Wednesday, October 31, 2012

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.


Sunday, October 21, 2012

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.”

Wednesday, October 17, 2012

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