Yesterday was Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. What an important day. Everyone's experience with this is unique, I know. But for me (and maybe for many of you who have also walked this road) I find myself moving around in life and then all of a sudden, it will hit me like an invisible wall, "Oh, wait, I had a miscarriage. I have a baby in heaven." My two beautiful children here on earth keep me running all the time, but always in my mind and in my heart is a special place that reminds me of the child who isn't here with our family today.
Before my miscarriage I had no idea. I didn't know how painful it could be. I didn't know that it would impact my life for the rest of my life. I had no idea there were so many women walking around with this hurt--wounded. I had no idea what questions I would face when it happened to me. I had no idea I wouldn't be able to talk to God about it--a minister's wife who (for the first time openly) admits I couldn't open my Bible or pray for 6 months after we lost our baby.
And I had no idea how valuable my support system would be. Family who sent cards and flowers (I dried the flowers and and saved the cards--my only memorial to this tiny life). Friends who cried the moment I called to tell them what had happened. A husband who sat in bed with me at 4:30 in the morning (while we both knew, but couldn't yet admit, it was happening) because the doctor's office wouldn't be opening until 8:30. Those were the longest 4 hours of my life.
And I had no idea how many stories I would hear. Stories so much like mine in so many ways. And so yesterday, I lit my candle. For myself and for the 18 other women I personally know who have experienced the loss of a pregnancy, a stillbirth, or an infant loss. Among those 18 women I counted 27 losses due to the recurrence for so many of the women. And I represent at least the third consecutive generation in my family to experience this (maybe more I don't know of). These are brave women. I just want you to know that.
I met a young woman online (you can see her blog here: http://www.livinglajuicy.com/). You can go there to read her story. Two losses exactly one year apart (to the day). The most recent happening just this past week. Normally I don't confiscate material from other people's blogs, but she shared a poem that was so powerful to me I just had to share it with you. For those of you who have experienced a loss (of any kind really) or who are experiencing one now, I hope you find it meaningful. Keep in mind that it isn't geared especially toward pregnancy/infant loss, but I found many parts of it very pertinent.
I hope to share more soon about where this path has taken me since our loss in February of 2008. There is much to share, much I have been waiting to share for almost a year now. I hope to share it soon. Until then, here is the poem I mentioned.
Advice from La Lloronaby Deborah A. Miranda—a found poem
Each grief has its unique side.
Choose the one that appeals to you.
Go gently.
Your body needs energy to repair the amputation.
Humor phantom pain.
Your brain cells are soaked with salt;
connections fail unexpectedly and often.
Ask for help.
Accept help.
Read your grief like the daily newspaper:
headlines may have information you need.
Scream.
Drop-kick the garbage can across the street.
Don’t feel guilty if you have a good time.
Don’t act as if you haven’t been hit by a Mack Truck.
Do things a little differently, but don’t make a lot of changes.
Revel in contradiction.
Talk to the person who died.
Give her a piece of your mind.
Try to touch someone at least once a day.
Approach grief with determination.
Pretend the finish line doesn’t keep receding.
Lean into the pain.
You can’t outrun it.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Searching
It's been awhile since my last post. I've been in several places at once lately. Mainly just searching. Searching for answers. Searching for resolution. Searching for guidance. Always searching for restoration.
Friday, August 6, 2010
The Cry Within
Moms know what it sounds like. It is what instinct sounds like when given a voice. It is guttural. It is un-human. It is the sound of a mother when her worst fears are about to be (or have been) realized.
I first heard it when I was a senior in high school. I was spending the evening at my boyfriend's house. He came from a big family and hanging out with his parents and brothers and sisters was actually a fun way to spend a Friday night.
Not long into the evening, while we were all playing a board game on the floor of the living room, the phone rang. A friend was calling to share the sad news that mutual family friends had just experienced the death of their very young son (not older than 6 or 7 years if I remember right). I will never forget the sounds I heard coming from the upstairs bedroom as my boyfriend's father attempted to comfort (or rather contain) his wife's sobs. It was other-worldly as she wept, cried out, and grieved the loss of the boy, and bore in her own being the pain of her friend.
I have heard similar sounds since. And I quickly came to realize that the sounds can also emanate from mothers who are anticipating their fears as well. But not until yesterday did I know what it felt like to be the one giving voice to them myself.
We were in the kitchen of our new home. As with all new homes there are things to get used to. Simple idiosyncrasies that exist from one home to the next. This door closes louder than that one did, this drawer sticks when the old one didn't, etc. Well, our doors are different in this new house. We have two. The front door automatically latches behind you when you leave. The other door, the one only accessible through the utility room and thus less frequently used, does not.
