God’s real love in my real suffering

our precious baby John

Each night at VBS this week we’ve focused on a characteristic of God’s love: incredible, faithful, invincible, unconditional and real.

Last night the 4th and 5th grade girls in my group learned about the realness of God’s love. Both their craft-time and Bible-time teachers asked the girls if they could give examples from their own life of how we know God is real (even thought we cannot see Him). Several girls had stories to share, and they all went something like this:

My cousin’s baby had a hole in his heart but everyone prayed and now that baby is eleven.
My mom’s stepsister’s baby was sick before it was born and it was really scary but she’s okay now.
My sister’s extension umbilical cord was wrapped around her neck and she almost didn’t live, but she did.

Goodness, was it ever tough to sit there and hear those stories.

When the doctor listed off everything that was wrong with John, it made sense that he would die. But I believed God could make John whole. I believed (and still believe) God could have done some crazy heavenly fetal surgery and the doctors would have been speechless, and I could have gone on to birth a healthy, living baby, and people around the world who had been praying for us would have been able to point to John as an example of God’s love. He could have healed John, but He didn’t.

When I became pregnant with Jane, I battled fear constantly and I prayed constantly. I believed God was blessing us with a life after our loss. I believed God would rejoice in giving us a healthy baby, and I prayed that He would. He could have, but He didn’t.

God didn’t show His love to me by giving me what I prayed for. The evidence of God’s real love in my life does not look like what I thought it would (but it is still there). There have been many dark days when the choice to recall to mind God’s love and goodness has felt excruciating, but I HAVE that choice because His love IS real.

"I cry out, “My splendor is gone!
Everything I had hoped for from the Lord is lost!”

The thought of my suffering and homelessness
is bitter beyond words.
I will never forget this awful time,
as I grieve over my loss.
Yet I still dare to hope
when I remember this:

The faithful love of the Lord never ends!
His mercies never cease.
Great is his faithfulness;
his mercies begin afresh each morning.”

-Lamentations 3:18-23

We need these stories of real love during real suffering.
We need to remember God’s realness isn’t only found in “success stories” and prayers answered “yes.” We can experience God’s love throughout our times of trial — not just when the trial is over.

My story is not "God is real! He healed my babies."
My story is "God is real! He is healing me.”

on a Sunday in March

We’ve only been to church a handful of times this year (after a seven-month-long stretch of staying home). I haven’t wanted to participate in worship, so we arrive late. We hurry out after the sermon ends, because I haven’t wanted to run into anyone who hasn’t seen me since last May.

We were late yesterday, but the worship team was still playing as we scooted past a beautiful family of six, including an infant. My heart began to race when I recognized the song as “The Lord Our God” by Kristian Stanfill. The last time I heard that song was when I was pregnant with Jane. I even blogged about it.

I can hardly bear to go back and read through the posts I’ve written about my grief. Sometimes I can’t believe it’s me that is experiencing all of those emotions and bearing all of that (this) pain. When I wrote that post in June I was terrified out of my mind, but deep down I believed our baby would be healthy. I listened to that song and thought God WAS leading us out of our dark grief from John and into a time of joy with our second baby. My most prayed prayer over my second pregnancy was that God would be delighted to give us a healthy baby — that it would bring Him joy. I thought with a prayer like that, surely I will get to hold this baby and watch it grow.

I threw myself into desperately hoping, desperately praying, desperately reciting verses... and when I got home from the hospital after saying goodbye to my second baby, I was, and continue to be, simply desperate.

My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.
-Psalm 73:26

I don’t know why, or even how exactly, but my mouth opened in church yesterday and the words came spilling out. I heard my husband’s voice softly rising alongside mine.

Still we can know you are good.

I imagined what we looked like to God... two of His people, weary and heartbroken, lifting their voices in obedience and faith. We sang knowing full well God could have given us healthy babies. We sang knowing full well only God knows our future. We sang knowing full well this hard road we’re on may be longer than we’d like.

Tiny step after tiny step, we move forward.

I survived

I’ve been seeing all of these Facebook and blog posts about what people accomplished in 2014 and it’s really disheartening. I mean, what have I done? I’ve done nothing! I’ve done absolutely nothing for two years. I’ve tried to grow babies. That’s it.

I spoke those words laced with hurt and bitterness while hunched over on the bed, my cell phone pushed tight against my ear. Laura, you survived, my friend said with loving frankness. Some people in your situation give up completely. You are still married. Some people in your situation don’t stay married. You cannot compare how you’ve spent your year with how other people have spent it. Their lives have not been rocked like yours. It’s apples and oranges. Show yourself some grace.

I didn’t start a business in 2014. I didn’t get a new job, or move to a new city, or train for a marathon. I didn’t go down several sizes or go on a missions trip.

In 2014 I survived getting pregnant not long after losing my first child. I thought God was saying “yes” to my prayers for a new, healthy baby. I survived opening a registry and taking pictures of my belly and buying things for the nursery, all while grieving the loss of my son. I survived the doctor’s appointment at 21 weeks when I was told my baby had multiple defects and would need an incredible amount of pre and post-natal care. I survived the next day, when I woke up and had a feeling that something wasn’t right. I prayed “God, if you’re going to take my baby before I get to meet him or her, do it now.” I survived telling my baby that I loved it, and that it was okay to let go.

