think about buying a new car seat. I can’t think about rearranging the girls’ beds into one room. I can’t think about nursery paint colors. I can’t think about my ideal birth plan. I can’t think about the normal, comfortable, stuff.

Right now, I have to think about my life insurance policy riders and what it covers in the event of infant death. And what hospitals in the country will actually treat a baby with this condition. I have to think about whether or not we want the baby to be treated if it survives delivery. And buying two of anything I want to bury baby in. In case I get the privilege of carrying this baby long enough that I’d get to bury it. Then, I can keep one of everything I put in the ground.

And I get scared. Really scared. Mostly because I don’t know. And because it could be so many different things. I just can’t see what’s in front of me. Like, the top of that huge rock mountain I couldn’t see from the road.

And then, almost every time I get scared – which is several times a day – my thoughts lead to despair – I can’t do this.

It’s just too big of a mountain for me to climb. It’s too tall. And I become stuck. Paralyzed by my fear. My feet are stubbornly cemented to the base of that mountain I’ve been chosen to climb. And my heart stubbornly refuses to go on.

But I can’t dwell here at the base of this Mountain of Fear for too long. Because my soul craves peace. And I know the only way to get peace is found in Philippians 4, It starts with “Whatever things are true…think on these things.” And I have to stop my mind yet again. Because so many of my thoughts aren’t true yet. They very well may come true in the future. But I don’t know that now. And there’s no possible way all of them can. So right now, so many of my thoughts simply, yet, aren’t true. Even this diagnosis still lacks one simple blood test to have an absolute confirmation of truth.

Right now, the only thing I know of that is true is that my baby was alive 2 weeks, 1 day ago. And I have no reason to think it isn’t today. And this baby is a gift. And my God has taught me so much in the last three weeks about His peace, His love, His compassion, His mercy – I’ve been a Christian for 24 years and haven’t learned all this yet. And I am so very blessed. I have as many children in Heaven as I do on Earth. And I know I’ll see them again someday. And I don’t have to pray that they’ll see God here on earth, despite my blaringly imperfect self. They already have.

And really, knowing I could lose my little peach sized baby at any time - is a reality no different from the one every other mother faces with her outside-the-tummy vapor children. Most of them just never really, truly think of it like that. I know I never did.

When I do begin thinking on these true things. My Comforter, God Himself, in the form of the Holy Spirit, begins doing one of His most treasured jobs. He comforts me with Scripture. And the mountain begins to look a little more realistic. Like maybe just a little steady climb uphill for a little while.

“This is my command—be strong and courageous! Do not be afraid or discouraged. For the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” Joshua 1:9

“But Jesus overheard them and said to Jairus, “Don’t be afraid. Just have faith.” Mark 5:36

“Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done.” Philippians 4:6

“I prayed to the Lord, and he answered me. He freed me from all my fears.” Psalm 34:4

“They do not fear bad news; they confidently trust the Lord to care for them.” Psalm 112:7

It’s true – climbing the Fear Mountain is tough. Many times it is off on the side of the well-travelled, normal, comfortable road every other Christian seems to be on. And it often isn’t marked. It can come up on us rather sudden like if we’re not diligently and soberly paying attention.

Sometimes, there are others climbing it already; sometimes we feel alone.

It (usually) looks massive. And it’s always impossible without God’s help. But sometimes, the height of that mountain is somewhat imagined. The things we’re fearing aren’t even true, yet. And might not ever be.

And, sometimes it just seems so enormous because we can’t see the top of it. We have no idea how far up we’ll have to climb or how long it will take to get there.

But, friends, God doesn’t call us to climb something impossible. Usually, we’re the ones raising those impossibles. He just wants us to keep walking. Gradually, steadily, upward, sometimes a few days, sometimes a few months, sometimes longer – and sure, sometimes we might get a bit winded, sometimes we might stop for a little break. But He encourages us to stay faithful. To keep going. One small step at a time. To keep pressing on. Because He knows what the prize is. He knows we’re walking towards His high calling for us. It is for His ultimate glory. And our becoming more like His Son which is our ultimate good.

He knows how breathtakingly beautiful all will be when we get to the top. Because with His help, we – I – will get there.

How I found peace in losing my brokenness.

 

I truly didn’t think I’d be here again.

The place where I was stricken with fear and doubts.  We have been here twice before. Back in January. And again, on Mother’s Day. Attempting to open our hands to God’s will – allowing Him to take yet another precious baby from our future arms.  My husband had been forced to go out late that Saturday night in May to get a new Mother’s Day card. One that didn’t mention how happy he was about our new addition coming in January. Because I didn’t need a reminder on that lonely day that while everyone else was celebrating the gift of their children, I was sending another one away.