Levi has just gotten to the age where he now realizes doors lead somewhere. He has also realized that his body has the power to open doors. He has taken up the hobby of pushing with all his might (with his backside mind you) on the front door, just hoping it will give way and he'll get to taste even a few moments of freedom! But, to no avail.
Until yesterday. Brad was at home and working in the utility room. He stepped away from his project momentarily, leaving the heavy door open and the storm door exposed. That was all the time it took for Levi to make his way in and turn himself around. I realized, as soon as my ears heard the first brushing noise, exactly what was happening. I was across the kitchen--farther from him than Brad was. Since Brad isn't home all day with the kids, he isn't as aware of their new-found techniques as I am. So when I heard Levi beginning to lean on the door, I knew (and knew Brad didn't) exactly what was about to happen.
The door leads to the concrete carport. It is a long way down from the door to the carport below--a difficult step even for adults to safely navigate when facing forward. And here was tiny Levi, preparing to press with all his might on the unsecured door, while facing backward.
It's amazing how when a dangerous situation arises your mind moves faster than the speed of light it seems. All at one time I knew what he was doing, what he was going to do, what was going to result, and how bad it was going to be. We were going to be calling 9-1-1. He would fall, head-first, onto the concrete below, and the door would close on the rest of his little body. And there would be blood. And it would be bad--very bad.
In that instant, a sound came from inside me that I didn't know I could make. It mixed with my voice as I shouted to Brad the only words I could form which were "That door doesn't latch. That door doesn't latch! THAT DOOR DOESN'T LATCH!!!!!! in an attempt to get him to move more quickly across the kitchen than I could in order to do whatever he could to stop Levi before one thing led to the next.
I didn't even yell the words. Really (surprisingly). But the sound I made, out of sheer desperation, was so frightening that it sent Gillian into tears simply because she sensed the fear in those words.
Levi did fall through the door. He did land on the carport concrete. The door did close on him. But by the grace of God he fell in stages. A little at a time, so that no individual injury was serious enough to need any emergency treatment. And of course the next 15 minutes were spent comforting him and his poor frightened sister.
After it was over I had a chance to reflect on what came over me in those moments leading up to the incident. Something inside of me had changed and I was desperate. I was pleading those words to Brad in an attempt to move him to stop what was about to happen because I was limited in my ability to do so from where I stood.
And it made me think of God. All of a sudden, I wondered if that's the sound God makes every time one of his children steps into danger. Every time he sees one of us on the brink of a self-inflicted pending disaster. Every time we're that close to falling, or stepping, away from Him. Of course, unlike human me, he can rush to our side. He has foreknowledge. He can be there before we even arrive on the scene. He's not limited. Or is he?
He limits himself. He waits in the wings and he watches what we'll do. He knows the danger about to befall. He knows the repercussions of what we'll choose. But instead of latching the door, he stands. And as we fall (as we SO often do), I think heaven hears that other-worldly sound of a parent pleading for someone to intercede, to stop us, to pull us back from the edge to where we're safe again.
Why, until now, had I assumed he just sat contentedly by and watched, maybe frowned a time or two, and accepted what we were doing--what I was doing? He created me. He models parenthood. I am made in His image. Where else would this instinctual response come from if not from Him? Why wouldn't he react this same way as a parent, as MY parent, too?
And in those tragic circumstances when we fully deny him. When his children leave him all together. When they choose a life away from him. Well, I think that sound can only be heaven's interpretation of what I heard that night at the bottom of the stairs listening to a mother cry for a child who she knew she could not bring back no matter how much she wished or willed it to happen.
I first heard it when I was a senior in high school. I was spending the evening at my boyfriend's house. He came from a big family and hanging out with his parents and brothers and sisters was actually a fun way to spend a Friday night.
Not long into the evening, while we were all playing a board game on the floor of the living room, the phone rang. A friend was calling to share the sad news that mutual family friends had just experienced the death of their very young son (not older than 6 or 7 years if I remember right). I will never forget the sounds I heard coming from the upstairs bedroom as my boyfriend's father attempted to comfort (or rather contain) his wife's sobs. It was other-worldly as she wept, cried out, and grieved the loss of the boy, and bore in her own being the pain of her friend.
I have heard similar sounds since. And I quickly came to realize that the sounds can also emanate from mothers who are anticipating their fears as well. But not until yesterday did I know what it felt like to be the one giving voice to them myself.
We were in the kitchen of our new home. As with all new homes there are things to get used to. Simple idiosyncrasies that exist from one home to the next. This door closes louder than that one did, this drawer sticks when the old one didn't, etc. Well, our doors are different in this new house. We have two. The front door automatically latches behind you when you leave. The other door, the one only accessible through the utility room and thus less frequently used, does not.