I survived seeing a lack of heartbeat on the screen for the second time in 11 months. I survived the most excruciating physical pain I’ve ever been in as the doctors tried method after method to get my dead baby out. I survived leaving the hospital empty handed, again, even though I had just given birth, again.

I am still here. I am still married. I have painkillers and alcohol in the house and I haven’t abused either substance. I have been less social than ever before and lost some friends along the way, but I haven’t completely cut myself off from the world — a world FULL of pregnant women and newborns.

I survived viewing post after post of “It’s been a great year!” on my news feed, while my own Year in Review said, “Laura, here’s what your year looked like in 2014” and showed a picture of my baby’s fingers against mine. (That app caused grief for others, too.)

I have shared quite a bit of my grief with you, dear readers. But, after I posted about coming home from Europe, a friend commented that she imagines I still hold back a bit when I share my heart. I was touched by her words, because they're true. I DO hold back. The pain is way worse than I’ve described it (which you would know if you’ve endured great loss). There are only so many words to describe how it feels, and even if I were to paint you a perfect picture of that doctor’s appointment, those hellish days in the hospital and the months of isolation and spiritual dryness that followed, most of you still wouldn’t get it. This disconnect is what causes me to feel alone, even if I’m in a room full of people.

I feel I’m on a boat, drifting away. I’m not on the course I charted. The trip I so carefully prepared for is not going as planned. I have my husband with me, but everyone else is on land and they’re getting smaller and smaller as we float away. We sway with each wave and get dragged around by the tide. Under the surface is an anchor holding fast, but in our anger and confusion we either forget it’s there or don’t fully trust in it.

Still, the anchor is there, and He is why I can say “I’ve survived."

giving thanks

I hung a banner from the mantle today. It was the second time I’ve hung this banner after losing a baby. The banner reads “Be thankful.”

hm.

I hung it, and then I sat on the stair landing for a while and stared at it. Be thankful.
My flesh wanted to tear that banner down and rip it into shreds while screaming I AM NOT THANKFUL at the top of my lungs.

But I have sat in bitterness for quite some time now, and I’m getting a little tired of it. I have allowed myself to feel anger, to scream into pillows and to say cynical things to people who I trust (who know that my heart is tethered to Christ, even though I spout words of doubt). I sit in sorrow, too. Sorrow as my arms feel emptier than ever. Sorrow as I unfollow friend after friend on social media because the statuses and pictures fill me with longing and remind me of what I do not have. Sorrow as I wrestle alongside Andy with the knowledge that our God, who we love and who we KNOW loves us, has allowed us to suffer in this way.

In the midst of this bitterness and sorrow, my soul cries out for relief. In my suffering, I find myself closer to God than ever before. I feel my bitterness slowly (sloowwwly) leaving. It’s being replaced by a voice that whispers, Just be. 

Rest in me.

A friend of mine and fellow hurting mama wrote the following in her most recent blog post:

Deserts can be harsh and lonely, but there in the quiet, character is being built, and an ear is trained to the soft whispers of God carried on a high wind. But in the desert, there are choices. Choices to resist, or choices to be molded by it. Choices to run, or choices to see it as an opportunity for growth and stay until God says “Move.”

Amen, girl.

(How beautiful was that?)

So here I am, just being. Here I am, fighting the urge to run. Here I am, staying until God says move.

And in this place of just being, I can think of quite a lot of things to be thankful for.

I adore this rendition of the following hymn:

O Love that wilt not let me go,
I rest my weary soul in thee;
I give thee back the life I owe,
That in thine ocean depths its flow
May richer, fuller be.

O light that foll’west all my way,
I yield my flick’ring torch to thee;
My heart restores its borrowed ray,
That in thy sunshine’s blaze its day
May brighter, fairer be.

O Joy that seekest me through pain,
I cannot close my heart to thee;
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
And feel the promise is not vain,
That morn shall tearless be.

O Cross that liftest up my head,
I dare not ask to fly from thee;
I lay in dust life’s glory dead,
And from the ground there blossoms red
Life that shall endless be.

in the waiting

16/17/18 weeks!

We’ve been singing this song at church a lot lately and it moves me to tears every time I sing along. My favorite lines:You finish what you begin. You see it through til the end. In the silence, in the waiting, still we can know you are good. All your plans are for Your glory, yes we can know you are good. The Lord our God is ever faithful, never changing through the ages.

Enjoying this waiting has been a challenge. I need that reminder… as much as I don’t want to feel how I feel or think what I think... still I know God is good.

I keep thinking about when I was this far along with John. I’ll be 19 weeks tomorrow, and just like last time I’m anticipating the anatomy ultrasound. Unlike last time, I’m going into this one with a lot of dread mixed in with the joy. I hate it. I hate that for weeks now I have felt like throwing up when I think about that appointment. I hate that I cried until I couldn’t breathe after I finally called and scheduled it. I hate that I keep grasping for peace as if it is out of reach, as if I’m stuck being fearful (when that isn’t the truth).

"For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.”

2 Timothy 1:7

I’ve been resisting writing this post because it’s hard to explain what I’m feeling, and it’s even harder when people respond with platitudes. “It will be okay!” “You’re meant to be a mom!” If I mention an ounce of fear, I’m being negative. If I say, “well, if something does go wrong with the baby…” then I’m being cynical. Here’s the thing: I’m not just thinking about what it was like to be pregnant with John—I’m also thinking about how this time last year I was literally waiting for my baby to die. I don’t LIKE that I’m struggling with fear! I don’t like that it is impossible for me to not imagine a scenario in which this pregnancy doesn’t go as planned. 