But yet, here I was. only 13 weeks later. Pre-labor contractions and bleeding. I knew exactly what this was. I had been here twice before.

I had tried to be thankful for every day we had together. I had taken every precaution. I had joy. We were all so happy. This was it. This was the baby God had for us and everyone would see it. They would see God’s wonderful blessings to us and bringing us through two heart wrenching losses.

And yet, here I was. Losing another baby. On another weekend. So I had to wait – agonizingly wait – for Monday.

I was so angry. The things I had always believed about God and children seemed to be untrue.

“Children are a heritage of the womb.”  ”No good thing will He withhold from them that walk uprightly.” “And God said, be fruitful. Multiply.” “If you ask anything according to my will, He hears us.”

Perhaps God was untrue?

How is this good?

I walked into my bedroom again. Attempting to prepare to have yet another precious, dreamed about, wished for child pried out of my clenched fingers. I packed away my newly purchased maternity clothes. Again. I deleted my pregnancy tracker app. Again. I coldly cleaned my bedroom and bathroom. The others were born into a clean, peaceful place. This one would be too. My dear friend brought me a lavender rice pack to help with the pain. My mom came up from Georgia to help watch the girls. I was ready. But my heart was completely broken. I had no joy, no hope, no peace. I needed to be fixed. And a baby, dead or alive, couldn’t do that.

Then came morning….

The next morning, my symptoms hadn’t really gotten worse, so we decided to stick to our appointment for an ultrasound to see what was going on. We went in to the specialist’s office, went back to the ultrasound room. And I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to see what I knew would be in front of me.

But, yet, we saw it. A fist that pumped in the air. Within milliseconds of appearing on screen. And it’s little feet started kicking around.  Despite my broken heart, God had decided to let us see this miracle in front of us. This tiny, 4 cm miracle of life. Of hope. Of joy.

But our saga wasn’t over.

The ultrasound technician saw something of grave concern – swelling. Fluid. Surrounding baby. Nuchal Translucency. “The Dr. will talk to you about that. For now, just be happy about what you’re seeing. I have a feeling this little one is gonna keep you on a rollercoaster.” She said.

The fear crept in again. Remember, my heart, now not as heart-broken as it was 12 hours ago, was still a broken heart.

The doctor didn’t wait long to tell us – “I’m afraid I don’t have anything good to tell you today.” He started. After that, all I really heard were some numbers:

“Less than 5% chance of survival.” “Most likely chromosomal issues.” “80% chance of gross abnormalities.” “There are tests we can do.” “You probably have about 2-4 weeks.” “There are options. We can terminate the pregnancy.” “This isn’t your fault.” “Would you like a moment?”

We cried, again. 15 minutes before we were sobbing with joy. Now we were sobbing in fear. And I was still angry.

He gave us a few moments. Then he came back in and explained it all again, knowing we really hadn’t grasped it all the first time. “Come back in a week to check for viability.” He said.

We got in the car and stared ahead.

I’m very pro-life. I’m very anti-abortion. But in that moment, I saw termination as a very real option. I was extremely afraid. I was extremely angry. I was extremely broken. And saving my baby from a lifetime of handicaps seemed to be the most loving thing I could do as a parent at the time. Suddenly, losing the baby wasn’t the worst thing that could happen.

Earthly support – Heaven sent.

Word got out pretty quickly. Hundreds of friends and family began lending their prayer support and offering to bring food and clean my house and take as many day to day burdens off of us as they could.  The most valuable thing they did, though, was begin to shower me with words from Scripture. Words of hope. Words of love. And songs. We were given more songs and iTunes albums than meals. And I’m so thankful. For those meals, while they fed our bodies, could never have fed our souls.

I began to see the brokenness of my own heart – and not of God’s Words. He began putting the pieces of my heart back together. Gently. Thoughts would come into my mind as I googled everything under the sun about my baby’s possible futures. There was no way I could prepare for all the options.

“Stop. Whatever things are true…”

Think on these things. Thankfully, my friends had given me enough truth to dwell on for a lifetime. Their emails, comments, texts, phone calls were full of truth.

And these, literally hundreds, of possibilities I was researching were not true, yet. And thinking on them – which I didn’t need to do, yet –  brought no peace. They only brought chaos to my already broken-soul. So, I turned to the one passage that gives a formula for something everyone in the world craves. And for something I desperately needed.

Peace.

“Do not be anxious about anything. But in everything…let your requests be made known unto God. Then the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding will guard your hearts and minds.”

“[And] think on things that are true…and anything that’s worthy of praise….and the God of peace will be with you.”

And He was. Feeling this real peace was like riding a wave – a fast, tumultuous wave with no straight path because of the violence of the storm it was under – and riding it into a calm, peaceful, sunny bay.

