A Wonderful Christmas... and the Aftermath

I usually find that my pain is the best impetus for expression in writing.  I had a wonderful Christmas that was truly joyful, although it was preceded by weeks of dread.  It gave me the rare opportunity to spend the entire time home with my little family.  During that time, my hope in God was peace-filled and was a great relief.  I had been told that expecting Christmas for weeks would be harder than the actual day, and that was definitely true for me.  Here is my prayer days afterwards as my heart struggled with sadness again:

December 29, 2012

Dear Lord,

I'm so glad that I made it through Christmas, and I even had a wonderful time at home with Derrick and our two boys.  And now the baby boy inside me is joyfully kicking at my insides.  He is blissfully unaware of his mommy's unpredictable sadness.  This year without Mia, Christmas was quiet, stress-free, and surprisingly joyful.

I think You want me to do my best to be joyful despite the deep pain that, although it may lesson over time, will never completely go away.  Rebelliously joyful.  My lingering question is: How do I balance rebellious joy with this pain?  How do I keep this joy real and keep it from becoming surface-y and fake?

Strangely, it can be tempting to choose to be only joyful and to slip back into denial.  Choosing joy is easier for me and for others around me.  Grief is not a comfortable place.  When I'm joyful and "doing fine", I'm protected from being misunderstood or avoided.  A couple days of feeling that the weight of Mia's absence has lifted can lead to a week of taking comfort in earthly means.  Earthly comforts, however, just don't fill my heart, and it's time to come before You in my broken state again.  Then it's time to be honest with You about how I'm doing and to ask You to help healthy tears to come.

Healthy tears express my sadness- the emptiness where Mia is.  Healthy tears open my wounded heart to Your comfort.  They don't wallow in hopelessness or sink into self-pity.  They don't entertain lies meant to discourage me.

I can go on in my own strength with a heart that seems strong.  Sometimes I can ignore the desire to hold and admire my sweet Mia.  Oh, to feel her vulnerable body in my arms and to put my face in her neck.  That would be a dream.  To have stroked her smooth belly while dressing her for church on Christmas... maybe one day.

I miss so much.  It can be easier to shut off this part of me that feels too much.  It isn't healthy for me to go on for too long pretending that I'm healed-like I'm ready to move on.  Like all these missing things don't bother me.

This week I started to feel truly joyful but then inexplicably sick.  I had a lingering headache and my stomach was not at ease.  I ground my teeth so hard the other night that I woke myself up with a start.  My dreams became scary and filled with stories of death.  Is this my body's way of telling me that I'm out-of-balance?  Being too strong for too long becomes unhealthy.

Thank You, God, that I know now that Your comfort is readily available.  You have taught me over the past six months of disorienting pain that I can rest in Your familiar comfort.  I can open my emotions and thoughts to You.  After waiting quietly, You have always been faithful to give the only deep calm that satisfies my weary heart.  You inject me with new hope.  You sing Your steadfast love over me.  You strengthen my legs for my journey.  You alone bring this brand of comfort.

I haven't yet figured out how to balance the sadness and joy, Lord.  Please remind me, as You have been, when I am trudging along again in my own strength.  Bring me close to You when my heart tries too hard to deny the pain and it becomes too hard to continue.  Staying open before myself and before You can be a vulnerable place... It's the only place that works.  Please help me to stay away from denial and to store up this love for Mia in my heart.  Bring healthy tears when I need them.

How I love her!  I smile and ache at her memory.  I won't ignore the precious gift she was and continues to be to me.  Mia has driven me closer to You, Lord, like no other person or circumstance ever has.  I bless Your Name for showing me such deep and thorough and real love through having her and through not having her.  You have crowned me with Your faithful mercies. 

I trust You with my heart, Great Healer.

Amen

Letting Go

Sometimes grief for Mia feels like an elephant is standing on my chest.  It grips my heart, and I find it hard to breathe.  I wish I had more words to explain the strong emotions that wash over me at unexpected moments.  There has to be many grieving people who wish they could shake those around them who seem to act so casually, like everything is normal.  Like their lives can be controlled... when yours feels like it is just about over.

Before my daughter died- before she was gone from this life forever- I had never really experienced grief.  That's not to say I had never lost anyone I loved: both sets of grandparents died, my aunt died too early from cancer, my "adopted" grandparents died.  Losing Mia, though, that grief has been a hundred-fold harder.  I've been astonished by it.

Before Mia died, I remember a common theme uttered by grieving people.  A common thought is often that everyone else has moved on while they can't.  I used to think this sounded legitimate and lonely, yet I'm ashamed to say that I might have believed this person needed to move on if they milked it a bit too long.  It would make me uncomfortable.  I really didn't know how deep grief could go.  I had been fairly naive to the impact of a deep loss up until now.  I am so sorry for that!

My inexperience with grief has caused me to wonder, Why does this hurt so much??  It even surprises me now to think that it took me about three months to even accept that Mia had died.  I texted a friend that I just can't wrap my heart around it.  Her death was unspeakable.  Unimaginable.

Why does it hurt so much?

A good friend just explained it to me this way: "She was part of you, Ruth. A baby is an extension of her mother."

That statement explained so much of the hurt.  I had to let go at a very unnatural time- at the closest point of my bond with Mia.  I've had three conversations in the past couple weeks that illustrate the "Letting Go" of motherhood:

A friend who had decided to stop nursing her child reminded me of how difficult it is.  When a mother is nursing her baby, she is the only one who can meet that need.  She spends countless hours skin-to-skin with this precious one.  Oxytocin rushes through mother and baby, bonding them together with mutual love.  Her baby watches her every move, knowing from whom its life-giving food comes.  When that stops, anyone can care for your child.  A mother loses her exclusivity.  Baby doesn't wake up as much at night to share those isolated feeding times.  Through her tears, this friend helped remind me how difficult that separation is.  She's had to let go of that close physical bond with her baby.

A few days later, another friend told me that her boys seem to be bonding more with their dad, her husband, lately.  They aren't glued to her side anymore; they're also in school.  She feels like she might have forever lost that influence a mother has over her young child.  Although she's glad they gravitate towards her husband, she was hurt that they care more about what their father thinks than what she does.  She's had to let go of her powerful influence over her children.

Another friend(who also lost her baby to SIDS) told me a similar, yet much different story.  Her child died five years ago.  Every birthday she had planned a loving celebration to remember him with her family.  This year, a loved one told her very honestly that he didn't need to have a special party to remember their son anymore.  When she told me this, my heart broke.  I could imagine how much it must hurt to have to let go of that remaining remembrance of a child with her loved ones.  We talked about having to cherish memories in our mothers' hearts, even when others don't take the time to talk about them.  Years later, she has to let go of memorializing her child with her family in this way.

At some point, mothers need to let go of their close bond with their children.  The bond changes; new ways of bonding occur.  Children become more independent.  Parents watch them grow, achieve, graduate, get married, have their own children.  This process was meant to happen over years- a lifetime.

Mia was ripped away from me when she was closest to me.  It hurts deeply.  One of the most hurtful and raw feelings I have had was that of missing out on raising her.  What if I finally get to see her again, and she's an adult? What if I never get back this time?  Early on, that thought would send me into a near anxiety attack.  Randy Alcorn, author of the book Heaven, says that we might be able to make up missed opportunities in Heaven.  Will I be able to watch Mia grow up and develop?