It sounds like I’m in the depths of despair, and I’m really not. Promise. I have big cries and little cries and the occasional panic attack, but the majority of each day is spent practicing finding satisfaction in this stage of life God has put me in. Even though my inclination is to want to rush to the finish line, I’m trying to appreciate these months before baby. When I get discouraged, I remind myself that not only am I still grieving John, but I’m pregnant. I’m bound to be emotional and tired at times. 

Let’s move on to the good stuff. Almost 19 weeks! Almost halfway! I can’t believe this is only my second baby post for this pregnancy. I’ve been feeling flutters for a couple of weeks now, and I never get tired of them. My belly, as you can see in the pics, is insane. Andy says, “oh my gosh, your belly!” EVERY day. I actually like that I’m showing a lot. I’m sure that will change in a month or so, but for now it gives me a little comfort. Hopefully my roundness comes from a growing baby and not just from the food I’ve been scarfing down (like the three strawberry sour cream scones I’ve eaten today).

There are two other preggos in my small group (yay!) and we recently went around and heard advice from the other women on things to do/relish before the baby comes. I loved their input (travel! sleep in! eat out!) and would love to hear yours!

A few things momma and baby have been up to lately: 

reuniting with Amy, one of my college roomies
(and buying a few things for your nursery at the Luckett’s Spring market)

snuggling with Autumn while the daddies went golfing

watching daddy and grandpa play golf

baby thoughts

I wrote on Facebook that my next blog post wouldn’t be about food. Well, here it is, folks: word-vomit of all the emotions I’m feeling/thoughts running through my head! Lucky you!

Sometimes last summer feels like it happened much longer ago than it really did. Why is that? At the same time, I’ve been having major pregnancy deja-vu. I was wrapping up my first trimester this time last year, and every little thing is setting off memories in my brain.

I think I’ve gone a full two weeks without including the words “I’m so mad at you” in my prayers. I don’t know if I’m completely over the anger, but I’m definitely less angry. I’m angry that God let us go through that hurt, and that He didn’t give us a miracle. I’m angry that I now struggle with having hope in regards to fertility and bearing healthy children. Yup, still a bit angry!

It’s freeing though, to be so secure in God’s love that I know I can feel angry and not be ashamed or guilty.

The thought of John being safe and happy in heaven comforts me, but it also makes me a little bit jealous. I know he is happier there than he could have ever been here, but… selfishly, I still wish he was here.

I’m trying to allow myself to dream about babies in our future again. For so long I didn’t let myself go there. What if I can’t get pregnant? What if I do, and we lose the baby? What if the years ahead hold heartbreak after heartbreak? 

Last Sunday at church I held my friend’s son while she chatted with another couple. I wondered what Andy was thinking as he saw me cooing over Ben, and I tried not to let my mind wander to thoughts of “John would be almost this big if he had lived….” Ben's giggles after every eskimo kiss we shared just melted my heart. I want to hear my babies giggle. I want Andy to see me holding our baby, and I want to hear him bragging about how he made our baby smile.

Despite the tumultuous emotions that pour out of me when I think about God or attempt to communicate with Him, my core being is stilled by Him. I can feel angry or lonely or frustrated or like I can’t hold on any longer, but I know that I am never out of God’s tender hands. Whether I’m in a lowest low or highest high, God is there.

A friend posted this breathtaking passage on Facebook the other day and my heart leapt in my chest when I read it over. The desperation I feel, the incredible longing to be able to hope and not be afraid of what’s ahead, the tears that are always held at bay, all of my, “Why, God?” and “When, God?” questions…all of it, all of it, ALL of it fades to the background when I steady my heart on the ground of His goodness.

As the rain and the snow

come down from heaven,

and do not return to it

without watering the earth

and making it bud and flourish,

so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater,

so is my word that goes out from my mouth:

It will not return to me empty,

but will accomplish what I desire

and achieve the purpose for which I sent it.

You will go out in joy

and be led forth in peace;

the mountains and hills

will burst into song before you,

and all the trees of the field

will clap their hands.

Instead of the thornbush will grow the juniper,

and instead of briers the myrtle will grow.

This will be for the Lord’s renown,

for an everlasting sign,

that will endure forever.

Isaiah 55:10-13

things that make my life easier

Today marks six months since John died, which is sad and weird, but on a more positive note today also marks six months since I began truly attempting to showing myself grace. I can't remember another time in my life that has caused me to struggle so much with being hard on myself. There isn't an aspect of my life that hasn't been affected by my grief. It's as if every little bit of me was shattered into pieces and I'm still working on picking them up and putting them back into place. I've never felt more dumb—like my brain has just stopped working. I've cried at work (thankfully not in front of the kids, but still—super embarrassing). I've slacked on my housework. I've slacked on cooking. I've even bathed less than ever before. (How's that for transparency?)

Sometimes I hear a voice whispering, You are a mess. You can't handle this.

I used to hear that voice and feel defeated. I'd hate myself for it.

Now I hear that voice and think, "That's true! I am a mess! I can't handle it—at least, not on my own."