Levi has just gotten to the age where he now realizes doors lead somewhere. He has also realized that his body has the power to open doors. He has taken up the hobby of pushing with all his might (with his backside mind you) on the front door, just hoping it will give way and he'll get to taste even a few moments of freedom! But, to no avail.
Until yesterday. Brad was at home and working in the utility room. He stepped away from his project momentarily, leaving the heavy door open and the storm door exposed. That was all the time it took for Levi to make his way in and turn himself around. I realized, as soon as my ears heard the first brushing noise, exactly what was happening. I was across the kitchen--farther from him than Brad was. Since Brad isn't home all day with the kids, he isn't as aware of their new-found techniques as I am. So when I heard Levi beginning to lean on the door, I knew (and knew Brad didn't) exactly what was about to happen.
The door leads to the concrete carport. It is a long way down from the door to the carport below--a difficult step even for adults to safely navigate when facing forward. And here was tiny Levi, preparing to press with all his might on the unsecured door, while facing backward.
It's amazing how when a dangerous situation arises your mind moves faster than the speed of light it seems. All at one time I knew what he was doing, what he was going to do, what was going to result, and how bad it was going to be. We were going to be calling 9-1-1. He would fall, head-first, onto the concrete below, and the door would close on the rest of his little body. And there would be blood. And it would be bad--very bad.
In that instant, a sound came from inside me that I didn't know I could make. It mixed with my voice as I shouted to Brad the only words I could form which were "That door doesn't latch. That door doesn't latch! THAT DOOR DOESN'T LATCH!!!!!! in an attempt to get him to move more quickly across the kitchen than I could in order to do whatever he could to stop Levi before one thing led to the next.
I didn't even yell the words. Really (surprisingly). But the sound I made, out of sheer desperation, was so frightening that it sent Gillian into tears simply because she sensed the fear in those words.
Levi did fall through the door. He did land on the carport concrete. The door did close on him. But by the grace of God he fell in stages. A little at a time, so that no individual injury was serious enough to need any emergency treatment. And of course the next 15 minutes were spent comforting him and his poor frightened sister.
After it was over I had a chance to reflect on what came over me in those moments leading up to the incident. Something inside of me had changed and I was desperate. I was pleading those words to Brad in an attempt to move him to stop what was about to happen because I was limited in my ability to do so from where I stood.
And it made me think of God. All of a sudden, I wondered if that's the sound God makes every time one of his children steps into danger. Every time he sees one of us on the brink of a self-inflicted pending disaster. Every time we're that close to falling, or stepping, away from Him. Of course, unlike human me, he can rush to our side. He has foreknowledge. He can be there before we even arrive on the scene. He's not limited. Or is he?
He limits himself. He waits in the wings and he watches what we'll do. He knows the danger about to befall. He knows the repercussions of what we'll choose. But instead of latching the door, he stands. And as we fall (as we SO often do), I think heaven hears that other-worldly sound of a parent pleading for someone to intercede, to stop us, to pull us back from the edge to where we're safe again.
Why, until now, had I assumed he just sat contentedly by and watched, maybe frowned a time or two, and accepted what we were doing--what I was doing? He created me. He models parenthood. I am made in His image. Where else would this instinctual response come from if not from Him? Why wouldn't he react this same way as a parent, as MY parent, too?
And in those tragic circumstances when we fully deny him. When his children leave him all together. When they choose a life away from him. Well, I think that sound can only be heaven's interpretation of what I heard that night at the bottom of the stairs listening to a mother cry for a child who she knew she could not bring back no matter how much she wished or willed it to happen.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Speak Someone's Name to God
Today I talked with a very good friend. And she shared with me of a heartache a friend of hers is going through. And I was reminded of how many are really hurting. I think my life is hard. I think I have problems. And it is, and I do. But there are others out there who are hurting so much more than me--who's hurts tonight are literally taking their very breath away. And God has laid on my heart a passion for those people--those women--for what they are facing. That passion right now is just to pray for them. To lift up their brokenness before God and nothing else. Tonight I did just that. I lifted up three of these women in prayer. I pictured each one before the Throne. And as I did I felt deeply for where they are in their journeys of grief. My heart aches for these women. For a hurt I have only shared on a much smaller level.
I hope everyone who reads this will take the time to pray fervently for someone who is hurting in a way they can't even imagine. It is easy to get caught up in my life with all the rushing and chaos and deadlines and busyness. But I hope God continues to lay these women, and other women like them, on my heart to be lifted to Him. It is hard on some level because I can rarely do so without blinking back tears. But I think that's how it's supposed to be. So I'm just wondering if there's someone who's tears you are sharing in--someone you're crying for--or crying out for? I hope so. I hope those of us who are not currently facing such heartwrenching circumstances are trying to share in someone else's burden some way, somehow.