I have no nice way to wrap up these thoughts on the loss of a child.  It is so nice to hear people talk about Mia and validate the value of her life.  A friend wrote me early on about her tender observations while holding Mia- her skin, one of her legs that wouldn't stay in her blanket.  Those memories are so precious to me.  I'm not ready to let go of her memories.  I will always store them up and love her in my heart.  Oh, I'm not saying I always have to be sad.  But I can imagine a little bit of what the Bible means when it says in Luke 2:51 that Mary "treasured up all these things in her heart."  

From the time a mother carries a life in her body, her bond with her child is deeply formed.  It can hurt so much to let go at any stage.  God gave Mary the strength to watch her son suffer a cruel death.  He will give me the strength to let go while I still treasure up Mia in my heart.

Yielding

I haven't written anything in awhile.  I've been pressing on as best I can, figuring out how to deal with my new reality as best I can.  There are many times I think, "Oh, this would make a good writing topic."  But taking care of my beautiful boys usually wins out.  So instead, I sit down and make a LEGO creation or snuggle a grumpy boy or try to conquer the pile of laundry while clearing the clutter of the day's many other activities... or try to recover from those tasks while this new little boy grows inside me!

Lately, thoughts have been coming together more cohesively.  The holiday season has brought a wave of fresh pain to the surface.  Days of extreme grief make me dig deep for answers.

The other day, Gavin and I were sitting on my bed singing songs and talking after his nap time. He is able to communicate with me more all the time.  During this one conversation, he asked me to sing "He's Got The Whole World" song and motioned with arms cradling an imaginary baby.  So as I began singing, "He's got the itty-bitty babies in his hands," this darling big brother held his arms to tenderly rock an imaginary baby.

All I could imagine was the baby that he held back in April, May, and June.  Heartache pierced me again, and the feeling of having her near mixed with the reality that she isn't here came rushing back.  About an hour later, I was sitting on the couch staring out the window.  All I could do was sit still with my arms weighing a thousand pounds.  My heart searched the sky for answers, unable to tell God how I was feeling.

Noah sensed my mood and asked me, "Mom, what are you going to be doing?"

So I answered him honestly, "Nothing. I'm feeling sad, Noah."

"Are you sad about Mia?"- a question he's asked many times.

"Yes, I am," and I couldn't stop tears from falling.

Later that evening, he seemed very angry.  His heart was all twisted up with anger towards his family, the floor, the house... just everything.  So I took him to his room and asked him what he was feeling.

"I'm feeling sad.  You shouldn't have your daughter die."

So there it was, and I'm glad he said it.  That's how I was feeling.  Except, I wouldn't say that I feel just sad.  I feel mad.  I feel mad at the way things are.

I prayed with him after Noah and I talked.  And instead of thanking God that He will one day destroy death, I said, "And thank You that one day You'll give death a great, big punch in the nose." Noah laughed from his belly, his whole body curled up as he held his stomach.  And I couldn't help laughing, too.  I think it was a relief for us to remember that God was going to get His revenge.

I'm angry.  I could say that I'm just angry at how things are.  That I hate death.  That I hate not having my Mia with her Mommy.  But the final authority and the responsibility for her death is God's.  He authorized her death.  For many good reasons, He allowed her to die.  He is using this pain for very good things.

So, do I bend to His molding me?  Or do I grow distant from Him?  Distant from my only true source of comfort... My dad reminded this morning that Aslan in The Chronicles of Narnia, who C.S. Lewis meant to represent God, is described this way: "He isn't safe... But he is good."

A verse from the hymn "Have Thine Own Way, Lord" comes to mind:


Have Thine own way, Lord! Have Thine own way!
Thou art the Potter, I am the clay.
Mold me and make me after Thy will,
While I am waiting, yielded and still.


I've sung those words before without much experience.  This is what is being asked of me right now- being yielded and still.  I am constantly being reminded of the absence of my beloved Mia.  Grief grips my heart and brings me deeper pain then I had ever imagined.  And God approved and ordained Mia's death.  He did it, in part, to shape me as His clay.

At times I have allowed my anger and pain to bring distance between us.  Without saying it outright, my subtle attitude of rebelling builds... until grief and deeper pain drive me back to a place of searching Him for answers.

I searched for the word "clay" in the Bible and came up with these verses.  I'll let these words speak for themselves.  I'm sure that, like many people today, the writers of these words felt molded in many painful ways:

"But who are you, O man, to answer back to God?  Will what is molded say to its molder, "Why have you made me like this?  Has the potter no right over the clay, to make out of the same lump one vessel for honorable use and another for dishonorable use?" Romans 9: 20-21

"For this light momentary affliction(and Paul knew pain!) is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen.  For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal." 2 Corinthians 4:17-18

"Therefore, if anyone cleanses himself from what is dishonorable, he will be a vessel for honorable use, set apart as holy, useful to the master of the house, ready for every good work." 2 Timothy 2:21

Something that tipped-off this series of my thoughts about yielding my desires to become God's desires was a speech by trusted author and speaker Nancy Guthrie.  I spotted a series of three blog entries on the Girltalk blog this week, which is really worth checking out here.  If you have time and want to be greatly enriched, listen to her 58 minute speech: "Pain That Can't Be Prayed Away".

Nancy and David Guthrie are having another Respite Retreat this weekend, as I write these words. Please pray for the parents who will be attending- that, like us, they will find Comfort and Truth.

Oh, and pray for us during this Christmas season.  That as we are reminded of precious Mia in many ways, we will yield before our Maker.

Reflecting...

So I knew that Thanksgiving and Christmas were heralded by other grieving people as especially difficult. I saw it coming; they warned me. I guess I didn't understand why this time of year can put emotions under a magnifying glass.

I have always enjoyed reflecting on the many blessings I've enjoyed in the past year. I love remembering God's goodness for myself and I love telling God "Thank You" for the ways He has worked in my life.  He has held me in difficult times or granted me peaceful moments of joy. I realized weeks ago that I needed to be very intentional about remembering the things for which I'm grateful. With the beginning of this season, I felt myself begin to tumble down a gradual slope into a steady valley of grief.

I don't want this time of year to be like this- concentrated on the unspeakably hard things we've had to do this year:  This year I had a beautiful baby girl. This year I cared for Mia for 8 God-given weeks. This year I found my baby not breathing.  This year I left my daughter at the hospital. This year I had to pick a funeral home. This year I am unexpectedly thankful for our tender funeral director. This year I donated Mia's abundant supply of frozen milk to the most precious premature twins.  This year I miss her so much my heart physically hurts...

This year, I have seen God's hand working in all these things.


He introduced to me to my daughter.
He gave me many, many pictures and videos.
He directed my hands through those traumatic events.
He gave me the words to say to the police and EMTS.
He upheld me while I met with the coroner.
He let His light shine.
He healed me from false-guilt.
He stilled the flashbacks.
He settled peace into my soul when it shouldn't have logically been there.
He led us to people who cared for us and for Mia.
He orchestrated a beautiful story between two families.
He continues to bring healing to us and to other people through Mia's story.
He has helped me fight the battle raging about me that is riddled with lies.
He has protected me from self-pity.


It is vital for me to focus on the very good things that have come about from this hardship. I remind myself of God's incredible blessings. It's easy for me to see the ways He has worked through pain to build His character traits into my person.  He doesn't do this because of any attractive qualities in me; He has the universe at His disposal.  He hasn't forgotten about me, though.  I'm a rough work-in-progress with a long way to go. 