It has been such a relief to realize that God sees my mess and loves me anyway. That when I fail to cook dinner or go to work, I'm not losing points with God. That when I fail to be patient with people and end up saying things I shouldn't, God isn't throwing up His hands and saying, "that's it! I give up on her!"

It makes me laugh to think about, but now when I cook up a meal or look over a room I've cleaned I have double the pride as I would have before John passed. When I can get through a sub job without feeling shaky and insecure and sad, my spirit soars and I can't stop saying God, thank you! Progress IS being made. Little by little, those shattered pieces are being put back into place, and I'm appreciating them more than ever.

Maybe you're feeling a bit like a mess yourself. What's been helping you get through it? Here are a few things that are helping me:

1. Rejoicing over ANY progress that's being made, even if it's something small. That might mean getting dressed, not desk-crying at work, getting through traffic without cursing...it could be anything.

2. Two words: dragon noodles. (Really those two words should be "insanely easy recipes." Well, that's three words.) I can handle making this meal even when I'm overwhelmed with life and my day has totally sucked. I use 4 oz. of udon noodles, 1 Tbsp of butter for the egg and I add a spoonful of peanut butter to the sauce. I also rarely ever make it with green onions because I don't always have them on hand. This dish brings me to a happy place. I don't know how to explain it. It's magical! And it's delicious reheated or eaten cold. 

3. Asking for help. My mom has driven up to Frederick countless times over the past six months to lift my spirits (and help me accomplish tasks). It's easier for me to ask her for help than my friends, but that's important too. It's practicing humility—recognizing that you can't do it all on your own. 

4. Happy music. A friend of mine reminded me of how great the You've Got Mail soundtrack is, and I've had that and the soundtrack from The Parent Trap playing on repeat. I can get into a funk SO easily, and sometimes I have to purposefully carry my laptop into the bathroom, turn the volume all the way up and make myself sing along while I'm showering (I really do bathe). You can't belt out "Splish Splash" and still have a bad attitude!

5. Walks. A walk does my body good, whether it's sunny or gray, five minutes long or an hour. I never listen to music on my walks. I prefer to daydream or think of nothing at all. I now understand that guys really mean it when they say they aren't thinking about anything!

6. Repeating Truth. I picked Psalm 91:1-2 to be my focus verses for 2014. Meditating on these verses brings my heart and mind to a place of peace and security.

dread

I've been staring at my computer for a while, thinking of the reasons why it has been over a month since my last post. Part of it is feeling bad for writing "downer" posts about being sad, but mostly it's got to do with dread.

If there was one word that could sum up what I've been feeling lately, it's dread. Dread for the day ahead, and wondering if I'll get through it without crying or yelling or thinking cynical thoughts. Dread over the possibility of being asked, "do you have any kids?" or being told, "you're young, there's still time," or "I know it will happen for you." I struggle with dreading the future, and all of the unknowns that lie ahead.

I dread writing this blog post, or really writing anything at all, because writing makes me think of John and thinking of John makes my chest ache.

The other day I told a friend that I was enjoying a long streak of what I call "good days." I said, "I think I'm being filled up to be poured out," and I was right.

I've learned to give in to the grief, to let it wash over me, shake me up and wring me out. I do my best to feel it and then let it go—not chew on it, like I'm often tempted to do. The dread is hard to shake, though. It's in the back of my mind, whispering worry! fear! hide! give up! It bottles itself up in my throat and becomes lodged there. I am so weary of the battle, but I find rest in knowing it has ultimately been won.

Will you walk alongside me?

My soul cleaves to the dust; 
Revive me according to Your word.

My soul weeps because of grief; 
Strengthen me according to Your word.

Remove the false way from me, 
And graciously grant me Your law.

I have chosen the faithful way; 
I have placed Your ordinances before me.

I grasp and cling to whatever you tell me; God, don’t let me down!
I’ll run the course you lay out for me if you’ll just show me how.

                                                                           -Psalm 119:25, 28-32 (mix of NASB and The Message)

Last night I was pressed into the corner of the couch, a pile of crumpled tissues accumulating on my lap. I cried as I poured my heart out to my friend (through Facebook chat, of all places) and tried to put words to the frustration I feel inside. I told her about my impatience with people. The disappointment in myself when I can sense that people expect more from me but I don't feel capable of meeting their standards. The anger that follows when I wonder why people can't show me more grace. The frustration I feel towards God, myself and others.

Why can't this be better? Why can't I be better? Why can't you be better? 

What a sweet thing it is to show someone the ugly parts of yourself and have them love you in return.

I treasure this response from my friend:

"There is grace for this situation... grace for the days when you are angry, when you're tired, when you lack motivation to do anything. When you're sad because your boy isnt here. And it's more than OK to feel those things. I hope the people in your day to day life can show you that grace and allow you to grieve when you need to express it."

Yes. Friends, that is what I need. I need grace. I am a sinner, if it's not one thing it's another.

And I also need to express my grief.

When people asked me how I was doing right after John died, they didn't expect me to say that I was fine. Because, duh, I wasn't fine. I had just lost a child. 

This Sunday will mark three months since the day I heard my baby's heartbeat stop and delivered him (via c-section). Only three months. The pain is still so fresh. I think that because I seem put-together and "fine" to most people that they assume I am fine, but right now I feel so far from fine. I know it takes time to grieve, but how much time? How much crying? How many bitter, pleading prayers?