And for those of you who read this who are feeling that hurt--who are facing a road of grief that is gripping--I pray that there is someone out there lifing your heart in prayer when you feel unable to do so yourself. And if you're not sure, please leave a comment here (annonymous if you'd like) and know someone will be praying from this point forward.
Really, what higher calling is there than to simply speak someone's name to God?
I hope everyone who reads this will take the time to pray fervently for someone who is hurting in a way they can't even imagine. It is easy to get caught up in my life with all the rushing and chaos and deadlines and busyness. But I hope God continues to lay these women, and other women like them, on my heart to be lifted to Him. It is hard on some level because I can rarely do so without blinking back tears. But I think that's how it's supposed to be. So I'm just wondering if there's someone who's tears you are sharing in--someone you're crying for--or crying out for? I hope so. I hope those of us who are not currently facing such heartwrenching circumstances are trying to share in someone else's burden some way, somehow.
And for those of you who read this who are feeling that hurt--who are facing a road of grief that is gripping--I pray that there is someone out there lifing your heart in prayer when you feel unable to do so yourself. And if you're not sure, please leave a comment here (annonymous if you'd like) and know someone will be praying from this point forward.
Really, what higher calling is there than to simply speak someone's name to God?
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Holding On and Letting Go
It's been over two months since my last post. There are reasons I needed to step away from sharing but I won't elaborate on those . . . what's important to me is that I'm back on track somewhat now so here goes . . .
I'm still working on the "restored" thing. I wonder if I'm not alone in something: There's one area of my life that is completely and utterly un-restored. Not because it can't be or shouldn't be, but because I haven't let it be. Don't get me wrong, there are LOTS of areas of my life needing to be restored. But this one area stands out far above the rest.
I'd like to say I've tried giving it to Him. I have tried it just enough to tell myself that I've tried it. Make sense? But in reality it's still mine. I keep a tight hold on it. And I can't figure out exactly why.
It's not like it's doing me any good. Just the opposite. But there's something about this struggle--this baggage--that speaks to something at the very core of me. Something happened recently that brought it flooding back. And whatever handle I thought I had on it was ripped away in an instant. Funny how we think we have a hold on something that in reality holds us instead.
I feel like Paul. Wanting to do something but not wanting to do it at the same time. Knowing the right thing to do but avoiding it with everything I have in me. Sometimes I feel like I'll struggle with this till I'm 90. Maybe I will. Is this my "thorn"? I'm not sure I even understand that passage of Scripture.
Sorry for all the ambiguity tonight, but I guess part of this struggle, this baggage, is that it keeps itself well hidden. Only lets me say so much. Wants to remain in the shadows. Typing that just now sparked me to run a search on "light" and "darkness"--1 Cor. 4:5 ". . . wait till the Lord comes. He will bring to light what is hidden in darkenss and will expose the motives of mens hearts." All I can say to that is yikes! I have some work to do . . . or should I say I have some work to let God do. Hm . . .
I'm still working on the "restored" thing. I wonder if I'm not alone in something: There's one area of my life that is completely and utterly un-restored. Not because it can't be or shouldn't be, but because I haven't let it be. Don't get me wrong, there are LOTS of areas of my life needing to be restored. But this one area stands out far above the rest.
I'd like to say I've tried giving it to Him. I have tried it just enough to tell myself that I've tried it. Make sense? But in reality it's still mine. I keep a tight hold on it. And I can't figure out exactly why.
It's not like it's doing me any good. Just the opposite. But there's something about this struggle--this baggage--that speaks to something at the very core of me. Something happened recently that brought it flooding back. And whatever handle I thought I had on it was ripped away in an instant. Funny how we think we have a hold on something that in reality holds us instead.
I feel like Paul. Wanting to do something but not wanting to do it at the same time. Knowing the right thing to do but avoiding it with everything I have in me. Sometimes I feel like I'll struggle with this till I'm 90. Maybe I will. Is this my "thorn"? I'm not sure I even understand that passage of Scripture.
Sorry for all the ambiguity tonight, but I guess part of this struggle, this baggage, is that it keeps itself well hidden. Only lets me say so much. Wants to remain in the shadows. Typing that just now sparked me to run a search on "light" and "darkness"--1 Cor. 4:5 ". . . wait till the Lord comes. He will bring to light what is hidden in darkenss and will expose the motives of mens hearts." All I can say to that is yikes! I have some work to do . . . or should I say I have some work to let God do. Hm . . .