I have been anticipating how to make this Holiday time as successful as possible so that I can show my thankfulness and enjoy this time with my family. 

Please pray for me that through all my plans, my heart would be protected from self-pity.  That I would not believe subtle lies to which my tender heart is vulnerable.  That I would remember the simple truths that give every person who trusts completely in Jesus tremendous hope.  Eternal life is certain.  I will rest in God's goodness until my last breath.

Looking forward and backward

Recently I was connected with other mothers whose healthy babies had also died from SIDS and who had also attended the Guthries' Respite Retreat.  We were given each other's e-mail addresses, and shortly thereafter a Facebook group was started.  Since then we have shared stories, photos, and questions.  Within the group, Mia is the most recent baby to graduate to eternity.

This group has been a tremendous blessing to me already.  As I've heard their stories and read some of the things that they have learned, I sense the character that God has formed through their pain.  These women are not moping about, stuck in depression.  They are tenderly caring for their families.  They sound sensitive, loving, and even hopeful.  This gives me hope for how others have come through the monumental pain of losing a child.

When I see others who have traveled through this valley and yet seek to comfort others, it gives me hope that this pain and pressure is possibly also making me better- more compassionate and sensitive to suffering.  Of course, this thought was not that encouraging in the first few months- to think that this tragedy of losing Mia could be used to help others.  However contradicting it is, though, one of the only things that comforted me was seeing other people in my church who had been through similar trials.  There is one couple in particular that gave me hope.  Their daughter died suddenly when she was hit while walking along a road.  This happened many years ago, and yet her father vividly recounted for me a few weeks ago where he was when he learned of his daughter's terrible accident.  He told me that many years later, important dates still tear apart his and his wife's hearts.  A few days after Mia died, I connected their obvious care for others with the tremendous pain they had experienced. 

I can now pray that as I emerge from a season of acute pain and of being the recipient of comfort, I want to be able to offer the same comfort to other suffering people.  Serving God sounds so good.  I want to serve God because that's what I would want Mia to see.  Her brief life continues affecting my life.  God uses her to change me everytime my heart is pierced with grief- everytime her sweet memories play in the theater of my mind. Or when the pain of losing her makes me cringe.  That pain leaves me with a longing for eternity where I belong- in Heaven with Jesus, my Savior and Shepherd.  They increase my love for Him.

It's strange which things bring back powerful memories.  I don't get to choose when grief takes over.  Several days ago, I froze when I saw a commercial for Madera Children's Hospital on TV.  It passed and strangely didn't bring much pain.  Last night was much different: I saw a commercial for a different hospital and I was immediately transported back to walking out of the hospital without Mia.  Derrick and I simultaneously swallowed the lumps in our throats, as he looked at me knowingly.  He must have felt the same reaction.

I'm still not sure how I actually made it home from the hospital that day- shock played a big part, I'm sure.  I remember watching others' faces as I wondered if they saw that my world had just been forever changed.  I felt like I had padding protecting my bloody heart, like a thick layer of bandages that would take months to unwrap to even start the healing process.  I'm thankful that God is now slowly healing my heart. 

As I deal with the pain and tend to my heart honestly, powerful memories are replayed and doubts are resolved.  God's truth changes the lies that my heart tells me.  If I didn't know God's truth from the Bible, I don't think I would ever heal.  Some people can deny their pain and stuff tragedy down to where they don't deal with it.  I can't imagine that not dealing with grief is easy to do.  In fact, I don't think I have the capability of "stuffing" my grief as I've seen others do.  I am too familiar with God's freedom to not deal with my grief.  He says, "Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls"(Matthew 11:29)."  I'm so glad that His truth sets me free.

I am willing to "go there" and be honest about my pain not because it's easy but because of this promise that God made to me.  He will give me rest.  When we take His yoke upon us, He shares the burden we carry.  We don't have to carry it alone!

The way He is healing my heart is still a mystery to me.  I couldn't recount for you how God heals.  I can only assure that by experiencing the pain with Him, He will heal you gradually... by laying it at His feet, trusting in Him, placing your hope in Him...  I'm not doing this perfectly at all. 

So many people have remarked about this new baby that they hope the experience of having another baby will bring healing.  For awhile I've scratched my head at this.  Maybe he will bring healing through this baby- I'm not sure.  However, what I do know is that having a baby is a lot of work(yes, it will be joyful work).  I think I will need to wrestle with very real and legitimate worries when letting this one out of my sight even for a few moments.  I think that caring for three children while continuing to grieve Mia may be very taxing.  I'm preparing myself by memorizing verses about worry and about God's all-powerful control to remind myself in those first few months of his life.  I could use a lot of prayer as I anticipate this little one. 

Now, as I look forward to raising a new child that I will fall madly in love with, I look back with gratitude on the time I had with my daughter.  It is so strange to have had Mia's life cut so short; if she had lived, she would be seven months-old.  And to God, she must have been nearing perfection for Him to decide that she was completed.  I will continue to store up her memories in my heart.  <3

 

My Heart for Mia

Two nights ago I started to feel this little one in my belly kick for the first time.  He is only 17 weeks in the making.  This blog entry is not all about him, although I was very excited to start feeling him move.  I’m so glad that new life is growing within me.

I have heard that with every child, a parent grows a new heart.  As I mourn Mia not being here and rejoice over this new little one, the feeling that I have multiple hearts couldn't be more accurate.

Before bed that same night, Derrick was listening to and deleting voicemails on our phone- he didn't know I could hear them.  As he went further and further down the list, some messages were from the days right after Mia died.  One was from a dear friend offering help.  Another from a friend who had just learned of our news.  And the messages kept playing as my wounded heart for Mia was torn open again.

All the feelings of her death, of having her in our home, of not having her in our home... came rushing back.  It felt like someone was wringing the life out of the heart I have for her.   What is the world record for tears shed?  I'm pretty sure God knows, as He holds me every time my heart is torn open and collects those tears I cry.  He knew how many tears I would cry long ago.

I found that night that when my heart hurts so deeply and minutes of heart-wrenching tears turn into hours, the only hope I have is to talk to God, my Comforter.  He understands pain and suffering.  He is the only One who is with me during every terrifying moment.  He has heard every hurtful comment that has prodded my heart.  He feels my isolation.  He gives me hope, reminding me that I will be alright.

And that thought finally came to mind, You will be alright.  I relaxed a little and sensed God was telling me, It isn't over yet, loved one.  He was right.

The past few days have felt like hurts piling on top of hurts.  My aching heart cries out again at her death, which feels like extreme injustice.  How can this be right?! And yet, this has helped me love my Savior more than ever and has powerfully drawn me to Him like nothing else.  For that, I rejoice.

I also understand that He is teaching me to mirror His grace.  When it feels like even the dearest person does not begin to comprehend my hurt, I have no choice but to exercise grace.  When a well-meaning person has no idea how hurtful their words are, it feels good to exercise grace.  What other choice do I have?  I can easily see how hurt people turn angry.  But I don’t have the energy to be angry… or the right to be angry.

My heart for Mia will never be removed.  I also don't think it will even shrink over the years and feel less hurt.  Instead, somehow with God's help He will get me through this.

Oh, please Lord, help me to enjoy being gracious.  I know I don't deserve Your grace.  Help me to offer it up joyfully to those around me.  Forgive me and make me supernaturally more like You.  Turn my hurts into love for others.