It's not that my current life is terrible, it's that an unthinkable thing happened to me and I'm still reeling from it. There are good days. There is laughter. There are pages filled in my "joy journal" (a thoughtful gift I received after losing John). God is with me.

But, there is also pain. A desire to talk about my baby, and to hear someone else say his name. To voice my sadness. To have an arm around me or a tear shed with me.

Friends, will you walk alongside me as I grieve? I know it's awkward. I've been in your shoes. I know you don't want to cause me more pain by bringing John up in a conversation (it won't, I promise). I know you don't want to say the wrong thing (I'd rather you say something than nothing). I have grace for you. I don't expect you to know how to perfectly handle my mess. I don't even know how to handle it! But oh, would I love for you to love me through it.

The two people that have most recently heard me voice my sadness both said the same thing: "People that know your situation are probably thinking about John, even if they don't tell you they are. I think about John all the time."

God knew those words would bless my heart. Dear friends, if you think about my baby, please tell me. If you have questions about my pregnancy or John's diagnosis or the c-section or anything, please ask them.

Two weeks after John died one of our pastors called to encourage me. He spoke softly to me as I cried into the phone, straining to hear his words through my tears and desperately wanting them to wash over me and fill me with peace. Then he said something that made me stop crying and grab a pen to write it down.

He said, "We (the church) accept you in your weakness, in your vulnerability and pain."

Oh, how greatly I need that acceptance.

I don't want to bear this.

Some of this post was written in May, shortly after our baby received a fatal fetal diagnosis. I chose not to publish anything about the diagnosis on Facebook or my blog until I gave birth because I didn't have many medical details to provide readers (I still don't). Mainly, though, I was desperately hoping that the whole thing was a mistake and that I'd receive a perfectly healthy baby in the end. 

I was 19 weeks and 5 days pregnant when I was first told our baby was measuring small. The technician said I was measuring 16 weeks and 6 days and told me I must have been wrong about my due date. My OB didn't think the technician was correct, but he didn't seem concerned and told me to get another ultrasound two weeks later. 

Here is part one of my story as a mother who has only memories and a scar to show for it.

-----

On Wednesday, April 24th (22 weeks and 3 days), I had another ultrasound. Everything looked fine to us. Our baby was waving his or her sweet little hand at us (we didn't discover the gender until John was delivered), and the technician didn't linger over anything for a long period of time. Then, at the very end of the procedure, a bomb was dropped. We were told my amniotic fluid was very low and that our baby was measuring a little over 17 weeks—meaning that our baby was not only small but also had hardly grown at all in two and a half weeks. The technician went from smiley and relaxed to very agitated. She told me she would contact my OB immediately and that they would probably want to see me later that day. In the meantime, we had to go home and wait for the call from the OB.

I held in my tears until we got through the lobby and then cried out in anguish, filling the huge glass entryway of the women's center with the sounds of grief. Andy guided me to the car and we sat there together, blinking at the unrelenting sun and trying to make sense of the news we had just received. After what seemed like hours but was only minutes, I opened my mouth.

"We need hummus."

So we drove to Costco. I gratefully inhaled free samples and focused on what we needed: black beans, tomato sauce, chicken stock, hummus, pita chips and a rice cooker. What we didn't need: bad news.

My friend Erin arrived at our house not longer after we arrived home from the store. Erin had delivered a beautiful stillborn son just months earlier, and I had texted her right after appointment. She sat with me while I picked at my lunch, and then she prayed with me and cried with me.

"God doesn't give us more than we can bear," she said. "I don't want to bear this," I said back.

(quick note: I do not agree with the idea that God does not give us more than we can bear. Erin is a dear friend and I knew her intention was to try to comfort me.)

The OB finally called to confirm that my low fluid was a big problem and they set me up to see a perinatal specialist two days later (Friday, April 26th). Andy and I sat in our living room and stared at our phones, dreading the calls we had to make to our parents. I'll never forget watching my husband's face crumple when his mom picked up her phone.

I received an email that night from my brother. His words of advice and encouragement continue to bring me comfort today.

"I don't feel you guys need to pray or strive a lot, but instead watch some funny shows or listen to Bill Cosby. You guys have a lot of people supporting you in prayer."

This is what I took away from those words:

It's okay to let other people communicate to the Lord on your behalf. Rest. It's okay to laugh. In fact, go out of your way to laugh."

That night we watched episode after episode of "Parks and Recreation," and after hours of crying, we laughed.

Thursday was a blur. We both worked from home and took lots of breaks to hug each other and try to make each other giggle. Andy kept telling me to not let my mind wander to "what ifs" and reminded me that we would soon know more from the specialist.

Friday afternoon we met with a perinatal specialist for the first time. We listened to worship music on the way over, the words of "Come to Me" by Bethel and "Oceans" by Hillsong United piercing a part of me that I hadn't known existed until that week. I now see how God used many of these songs to prepare my heart to both bear and battle the hurt and fear and desperation that would come.

The green ultrasound gel on my abdomen seeped into my pants while the doctor checked on the baby, but for once I didn't care. I was too busy trying to discern what he was saying from the lyrics that kept running through my head. Your baby is way too small and doesn't have room to grow.  Come to Me, I'm all you need. You don't have enough amniotic fluid. I am your steadfast, so don't be afraid. Your baby isn't getting enough blood. I am with you. The limbs and organs are not growing properly. The baby has clubfoot. There is a potential hole in the baby's heart. STOP! I thought. Stop telling me all of the things that are wrong with my baby! Your baby will likely not survive in the womb and has a very unlikely chance of surviving outside the womb without life support. Let me walk upon the waters, wherever you would call me. Your baby could die tomorrow, or in a few weeks, or it could even be born. But then it would die. You've never failed, and you won't start now. This could all be caused by a chromosomal disorder, or it could be genetic. We don't know what to tell you...