I had to stop. Stop thinking about the endless possibilites. The beautiful girl in the wheelchair I saw at Chipotle with no communication abilities. The thought of delivering a dead baby in a cold hospital room in the very near future.  A funeral for an hours-old infant. The possible looming financial burdens suddenly thrown at us. None of those things were known to be true, yet. And none of those things were, in my mind, worthy of praise at the moment.

What was true, though, was that my God does love me. And I’m not the center of my universe. He is. Everything He does is for His glory. And, as my wise husband has said after every loss, “If nothing else, we’ve helped increase the souls in God’s kingdom by one today.” What was true was that I saw my baby. And it was alive. And besides this significant amount of fluid that was surrounding its sweet little body, it seemed perfectly healthy. So, we would fight for every one of those 5 percents.

So I encourage you, my friend. Whatever it is God has led you through – no matter how dark or how long your valley of deathly shadows -

“Come, broken, to the cross,

Where Christ embraced all human loss.

And let us bow before the throne

Of God, who gives and takes his own.

And promises – whatever toll

He takes – to satisfy our soul.

Come, learn the lesson of the rod:

The treasure that we have in God.

He is not poor nor much enticed

Who loses everything but Christ.”

(– quoted from Job, by John Piper)

Because “From Him, and through Him, and to Him are all things done. To Him be glory forever!”

And today, even without knowing if the life inside of me is in fact still a life, I can honestly, gratefully, end by uttering a quiet,

Amen.

I’ve always wanted to give God a gift…

…He’s given me so many. So many, I’m trying to count 1,000 of them just in this year.

How can I give Him something?

Sunday morning, I was holding a gift. A precious growing gift, deep inside of me.

A treasure in my earthen vessel.

A baby in our family is deeply loved, a treasure. Even when we haven’t seen him yet.

But some complications came about over the weekend.

“Sanctity of life” has a new meaning for us.

I was afflicted. Emotionally, spiritually.

Physically, knowing every pain of each contraction brought me closer to my baby…who I had been so excited to see, but desperately did not want to see yet. I clung to every hope that something I could do would stop what was happening. And I clung to every hope that something I had done was not the cause of what was happening.

But my God loves me immensely. And He loves our baby. He calmed my Spirit with Job’s words.

“The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.”

So I was not crushed. But I am devastated.

It’s amazing how your heart grows with love as a baby does in the womb. Doubling, tripling by the hour.

I waited through the long rainy days, and the dark quiet nights. Wondering why God would want this treasure now. Why He would take it. I was carrying, in my body, the most final of all. I was carrying death. How is that a treasure? Who would want that.

“…always carrying in your body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies.”

Wait.

Death?

The death of Jesus saves me from eternal death. That death put my baby in a sweet, perfect place – a place I suddenly have an insatiable desire to learn more about.

“For we who live are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our mortal flesh.”

This is the essence of the greatest Gift. The gift of the Gospel.

Life.

Because of Jesus’ death, I am alive. My baby is alive. And the life of Jesus can be manifested in me. ME.

That is my treasure. A gift from God so wonderful I can’t even imagine it at times. He lost his child. I lost mine.

I would have never chosen to lose mine. For anyone. He gave His. Willingly. For everyone.

The treasure I have, the death of God’s child for me, is a gift from God to me.

And through this light momentary affliction, my God is preparing for me something so wonderful in eternity, nothing can be compared to it.

Why do I share this? This such painful, private trial. Why wouldn’t I? I surely talk about my other 2 little ones.

And because I’ve always wanted to give God a gift.

“so that as this grace extends to more and more people it may increase thanksgiving, to the glory of God.”

My dear tiny one,

You were formed from love. You were so desperately wanted by the few who knew of your sweet existence. And so many won’t even know of you until now, but their love for you will be genuine. We did everything we could to keep you here, because we believe. We believe that life begins at Week 1, Day 1, Minute 1. You were already a part of our family. We had almost 2 months to think of you, pray for you, and nurture you. I wouldn’t trade those wonderful, precious few days for anything.

You came into the world, in a clean, peaceful world full of candlelight and beautiful notes of music. Notes of hope that our God is indeed in control. Words of thanksgiving for what that God has given us. We really do have 10,000 reasons to bless the Lord. You are yet another one to add to our list.

And you’re the first one from our family to be able to tell our God thank you. In person.

And you gave me a gift. You grew my heart even bigger. I can love more now because of you.

And one day, soon, he who raised the Lord Jesus will raise us also with Jesus and bring us with you into his presence.

That’s my gift for today. That today, just maybe, as this story of God’s gentle grace and love to me extends to more and more people, someone will be able to see the Gospel. The gift of Christ. So that they may give thanks and glory to my God.

That’s my gift for God, from God.

II Corinthians 4