Fill my heart with your Love and bind up my wounds yet again.  When I feel alone, turn my heart to You.  Help me to remember that You are the only One meant to satisfy me.

Let me be thankful.  Help me to rejoice in Your goodness and in Your gifts to me.  Show me how to honor my daughter’s life.

Teach me how to live without Mia.

A Bit of Rainbow

                The boys were still finishing our dinner of stuffed pasta shells in front of the television.  Derrick was watching the Giants play the Cardinals in San Francisco.  Since all three of my men were enjoying the past hour of my labor, I slipped out to take a walk before it became too dark outside.  As I stepped onto our country road from our driveway, my eyes were drawn to the sky opposite of the horizon.  Beyond our field of alfalfa, the high water in the canal, and our neighbor’s white horse corrals was a breathtaking sight.  I almost bolted back into the house to grab one of the boys to show them what captivated my attention.  Instead, I froze.

                In the warmly illuminated Eastern sky was one-sixteenth of the brightest rainbow I had seen in a long time; it was just about four inches long if I had extended my straight arm to measure.  The sky surrounding it had the warmest glow of setting sunlight.  It looked bright as day compared to the dark clouds above.  I decided to enjoy this beauty for myself- a decision that isn’t common to a mom.  If I duck back into the house this rainbow might disappear. 

While walking and admiring it, God brought something startling to mind.  You didn’t fall apart this weekend. 

Every Thursday through Saturday for the last two months, I had been as useless as… well, not very useful at all.  I could typically hold it together Monday through Wednesday to clean up my house, to make social activities, and to care for my family.  Every Wednesday evening I would begin to cry, and my heart’s wound of missing Mia would open again.  Thursday through Saturday would leave me deeply sad and wanting to withdraw from most things.  Occasionally, I might have a spurt of energy where I could get out of the house and feel like things would be alright for a few hours.  After several hard days, Sunday would be a day of recovery.  I would spend the day in usual routines with my immediate family and with my church family.  But this weekend was new. I could function. 

Is that okay, God? I asked.

I kept my eyes on that piece of rainbow in the soon-to-be-dark sky.  I remembered that it would be gone in a matter of minutes- maybe seconds. 

Enjoy it right now, Dear One. He seemed to tell me.  Soon enough it would be gone.

The hope I felt with this new realization was refreshing.  I smiled and knew that I would have to write about this moment.  I will take it, this glimpse of brightness. 

The rest of the sky was crowded with dark gray clouds.  As I hurry to write these words, it is preparing to rain either during the night or maybe tomorrow.  A storm is coming. 

How wonderful that You took me out of the house to show me my progress, God.  Sometimes I feel like my weeks will never improve.  I’m going to be okay.  Darkness and storm have been characteristic of the months since Mia’s death.  The clouds are hovering at all times.  I try hard not spiral into grief, and then a heavy storm hits anyway.

I turned off the road onto a dirt path along the canal and wished I had brought my camera to show someone a picture of this evening sky.  Instead, I rehearsed how I would capture it with words.  I came to the end of my description and continued pondering.  Mia was a full rainbow on a sunny day.  Having her to nourish for eight weeks was beautiful.  She was pure joy and love to me.  And when she was gone, the sunshine left with her for a very long time.  I have thought at times that it was gone until my life will end.  However, this conversation that God was having with my heart helped me feel something I had earlier only heard.

I am going to be alright.  Grief will not grip my heart for life.  By the way, I’m sure I’m not “out of the woods” yet.  I’ve talked to friends who say the entire first year feels incredibly difficult.  It has bothered me terribly that as I walk around with this bleeding heart, people continue with life too timid to mention my daughter for fear of hurting me or of making the conversation awkward.  I think about her more than anyone would realize but I have learned to choose how, or with whom, to talk about her carefully.  It is completely understandable that people don’t know how to help remember her.  I have recently been searching for appropriate ways to honor Mia’s life.  I am her mother and I am in charge of remembering her significance.  I want to continue living well so that her legacy is a special one.

In short, Mia has changed me more than anything in my life has or possibly ever will.  Her life and the place she inhabits in my heart have taken my affections off the temporary desires of this mundane life.  She has set my thoughts more fully onto eternity with the Lover of My Soul.  I remember a day in June when the pain of accepting her absence was excruciating; I asked God to take everything else away that stood in the way of my love for Him.  The pain I have felt from missing her has created very fertile soil for God’s love to grow in my heart. 

In my heartache and in my recent inadequate state, I have been failing at so many of the things that had held my attention.  I may have seemed alright.  I have been trying hard to be okay.  I should say that I have been surviving the past few months.  I have daily been doing what I know I should do to continue.  I have been praying for energy and for the strength to continue. 

My love for Mia has given my heart what feels like a mortal wound.  I can say with exceeding thankfulness that each time my wound is opened, God tenderly binds it up again.  Psalm 147:3 “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.”  My eyes have been opened wide to His tender faithfulness.  A benefit of this grief is that I can now also see deep sorrow in other people.  My heart recognizes hurt and wants to encourage others with the encouragement I have received.

Before Mia, I had been striving so hard for things that only mattered in this life.  The hole in my heart reminds me that I am made for another world- one that is complete.  After death, I will be in the very presence of my Savior.  I am currently reading the book Heaven by Randy Alcorn.  In it, he quotes the great Puritan preacher Jonathan Edwards(who is usually referenced for his sermons on Hell).  This part struck me as an important heart-lesson my daughter’s absence is teaching me: “It becomes us to spend this life only as a journey toward heaven… to which we should subordinate all other concerns of life.  Why should we labor for or set our hearts on anything else, but that which is our proper end and true happiness?”  Randy Alcorn goes on to another quote of his: “Resolved, to endeavor to obtain for myself as much happiness, in the other world, as I possibly can.”

I haven’t yet figured it all out.  For now, I know I will try to proclaim how good God has been to me.  I will tell how He wants more from me than what I was giving when my life felt more put-together.  My brokenness over my sweet daughter is very useful and is, in fact, part of His excellent plan.  I am convinced that Mia’s life has left an eternal impact on me, on her daddy, and on her brothers… and maybe on even more.

And I am so thankful that I don’t take for granted those eight beautiful weeks I had with her.  I have a daughter… and I even know that she did look like me! 

For my daughter I am eternally grateful.  Thank You, God, that this joy and praise that pour from my heart, they come from You.  You have truly brought me joy.  And I will direct it back to You, the Author and Finisher of My Faith.

Hebrews 12:2(KJV)

^“Looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith; who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God.”

Dear Noah

Dear Noah,

When your daddy and I brought you home from the hospital at two days old, I remember trembling with the responsibility of being a mom for the first time.  I stood over your crib as you slept and I prayed that God would help me to raise you to know Him.  I asked Him to help me parent you in such a way that you would be drawn to Him from an early age and that you would see how genuine my love for Him is.

I never imagined that we would experience such difficult times together.  Your daddy and I faced some trials when you were too young to realize what was happening.  However, you did get to ride in an ambulance when you were just three years old.  What happened still makes me shudder- but God was faithful.  You received wonderful medical care, and your finger healed better than the doctors expected.  I had a very hard time watching you endure such physical pain.  I wished that I could have had it all happen to me, instead.

We've had great blessings in your lifetime.  How many dinners have we shared around our table where you asked, "Mom, Dad, Gavin, what was your favorite part of the day?" And when we asked you, you would say, "Right now. Having dinner with my family."  You love to play with Gavin and to teach him new things, like how to climb into his crib to pretend you're both animal brothers.