We listened and nodded and wiped our eyes and shuffled to the genetic counselor's office, where we avoided looking at each other. The counselor talked with us about chromosomal disorders and blood tests and what our options were in moving forward. I felt like I was detached from my body and watching the whole scene as if it was a movie and the woman playing me was reading off of a script. "What are we supposed to do with ourselves?" we asked. "What are we supposed to say to people?"

We still don't have the answers.

God is gracious

I haven't written in so long. In mid-April we had a confusing ultrasound, but my OB didn't seem concerned, so we didn't let ourselves worry either. Then, at the end of April, another ultrasound confirmed that not only was the baby measuring small but also that the baby simply wasn't growing. We began seeing a group of perinatal specialists and each one told us the same diagnosis: our baby would most likely die in the womb within days or weeks. They had zero idea of what was causing the IUGR. It was horrible and devastating and confusing and sad. I wanted to curl up in a ball and never leave my room, but I fought that temptation as hard as I could and tried to smile and laugh and hang on to my personality. As the days passed I chose to adopt an attitude of thankfulness and focused on being grateful for the time left that I had being my baby's mother. Then June came, and my grief hit full force. I didn't feel grateful anymore. I was angry. If God wasn't going to give us a baby, then why couldn't He make it easier on us and just take the baby already? I hated myself for wanting it to all be over, but it was so hard to feel the baby move and know that all of my baby dreams were being dashed. I was terrified by the idea of delivering a dead baby. I didn't think I wanted to hold a dead baby. I didn't think I wanted to know the gender. I wanted this horrible chapter of my life to be closed shut and for a new chapter to begin.

Living in a state of pre-grief was unimaginable and I know we only survived it by the grace of God and the encouragement of our friends and family. I have more to say about the last few months, but I'll save those stories for another time.

By the beginning of July I was resigned to the idea of making it all the way to my due date (the doctors said if that happened then the baby would only live for seconds or minutes). I couldn't believe our baby was still hanging on! I had no amount of extra amniotic fluid for the baby to move around and grow in, but our little one seemed content to chill out all scrunched up in my uterus. I couldn't help but fall in love with our baby with every passing day, even though a part of me tried to put walls up to keep me from getting too attached. I began fervently asking God to surprise us all and give us a perfectly healthy baby. I had visions of us needing to run to Target after my delivery to buy a crib and diapers and all of the things that we registered for but never received.

This time last week I was being prepped for an emergency c-section to deliver our stillborn baby. I had arrived at the hospital at 11:30 p.m. the night before due to excessive bleeding, and in the early hours of Saturday morning I heard my baby's heartbeat slow down until it didn't exist anymore. I was 34 weeks pregnant carrying a baby who was only measuring around 20 weeks.

We had a boy, and we named him John Andrew. John means "God is gracious/generous." Andrew means "man" and "strong."

It's been one week since we lost our son and his name seems more fitting than ever. God is gracious, and we are being carried by Him right now as we learn to live without the presence of our precious baby.

More to come when I am able.

Psalm 13

How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
and day after day have sorrow in my heart?
How long will my enemy triumph over me?

Look on me and answer, Lord my God.
Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death,
and my enemy will say, “I have overcome him,”
and my foes will rejoice when I fall.

But I trust in your unfailing love;
my heart rejoices in your salvation.
I will sing the Lord’s praise,
for he has been good to me.

pilgrimage along I-81

I'm not sure exactly when it started (probably the weekend after I wrote this post), but some time last year I began treating my drives to and from Harrisonburg as a time set aside for God. 

The drive to Harrisonburg is stunning 365 days out of the year. My last trip down was in January and I distinctly remember tearing up with gratitude as I drove past endless fields and mountains covered in snow and dotted with farm animals. This time, the fields were a bright green and the trees on the mountains were no longer bare. I adore spring. 

I spend most of the two-hour drive singing, but sometimes I have to pause the song because I'm so overwhelmed with emotion. Little words of praise will pass my lips. Mostly, thank you. Other times I will feel burdened with something and spend the time sighing and swallowing tears and praying please, take this from me.

But singing always happens. I played only two CDs this trip - music from Bethel Live's "The Loft Sessions" and "For the Sake of the World" and Hillsong United's latest, "Zion."

Here are the songs I played on repeat:

growing up

A year ago I was wrapping up my final pieces for the newspaper I worked for. I was breaking the news to all our friends that we were moving to Maryland. We were house hunting in a city that we didn't want to move to. I was saying goodbye to Andy and heading to Uganda for my first missions trip. 

A year ago I was completely confused by God's timing and plan. I knew that Andy's promotion was a blessing and I felt confident in our decision to move, but I still wasn't thrilled with all of the changes.