You were so happy to have a sister born this year.  You took tender care of her and you would hold her so gently.  Sometimes you would bubble over with joy and exclaim, "Oh, what a cutie!"  It was the hardest thing in the world to tell you that your darling little Mia was never coming home.  You were angry.  And you were so sad for weeks that you hardly spoke.  It was so sad and so scary.

The months after Mia's death have been hard for you.  Just two days ago, you yelled to me from the other room, "Mommy, I still miss Mia very much!"  Today you asked me, "Will Mia live again?"  At times you thought someone was hiding her, playing a very cruel joke.  You just wanted your sister to come home again. 

We've talked over and over about believing in Jesus' sacrifice for our sins and about knowing our need for Him, which will make it possible to be with Him and with Mia again one day.  It doesn't make it easier though, does it?

Not only do you miss your sister, you see that your mommy has been sad and cries some days.  That will change, Noah. I won't always be this sad.  I miss Mia just like I would miss you or Gavin if you were not with me.

Sometimes you dissappear into the backyard and come back through the kitchen with a handful of purple flowers.  I smile when you say, "Mommy, do you know why I picked these for you? It's because I love you."  And you tell me, "Mom, you are so sweet. And you are a great mommy."  I never expected to have you comforting me.  I know that God smiles on your care for me, my son.  Last week you brought me flowers three times!

Jesus said in the Bible that in our lives, we can expect more hard times.  Your heart will be broken again.  The only way I can rest while knowing that is because I know that God will be caring for you.  I pray that you walk closely to your Good Shepherd- He will prepare your way and will protect you.  There will be many blessings in this life, too.  But don't get too comfortable here, Noah.  God made us for Heaven to be with Him.

Yesterday, you asked me why I have an anchor on my necklace.  That anchor represents hope.  Hope is a confidence I have that God is who He says He is.  That God will win over evil.  That I already have eternal life and will one day have all my tears wiped away.  We can live in perfect completion with Him when He calls us home- we will have everything we desire.  He called Mia, and she knew her Shepherd's voice.  He will call each of us home to be with Him.  He won over Death and will one day destroy it forever.  We don't need to be scared of dying if God is our Savior and Shepherd.

I love you, Noah.  Your mommy is so proud of you, and nothing can take away my love for you!  We will keep laughing and playing.  I will pray for you and I will never stop telling you about God's goodness to us. 

Anchored in Jesus,

Your Mom

A Strange Mix of Emotions

Missing Mia intensely and anticipating this little one with excitement is a very strange mix of emotions.  Any parent of multiple children can tell you that you love each child differently.  Being pregnant doesn't take away a lick of missing my sweet little daughter.

After losing Mia, it was the most unnatural thing in the world to put away all the baby things we had so lovingly planned for her.  It was startling to my body to stop caring for her.  My feet would still take me to her room throughout the day without thinking.  Derrick and I were immersed in caring for our precious little one.  To go from getting up during the night to getting full nights of sleep was... well, extremely odd.

We knew almost immediately that we wanted another child.  However, I knew I needed counseling to make sure we did this in a healthy way.  My counselor told me with conviction, "You will love your next child for whoever they are, just like you love your boys differently.  I expect you will get pregnant again- and soon.  Mia knows much more than you do now and she would give you her full approval."  Well, okay then!  I never dreamed we would find out about a month later that we were pregnant with baby #4.

Imagine our surprise when the doctor set our due date at April 9, 2013- the day after Mia's birthday.

Since we have been telling people about our pregnancy, I often do it with tears in my eyes.  Expecting this one solidifies Mia's absence.  If Mia was not gone, we would never get to know this little one.

God knew all along.  I rest in His knowledge of all things.  I believe He planned this perfectly.  Even though I never dreamed I would be dealing with pregnancy fatigue and grieving at the same time!

What I really want to communicate is how excited we are about this new baby.  We pray that we will raise him/her for many years to come.  And he/she will not take away how much we miss our precious daughter.  It is thrilling for me to imagine the spiritual richness our children will reap because of this season of hardship.  We're excited to see what God has planned for our family of six.

Dear Mia

Nichole Seal Photography

 

http://www.facebook.com/#!/nicholesealphotography

Three in Heaven

Some people have asked me about my being a mom to Noah, Gavin, Mia, and two other children.  I am blessed to have THREE children in Heaven... of course, I'd rather have them here.  When we had been married a few years and I was teaching fifth grade, we wanted so badly to be parents.  After more than a year of trying, I began to think I might never be a mother.  I had been praying and praying.  We finally found out we were pregnant, only to lose our first child when I was ten weeks pregnant.  The circumstances were jarring, but God faithfully walked me through every part that followed.

Even though the doctors were happy that I had miscarried("It means you can get pregnant."), it was very difficult for me.  I was not so convinced that it was a good thing.  After that miscarriage, I really felt like I might never be a mother.  I remember watching Kellie Coffey's song "I Would Die for That" on YouTube with tears flowing down my cheeks(okay, I'm pretty sure everyone would- it's a tear-jerker.).  I remember the feeling that I might never hear a child call me "Mommy".

We were ecstatic to be pregnant again in 2007 with our son, Noah Dylan.  I marveled at the velvety skin God gave him... the perfect eyes... those lungs!  What a joy it was to be his Mommy.  That little guy has been through quite a bit- it's a good thing God gave him a strong personality.  He's a brave boy.

I feel for those women who are not mothers after many years or who might not ever have a baby.  I can't say that I know exactly how it feels: I have two healthy children and three children in Heaven.  I do know two things for sure: it hurts more than you can say, and God is faithful.

In the summer of 2009, we became pregnant again.  I was shocked to begin miscarrying my third child on the first day of school.  Thankfully, it was not the traumatic experience that the first one had been.  And my colleagues and school administration were very kind.  Not too long after, we became pregnant with Gavin Derrick.  What a lovable guy he is!  He has made me laugh often through my many tears.

Then there was Mia Caroline.  I found out last year that I was pregnant with her.  It seemed surreal, until I discovered I was having a baby girl.  My daughter.  I thoroughly enjoyed planning her nursery.  She came to Europe with Derrick and I when I was four months pregnant.  She kicked for the first time after dessert during our first-class flight across the Atlantic Ocean(we were upgraded)!  When she arrived, I was delighted to be immersed in LittleGirlLand, happily picking out her dresses each morning.

I'm not sure that the newness of Mia ever wore off.  Was it that she was only with us eight weeks?  Was it that I just remember it with rose-colored glasses?  I have to stop myself when I begin to say, "She was taken too soon."  No, I know God took her right on time.  The number of her days was ordained long ago.  I'm grateful for each one, even though the memories are painfully sweet.

I didn't always take comfort in having Mia and my other two children with Jesus.  Now I jokingly brag, "I have three in the bank!"  Three of my children are already with their sweet Savior.  And I know some mommies with many more already there.

So, I'm a mother of three in heaven. And I expect that the heartaches are not over.  Noah and Gavin didn't receive a free-pass for an easy life.  I'm pretty sure that life will continue to be hard.  Derrick and I shudder to think that we might ever lose another child.  But God will continue to be infinitely loving.  He knows me better than I know myself.  God, You have put a new song in my heart.  Through my tears I will run to You.  Your love is sweeter than life.  Oh, and give my kids a kiss from their mama.

What to Lose: My Pride

I've had to lose some things lately.  And I still have a long way to go.

I need to brace myself before writing this next sentence: Before all this happened, I was feeling like I was pretty good.  Like maybe I needed to be forgiven a little bit, but certainly I wasn't that bad.  I thought my formula for living was working pretty well.  And I was taking quite a bit of comfort in the things in my life that proved it: my great husband and my three beautiful children.  As you can guess, that comfort didn't last for long.  In a way I'm glad my misplaced security was tested.  My faults have become extremely clear to me.  I'm sinful at my very core. I'm happy to let you in on some of these major faults.

The first one is PRIDE.

The past few months- especially the weeks after Mia's death- left me in a pretty pathetic state.  One day, I talked to my pastor about how I couldn't seem to do anything anymore.  I was trying to keep up with my household and my kids and my husband, all during my acute grief.  It just wasn't working!  And I was very frustrated.  My pride took a serious blow.  Of course, I have since learned that this is very common.  I've witnessed people in acute grief wandering around aimlessly, unable to accomplish anything.  Their emotions overload their brain and decrease their ability to function normally.

My pastor told me to focus on doing ONE thing at a time.  And so I decided on one thing.  I looked at an empty glass on my kitchen counter and focused only on filling it with water.  So I walked across the room and filled the glass.  I smiled and felt pretty ridiculous.  I did something else with the same laser-like focus and felt pretty good at having finished two things.  Eventually it snowballed where I could do a fraction of what I had previously been doing.

Three months later, I still am not up to my pre-loss capacity to accomplish things.  I've had to give up a lot of my pride.  And, you know, it actually feels good.  I've had a free-pass to bow out of the race for perfection.  I have accepted help from people when I thought I should have just risen to the challenge and did it myself.  It was hard to admit that, yes, I needed help.  I received meals from people.  I let my sister clean my toilets for me.  I let a friend vacuum my very dirty floors.  And now it's actually refreshing to let people know that I still can't do it all.

Of course, I have a pretty good excuse.  But I see women who are trying to do/have it all: a perfect house, perfect kids, a perfect husband, perfect hair, perfect nails.  They must be exhausted- I know I was.  Why do we do this to ourselves?  As my husband and I relaxed before bed last night, he told me, "You know, some people don't feel successful unless they measure up to all their friends at the same time."

What's the alternative?  Instead, my comfort could come from my forgiveness through Jesus' sacrifice for sins.  I can lay down my pride because I don't need to earn anything.  My worth is secure in Him.  I want to spend my life serving Him, instead of striving for approval from those around me.  It is so easy, though, to begin finding comfort and approval in lesser things.  It is so hard to admit that I don't have it all together- can't have it all together.  And never have had it all together.  What's worse is that I pretended that I could.

I'm hoping that as I travel this difficult journey, pride is one thing that I lose.  Our pride can isolate us and it can keep us from true peace.  I need to remind myself of Matthew 11:28-30:

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

God shoulders the work with us.  He doesn't expect us to do it all on our own.

Hinds' Feet on High Places

I made a new friend at the Respite Retreat named Lacy Smith.  As we chatted on the patio one day, she mentioned that she had enjoyed reading a book named Hinds' Feet on High Places by Hannah Hurdard.  She explained that it is an allegory for the Christian life much like Pilgrim's Progress by John Bunyan and explained the basic storyline.  I ordered a copy, and began reading it immediately.  

Poor and weak Much-Afraid lives in a valley with the rest of the Fearing family where she often cowers in the company of her relatives.  Although she is prone to being frozen with fear, she is in the service of the Shepherd.  Her family hates this and want her to marry her cousin, Craven-Fear; instead, the Shepherd asks her to come with Him on a journey to the High Places where she can live in perfection with Him.  To do so, He must straighten her crippled legs and change her fearful nature.  She must scale large rocky precipices and dangerous routes.  When she reaches the mountains, the Shepherd tells her that she does not need to travel alone.  He will always be nearby when she calls for Him.  Not only that, but He would give her two friends.  She is relieved only until the Shepherd tells that these friends' names are Suffering and Sorrow. 

I am almost finished reading the book and have been glued to each page because I've found several key parallels to my experience.  First of all, certain messengers try to persuade her to turn back to the Valley: Pride, Self-Pity, and Bitterness, to name a few.  Pride and Self-Pity look especially handsome.  After letting them lure her away several times, Much-Afraid learns that singing songs of the Shepherd will drown out their voices.  She can also call out for Him, and He will come to her aid.  

Like her, I find it hard to battle the self-pity that seems to come right along with this time of grieving.  I battle accepting this extreme hurt as a way that God is drawing me to Himself.  When I am riding a particularly hard wave of emotion that lasts for days, it is hard to see that my heart will ever be able to continue living normally.  That's when I most need to sing.  Songs are a way to feed my soul with God's truth.

Along the way, the route sometimes takes her in the opposite direction of the mountains that are her destination.  When she ends up in a dessert and seems to be going away from where she would like to be, she grows frustrated and starts to despair.  At those moments, the Shepherd asks her to build an altar and to sacrifice her will.  After a handful of times it becomes easier and easier to sacrifice her will and to trust the Shepherd.  Eventually, she learns to embrace her friends Sorrow and Suffering and cannot imagine turning back to her old life.  She realizes one day that they care very much about her well-being.  Much-Afraid gives the Shepherd permission to do anything with her; regardless of where He leads, she joyfully exclaims that His presence is her great reward.  

I also have a hard time sacrificing my will and accepting that Mia's death is surrounded by God's tender care for my soul.  Through all the heartache, God has been my great reward.  He has taken many comforts away and has replaced them with a greater desire to have only Him.  It has been comforting to be reminded in this book that God is improving me for my journey.  He has chosen unique circumstances for my journey.  Sometimes my path seems really hard, and I'm tempted to despair.  I trust that God knows exactly what to do with me and how to give me the desire of my heart.

I found these lyrics this week and want to share them.  Although they are hard for me to really mean(because that feels like sacrificing my will on an altar), I believe they have become a prayer of mine:

"More Love to Thee, O Christ" by Elizabeth P. Prentiss

1. More love to thee, O Christ, more love to thee!
Hear thou the prayer I make on bended knee.
This is my earnest plea: More love, O Christ, to thee;
more love to thee, more love to thee!

2. Once earthly joy I craved, sought peace and rest;
now thee alone I seek, give what is best.
This all my prayer shall be: More love, O Christ, to thee;
more love to thee, more love to thee!

3. Let sorrow do its work, come grief and pain;
sweet are thy messengers, sweet their refrain,
when they can sing with me: More love, O Christ, to thee;
more love to thee, more love to thee!

4. Then shall my latest breath whisper thy praise;
this be the parting cry my heart shall raise;
this still its prayer shall be: More love, O Christ, to thee;
more love to thee, more love to thee!

10,000 Reasons

I have so much yet to say and will post more soon.  For now, I want to share a song that was Derrick's and my anthem from early after Mia's death.  On the drive home, Derrick asked me, "Have you heard this song before?"  I think I may have heard it without much thought before, but Matt Redman's "10,000 Reasons" was the song of our heart for those several raw months afterwards.

The line that resounds most with me was, "Let me be singing when the evening comes."  Hanging on through each enormous day has seemed like a major feat.  Not only hanging on, but praising God throughout each long day.