Here we are, twelve months later.

printable here

I really grew up this year. I became more confident in myself. I was proactive about what I wanted. I forgave quicker and apologized more often. I slept more, read more, cooked more, explored more. I decided that moving to a city where I knew no one meant I should embrace going to the store with no makeup on, and embracing that mentality eventually lead to me caring less about how I look in general. I created space in my days for therapeutic activities, like taking baths, reading by the creek with my dog, buying myself an iced coffee or getting a pedicure.

Yet, the most vital growing had nothing to do with coffee or books or naps. It had to do with learning an important lesson: that happiness is a choice. If you take a look at a post I compiled two years ago about secrets to a happy marriage, you'll notice that I knew the importance of choices back then. I guess it's just taken me this long to fully get it. One event in particular hit this lesson home, and that was my trip to Uganda.

I had an absolutely fabulous time in Uganda, even though I was without my favorite person, without cute clothes, without a hair dryer, without my regular group of friends or my bed or my dog, yada yada. While there were many reasons why the trip was wonderful, I firmly believe that the biggest reason was my decision to stop thinking about me and what makes me feel happy and to focus entirely on Jesus and what makes Him happy. I prayed for weeks leading up to the trip (and I had many people praying for me) and asked God to help me set aside all of my self so that I would be completely flexible to do whatever He wanted me to do. I guarantee you that I COULD have had an awful time if I had allowed myself to give in to negativity.

This world is full of things that can bring you down. Negativity can creep in so cunningly that you don't even notice it at first, but it spreads like a disease. Yet we are given the opportunity to resist and to choose something better. I am happier in my marriage because I choose to be. I am happier in my work because I choose to be. I am happy living in a place I never desired to live because I choose to be.

And now, I find happiness through my misery, because all of this nausea and vomiting and mood swings and food aversions and gas and pimples and constipation are the result of a highly anticipated human being growing inside me. I couldn't be grosser looking happier. :)

when worry strikes

JDC 

I called on the name of the Lord over and over this weekend. Oh, Jesus. Please, Jesus. Hear me, Jesus.

Philippians 4:6-7 is a passage that I often call to mind, but I think I must have quoted it multiple times each hour last Wednesday. I had painful cramps all day and eventually called my doctor's office in the evening. The doctor suggested I do my best to not worry or go to to the ER, but instead to rest and call her the next day if I felt the need to schedule an appointment. I burst into tears after hanging up the phone because I was so relieved to hear her sound completely calm about the situation. The next morning I did wake up with cramps, but I prayed, petitioned, and gave thanks, and I felt confident that God would give me the ability to continually choose peace over anxiety. I had a restful morning and was able to focus my attention on rejoicing over the coming weekend with my family. My brother and his wife Sky are in the States for a few weeks (they live in Korea), so it was truly a joyous occasion.

My mom told me that after talking on the phone with on Wednesday she quickly notified several friends and that she woke up to multiple emails on Thursday from people asking about how I was doing and sending their prayers. One friend said she couldn't sleep at all and prayed for me the entire night. It makes me cry just thinking about it. How cool is it to think that there was a network of believers petitioning God to keep my baby safe and relieve me of pain? I am blessed.

I'm still cramping, but at this point I know that at least some of it is due to gas. (Ew.) I have my second appointment on Thursday and we're both praying hard that everything will be as it should and that the cramping is simply a symptom and not a sign.

I don't write this to say look at me, I'm cured of worry! because that's not true. I wish to chronicle the triumphs and struggles that I'm going through because once I have a screaming child in my arms I might not be able to remember all these things. I want to remember these special/painful times with the Lord, and to testify to His faithfulness. I also write to encourage you to lean on the Lord and on your friends for strength and encouragement when you find yourself stricken with worry or fear.

or, you can do this... though I don't recommend it!

"Do not be calm about anything, but in everything, by dwelling on it constantly and feeling picked on by God, with thoughts like 'and this is the thanks I get' present your aggravations to everyone you know but Him. And the acid in your stomach, which transcends all milk products, will cause you an ulcer, and the doctor bills will cause you a heart attack and you will lose your mind."
-Beth Moore

faithful in prayer

erica reyna design

Early last fall I was getting restless with my job as a nanny and I prayed countless prayers that God would send another job my way. I loved the family dearly, but I didn't love the feeling that I was moving backwards.

Nothing happened (for a while). I would hear of jobs that sounded right up my alley only to discover that I'd have a two-hour commute each day. I filled out the paperwork to become a substitute teacher, but heard that the hiring process could take months. I didn't know what to do but pray.

Then, in a matter of weeks, I became a substitute teacher and a freelance writer for Ibelieve.com. These two new jobs have blessed me greatly. I had no idea I would love substitute teaching as much as I do. (Nannying was great preparation!) I come home exhausted but happy. Freelancing has also been wonderful. Getting paid to write about my faith is a dream come true!

If you are struggling with discontentment in any area of your life, I encourage you to go before God and ask Him to change your attitude and your circumstances.

one door shuts

 

Seven weeks ago I was furiously scribbling addresses on envelopes and stuffing them with support letters. My heart was light and full of joy. My prayers had been answered! I was going back to Uganda.

Was. 
Was going.

The trip (planned for this month) was cancelled the day before I was going to stamp and send out all those letters. I cried for days and asked God why? a million different times. I prayed that God would mend my broken heart and fill it with hope and trust, because I was struggling with those things. Honestly, I felt like someone had died.

I e-mailed everyone who I had already sent letters to and let them know of the change in plans. I wrote, "I'm very saddened by this news and would appreciate your prayers as I must lay these plans aside for now."