Today during Bible Study, our leader shared part of my story and posted a picture of my three beautiful children up in front of the audience.  I was wondering how I made it through singing this song before her speech.  Now I know for sure that God gave me the strength to make it through singing this song for the first time and to listen to someone talk about our trial.  Thank You, Lord, for your peace and strength when I most needed it.

Phil Wickham- Heaven and Earth

I have so many resources to share here that were incredibly helpful to us.  Some of the most helpful resources have been songs.  Songs can touch our hearts deeply.  My cousin's dear wife sent me Phil Wickham's CD Heaven & Earth- every song has been powerfully encouraging to me.  The album was inspired by thoughts of creation before the fall of Adam and Eve.  He pondered how difficult it was for Adam and Eve to toil after the curse, because they remembered paradise with God.

The song "Eden" was very powerful when my heart yearned for justice and despised the broken world in which Mia was born and died.

The song "The Time is Now" has lifted my soul out of the dark pull of grief several times.  It has beautiful orchestral sections.  Noah and Gavin love it, too.  When you have time, listen to the entire thing.

Mail for Mia

The boys were still taking their afternoon naps, and I had just woken up from one, too.  I snuck out of the house to grab the mail.  Usually bills and advertisements are waiting for me, but this time I found something I have come to dread- mail for my daughter.  The very first envelope was from our insurance carrier and it was addressed to MIA C STEL.  It was jarring to tear it open to find a health card for her, along with the nurse advice line number and the customer service number.  My stomach felt sick.

Before calling the company, I allowed my mind to consider what life would be like if Mia were still alive.  It was so normal to handle the details of the boys' health care; their regular check-ups helped mark the passage of their early stages.  Besides her time in the hospital at birth and at death, I took her to two well-baby checks.  Both times, someone watched the boys so I could be focused on Mia.  I would undress her down to her diaper while she screamed because of the cold office air.  During one of these exams, her Kaiser pediatrician remarked that he didn't feel that he needed to tell me everything he tells his other moms because, "You're a veteran mom now."  Of course, I relayed that statement to Derrick and felt so proud that I no longer had the anxiety that comes with your first, and maybe second child.  Oh, I had never imagined the overwhelming trial I would experience just a few weeks later.

Oh, I have encountered difficulties before... I've reflected on the smaller mountains God seemed to ask me to climb before asking me to scale the lifelong mountain of losing my daughter.  First was Noah's need for dental work at two years-old.  We had faithfully brushed his teeth from early on but could still not control that he eventually needed to be anesthetized at the pediatric dentist.  He was so tiny, and I was so scared for him.  I hated standing helplessly while his system tried to get rid of the anesthesia.  Next, and more traumatic, was the day his finger was severed with the exception of a millimeter of skin supplying the tip with blood.  We experienced a long ambulance ride, a grueling wait to have it sewn back on, another scary surgery weeks later, and a painful recovery.  I am so thankful he was not under my care when the accident occurred but I still suffered vivid flashbacks afterwards.  Through those times, God was faithful.

Today, I took Noah for a dental exam.  The new dentist informed me again that he, "Is just one of those children that has weak enamel.  She spoke tentatively, "It's nothing to feel badly about or for which you need to be scared."  I assured her that I was okay and that I would like to know the course she would like to follow to best care for his teeth.  What I felt like saying was, "Lady, this is nothing.  I enjoy my being able to do something about his teeth problems!"  Mia's death has ironically freed me from the worries that used to penetrate my thoughts.  I wish this was my greatest worry again.  However, many worries have lost their power over me.  I know that God will be enough regardless of what happens.

The hole of not having your child is dark and empty.  It can feel like a vortex, threatening to suck the life out of me.  I still have moments where I "space out" or feel exhausted because of the emotional weight.  Why does it continue to bother me so much that my eight-week-old daughter died?  Mia will always be my daughter; that parent-child bond is impossible to erase.  And I will never again get to spend a moment on earth with her.  I think about her every day.  This is why I had to call the health insurance company.  It felt like breaking up with someone because you are afraid that they will "lead you on".  I needed to end it for my sake.

No matter how much we try, there are things we cannot control as mothers.  I certainly couldn't control receiving Mia's health card in the mail.  Well, I called the company's member service line.  After I confirmed information for the person on the other end she cheerfully asked, "Well, what can I do for you today?"  I explained the mail I received and asked her to check her notes.  Did they tell her anything about Mia?  Somehow, their office had not received the final information I was about to give her.  "Well, what is the problem?"

"Well, you see, my daughter is deceased."  

I never know how to break the news.  It pierces my heart every time.  I don't mind talking about Mia or processing what happened with friends.  It's not like I don't always live with this reality, but there's just something about informing someone for the first time.  It feels like I'm experiencing it all over again.  I wonder if even a minutely similar reaction to mine will happen in this person's heart.

She told me how sorry she was and that she would figure out how to fix this mistake.  Apparently, they had somehow assumed that life would continue for Mia.  Well, so did I.

Today I received an explanation of health benefits for Mia.  As the hole she left continues to gape in my life, the vortex threatens to pull me away from living- from the good tasks God has for me.  Missing her and the tragedy of her death weigh heavily on me.  I wouldn't say I'm in the slimy pit I once was in, but the outskirts of its darkness still threaten to overtake me.  I say that I am not strong because I am desperately holding onto God's strong hand to support me.  Far worse than losing Mia would be to have a great distance separating me from my Savior.  I crave His presence in my life. It is invigorating when I find any small victory because I know that there is no way I have strength to resist the darkness without Him.  One major victory is that I am so grateful that God has given me the strength and endurance to provide a stable environment for my sons while we miss their sister.

I read the following quotes in A Woman After God's Own Heart by Elizabeth George.  I hope they inspire you, like they did me, to develop strong roots:

"Without a well-developed root system, we become top heavy-- lots of leafy, heavy foliage appears above ground but nothing supports it from underneath.  Without a network of strong roots, sooner or later we have to be staked up, tied up, propped up, straightened up-- until the next wind comes along and we fall over again.  But with firm, healthy roots, no wind can blow us down.

Yes, the support of a healthy root system is vital for standing strong in the Lord! I'm reminded of the process used in bygone days for growing the trees that became the main masts for military and merchant ships.  The great shipbuilders first selected a tree located on the top of a high hill as a potential mast.  Then they cut away all of the surrounding trees that would shield the chosen one from the force of the wind.  As the years went by and the winds blew fiercely against the tree, the tree grew strong and finally it was strong enough to be the foremast of a ship.  When we have a solid root system, we too can gain the strength needed for standing firm in spite of the pressures of life!"

and, "God will take you as far as you want to go, as fast as you want to go."

I don't know if I'm the special tree at the top of that hill chosen to grow stronger by withstanding the winds, but I do feel that I'm being strengthened.  I invite God to dwell more richly within me.  Remove the barriers that lie between us, Lord.  Cleanse my heart.  Help me to desire You and to yearn for eternity with You.  Give me strength to "take up my cross" daily- especially when I don't feel I have the emotional energy to press on.  Give me deep roots.  I know that "Your grace is sufficient for me."

Missing Mia continues to be very hard.  Reminders of her will likely trickle in throughout the years.  As Noah and I went shopping after his dental appointment today, I reminded him that I am throwing a baby shower for a good friend.  "She's having a baby, Noah.  Isn't that exciting?"

He casually asked, "Is her baby going to die, too?"