This one of the replies I received:
"We were sorry to hear that your trip was cancelled but believe that God's plans are so much better than what we plan.  Praying that another opportunity for you to return to Uganda will come in God's appointed time."

Five days later I got an e-mail from my uncle Bill (who told me about Zion Project back in 2008). He had forward the following to a pastor at his church: "I am attaching a support letter that I had received from my niece. Unfortunately the November missions trip to Sarita’s work in Gulu that Laura wrote about was put on hold. Laura has a heart for Sarita’s ministry, she has been there before and she wants very much to go back. Please keep her contact info on hand in case an opportunity to accompany others from our church comes up." 

Half an hour later, an e-mail from the pastor popped up. It including the following fabulous note:
"You are welcome to join our trip that we are planning for February 2013."

God gave me a heart for Uganda. God knew I wanted to go back. He heard my prayers. God opened a door for me to go, and then He shut it.

And then, one week later, He opened it again.

photos from the March 2012 trip to Gulu, Uganda

health to one's whole body

I've been chewing on Proverbs 4 lately, particularly verses 20-27. It's such beautiful fatherly advice from Solomon to his children, and I found myself going back to it every night for the past couple of weeks. It's easy to skim a passage and think, okay, I get it, we're supposed to do this and that. The weight of it doesn't sink in, though - that's why I've been re-reading it over and over. For me, it helps if I focus on one or two verses at a time and ask myself what is really being said here? I thought it would be interesting to go through the passage verse by verse and write them down in my own words as a method of observation (not as a replacement to the original).

from pinterest

Proverbs 4:20-27 NIV (also love the ESV)

My son, pay attention to what I say;

turn your ear to my words.
Do not let them out of your sight,
keep them within your heart;
for they are life to those who find them
and health to one’s whole body.
Above all else, guard your heart,
for everything you do flows from it.
Keep your mouth free of perversity;
keep corrupt talk far from your lips.
Let your eyes look straight ahead;
fix your gaze directly before you.
Give careful thought to the paths for your feet
and be steadfast in all your ways.
Do not turn to the right or the left;
keep your foot from evil.

my observations on what is being said here:

My child, focus on what I am saying;
don't let my teachings go in one ear and out the other.
Don't lose sight of my wisdom,
Give my words a home in your heart;
for those who seek them will find true existence
and their bodies will receive full nourishment.
More than anything, protect your heart,
for all of your thoughts and actions come from it.
Do not allow wicked words to come out of your mouth;
Hold your tongue from damaging babble.
Do not let yourself be distracted;
Look only at what is right in front of you.
Take time to think about the direction you desire for your life
and match your actions to your words.
Do not veer off the path you are on;
Watch your step lest you fall into a pit.

majestic creation

here's what I've been up to this morning:

1. view of the sunset from the top of Mauna Kea
 listen to "You're Beautiful" by Phil Wickham here

2. my brothers crossing the Waipio River where it meets the Pacific

listen to Jesus Culture sing "Light of Your Face" here

3. fields we passed on the drive to Mauna Kea (pic taken by my sister Sky)

listen to Chris Rice singing "Your Praise Goes On" here

God's hand in our move

purchase print here

I also love the NIV version of this passage:"You hem me in - behind and before; you have laid your hand upon me."

I've been reading through Psalms at night and last night I hit chapter 139, a passage I've heard and known since a child. It's funny how you can read the Bible over and over and every time it will speak to you in a different way. Verse 5 jumped out at me and I had to smile at God's perfect timing.

This week has been rough. My chest hurts so much that it's hard to breathe. I'm overwhelmed and anxious and sad. This is my last post from Harrisonburg! Tomorrow we pack up the U-Haul and make our way to our new home.

Even though it's hard to leave, we have joy knowing that our God has gone before us and will be with us. He has laid His hand upon us and blessed us. We will praise His name.

in plenty or in poverty - praying in the slums

I will not take my love away / When praises cease and seasons change / while the whole world turns the other way / I will not take my love away. I will not leave you all alone / When striving leads you far from home /And there's no yield for what you've sown / I will not leave you all alone. I will give you what you need / In plenty or in poverty / Forever, always, look to me / And I will give you what you need / I will not take my love away. - "I will not take my love away" by Matt Wertz 

Just nine days ago I was in the slums outside Gulu, Uganda. The Imani women lead us there, welcoming us into their homes and laying their prayers at our feet. My husband beats me. My children are sick. I do not feel safe. I am HIV positive.

These women know what it means to be in need. They make jewelry for people like me and you to wear so that they don't have to sell their body in order to feed their family. They desire a better life. They desire to see their husbands accept the Lord. They desire good health and a safe home for their children. They desire to obey God.

I was so touched by their hospitality, their openness and their faith. I hope I'm never so vain and proud that I can't invite someone into my home and share my struggles with them.

I didn't go to Uganda because I wanted to gain something, but I really believe the people I interacted with gave me more than they received from me.

-------

Sometimes we get so overwhelmed by the needs in this world that we end up doing nothing at all.

We have so much to give.


WAYS TO HELP:
Pray, pray, pray!
Click here to read about the Zion Project and to learn how you can sponsor a child. Click here to read more about the Imani women and what benefits they receive from the counseling center. Click here to learn how you can provide a woman w/ counseling (and receive a monthly present) for a mere $25/month.