Oh, Lord, we're not done with this yet.  Help our hurting hearts.

Respite Retreat

This past weekend, Derrick and I were privileged to attend David and Nancy Guthrie's retreat for couples who have lost a child.  Their Respite Retreat was held outside of Nashville, Tennessee at the Hiding Place, which is a beautifully-kept lodge set in green hills along the Cumberland River.  The focus of this retreat is to give each father and mother a chance to tell their story in the company of eleven understanding couples and to glean advice to deal with practical aspects of grieving.
Derrick and I landed Friday afternoon and were picked up at the curb by a couple from the Washington DC area.  We drove together through deciduous trees, deep rock beds lining the road, and the greenest grassy hills.  We were asked to talk about anything besides the child we had lost, so we chatted about work as we ate sandwiches for a late lunch.  We eventually made our way through back country that reminded Derrick of the movie Deliverance.  As we reached the end of a long aimless road, the trees opened up to a manicured lawn that wound over slight hills.  We weren't sure what to expect, but the accommodations were even more welcoming than expected.  David and Nancy met us at the door.
We found a room and had dinner soon after our arrival.  Following dinner, all twelve couples found seats in the living room around the fireplace.  The Guthries began by telling their story: They had a healthy son named Matt and found out they were pregnant again.  They gave birth to a daughter named Hope and were told soon after birth that something was very wrong- the doctors diagnosed her with a fatal syndrome that took her life at six months.  Although they tried medically to prevent another pregnancy, they learned they were pregnant again with a boy who had the same fatal syndrome and also lived for six months.  They were able to recall for us how difficult that time was, and tears came to their eyes again as they remembered their precious children.
Besides the Guthries' story, five more couples told about losing their children on Friday night.  A picture of each child was thoughtfully displayed in the living room.  A few babies died shortly after birth, and one was a stillbirth.  One four-year-old boy had cancer and passed away after trying various treatments.  There were three older sons who died in vehicle-related accidents.  A beautiful 19 year-old girl named Joy had spina bifida from birth.  Her parents had lovingly cared for her as a parapalegic, only going on family vacations where her wheelchair could be pushed by her parents or her four siblings.  She passed away after her one kidney shut down.  The stories were all so sad.  However, seeing parents whose hearts were also broken felt good- they understood our loss.  We would all never have another day with our children.  It feels so strange and wrong not to have your child under your care. 
Another couple gave birth to a little girl named Naomi Ruth.  They found in an ultrasound that Naomi had an enlarged heart.  They had plenty of hope that surgeries would help her.  For eight weeks, her loving parents lived at the Ronald McDonald house while Naomi went through surgeries and healing.  Around week seven, they decided to spend more time holding her and invited loved ones to hold her, too.  Her parents' hearts broke as sweet Naomi died at eight weeks; their prayers and hopes seemingly unanswered.  Our families shared quite a bit in common: we both have two older boys, both our daughters lived eight weeks, and we both prayed for healing.  Even with such difficult stories of loss, it was a rich time of sharing what God had taught each of us.  C.S. Lewis has said that God shouts in our pain.  We were able to share what He has been saying to us.
Derrick told me that he would rather talk the next day when we were more rested.  So the next morning after breakfast, we were the second to tell our story.  With many tears, we finally got through it.  I realized that I have never told the story of Mia's life and death from beginning to end.  It was healing to be heard by other couples who deeply understood and who listened attentively.  We were amazed at some of the similarities we shared with the parents of the older children.  It gave the others the opportunity to talk with us and to pray for us.  It was a great way to vent our grief, just like it has been healing for me to write this blog.
After telling our stories, the Guthries talked to us about the differences between men's and women's ways of expressing grief.  They talked about marriage and relating to each other during this time.  Nancy told us that some of us wives might never have told her our husbands that we will ever be well again.  Our husbands might be scared that we will never find hope or happiness again- that the joyful woman they married is now permanently sad.  This felt like a turning point for me.  Later, we were given time alone with our spouse to talk about specific things.  I made sure to tell Derrick that I am doing my best to heal and to be healthy.  I told him that I will not stay in this amount of sadness forever.  It helped to hear the Guthries' analogy that our hurt was like a mortal wound, like a pierced heart.  Our wound is festering and needs to be aired out before it can be healed.  I told him that's what I'm doing now so that it doesn't continue to fester.  One day I will get better.
We were asked during our time to tell each other three things we appreciated about each other during this process of grieving and three things we needed from each other.  I was amazed that although I have felt miserable, Derrick said he admired that I continue to be kind and that I have gone to God for the comfort I need.  I told him that I admire what a tender husband he has been and how he has led our family spiritually during this incredibly vulnerable time.  He has pointed me to God's Word during critical times and has introduced me to encouraging music.  He has prayed over me when I was at my worst.  The main impression we had after our time together was that God has used this time to draw us both closer to Him, together.  The Guthries' analogy of two wounded soldiers leaving the battlefield leaning into each other illustrates how we feel we have been relating to each other.  We have been supporting each other and feeding each other with God's means of encouragement.
That night, Derrick and I were chosen to play as one of the three couples in the Newlywed Game in front of the rest of the couples.  We were effective entertainment as we lost horribly to a veteran couple and to a newlywed couple! We were glad to be having fun despite so much potential heaviness of the weekend.  David Guthrie has a great sense of humor, and Nancy made everyone feel important and like a new friend.
On Sunday morning after breakfast(during which about twenty wild turkeys congregated on the front lawn), Nancy led a time of prayer at the railing of the lodge.  The railing overlooked a beautiful forest of glistening deciduous trees.  It had been raining for a good part of the weekend but gave us a break at the time.  We stood staring at God's beautiful creation- each shiny leaf moved individually in the breeze.  The trees were impossibly thin and tall, swaying before us while reaching up to the sky.  Beyond the trees, the Cumberland River shimmered below.  The entire scene was vibrant before us.  The beauty of this creation reminded me that just like nature that is mentioned in His Word, God's creation speaks of Him.  I mentioned earlier that while we were praying, a hummingbird flew directly before my face and stayed for a few seconds.  I felt like saying, "Of course God would do something like that for me."  Maybe I dismissed things like this to be coincidences before, but now my eyes are open to the beautiful confirmations God sends me that He is tenderly caring for my soul.
After prayer time, we went inside to the living room and heard Nancy speak about five verses that brought she and David comfort after their children's deaths.  These are:Matthew 26:38, John9:3, 2 Corinthians 12:9, Revelation 1:17-18, Matthew 11:28.  Her talk reminded me of her book Hearing Jesus Speak Into Your Sorrow, a resource I recommend for finding God's view on suffering.  Following that time of meditation and singing praise, we all headed to our rooms to clear out our things and bring our laundry down to the laundry room.  We said goodbye to our new friends and thanked the Guthries for their tender care.
We left in a caravan to eat lunch at a hamburger restaurant in Nashville.  From there, we went back to the airport to return to our boys.  It felt so good to go home, even though we had a refreshing time with these people and with each other.  The balance between grieving and caring for our boys has been a difficult one to reach.  Usually, caring for our boys every moment of the day has meant that we have little time to deal with things(or to write!).  On the other hand, I am so thankful that I can care for our boys. But I am so thankful that my parents were willing to care for our sons.  This weekend together was so memorable and it was beneficial to our family's future.
Thank you to all of you who prayed for our time at Respite Retreat.  We are grateful for your care for us!