Monday, April 12, 2010
God Working
God is working. I can actually see it. He is orchestrating and bringing people into into my life and while it is exciting to know that, the ways in which he is doing it are difficult to bear. It's painful. And it needs to be. And that's hard. Seeing a familiar Scripture in a new light tonight. Hope to share more soon. Waiting on Him . . .
Blessings.
Blessings.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Waiting on the Lord
Months ago (maybe even a year ago) I truly believe God laid something on my heart. I don't say that sort of thing often, but in this case it is really unmistakable for me. But rather than act on it right away, I truly felt Him asking me to spend time in prayer over the need that He was showing me. I felt that He was asking me to pray through this year and to ask at least one other person to pray along with me--someone who had walked a similar road that I had and whose heart was also softened toward this need because of the journey. And so I did. And thankfully she agreed.
I'm not trying to be cryptic, I just feel strongly that God is still growing seeds and the time has not yet come for those "seeds" to bloom.
In addition to praying and asking another to pray with me over the course of the year, I shared what was laid on my heart with two other women whom I trust and who continually point me to be seeking His face. I value their input and sensitivity and knew I would benefit from their words, and I did.
Recently, I have felt a surge of developing ideas in my mind and heart in relation to what it is I have been praying about. I struggle to wait, to be patient, and to continually turn things over to God for His guidance, rather than just taking off and running at full speed. I know the ideas that are developing, if put into practice, would bear good fruit. But I also know that if those ideas and plans are allowed to sit and to be molded more and more and over and over by God, that the results will be farther reaching and much deeper than anything I could do by taking off and running with it all now.
So I am learning patience. I am learning to wait. I am struggling to learn those things.
I posted a verse recently on Facebook. At the time, I chose it for a different reason. But in going back to God's Word tonight to look for verses about waiting on the Lord, this verse came up again, and it strikes me that God showed me this verse earlier this week, before any of these recent thoughts/plans started stewing in my mind:
Yes, LORD, walking in the way of your laws, we wait for you; your name and renown are the desire of our hearts. (Isaiah 26:8)
And that truly is what it's about--to remember that I am waiting while trying to walk in His ways, and His name and renown must be the foremost desire of my heart. So here goes nothing--in the truest sense of that statement. I'm going to do . . . nothing. Nothing except take note of what He is saying, pray more about it, and continue to listen (that's actually a lot of "something" when you think about it). Because I trust that God called me to wait on Him during this time. And while He speaks, it is important that I remember not to take the first thing I hear and run off with quick wave of the hand behind me and a barely audible "Thanks God!" as I head off to try it on my own. Here's hoping I can do things differently this time . . . God's way instead of mine . . . for a change. We'll see what happens . . .
I'm not trying to be cryptic, I just feel strongly that God is still growing seeds and the time has not yet come for those "seeds" to bloom.
In addition to praying and asking another to pray with me over the course of the year, I shared what was laid on my heart with two other women whom I trust and who continually point me to be seeking His face. I value their input and sensitivity and knew I would benefit from their words, and I did.
Recently, I have felt a surge of developing ideas in my mind and heart in relation to what it is I have been praying about. I struggle to wait, to be patient, and to continually turn things over to God for His guidance, rather than just taking off and running at full speed. I know the ideas that are developing, if put into practice, would bear good fruit. But I also know that if those ideas and plans are allowed to sit and to be molded more and more and over and over by God, that the results will be farther reaching and much deeper than anything I could do by taking off and running with it all now.
So I am learning patience. I am learning to wait. I am struggling to learn those things.
I posted a verse recently on Facebook. At the time, I chose it for a different reason. But in going back to God's Word tonight to look for verses about waiting on the Lord, this verse came up again, and it strikes me that God showed me this verse earlier this week, before any of these recent thoughts/plans started stewing in my mind:
Yes, LORD, walking in the way of your laws, we wait for you; your name and renown are the desire of our hearts. (Isaiah 26:8)
And that truly is what it's about--to remember that I am waiting while trying to walk in His ways, and His name and renown must be the foremost desire of my heart. So here goes nothing--in the truest sense of that statement. I'm going to do . . . nothing. Nothing except take note of what He is saying, pray more about it, and continue to listen (that's actually a lot of "something" when you think about it). Because I trust that God called me to wait on Him during this time. And while He speaks, it is important that I remember not to take the first thing I hear and run off with quick wave of the hand behind me and a barely audible "Thanks God!" as I head off to try it on my own. Here's hoping I can do things differently this time . . . God's way instead of mine . . . for a change. We'll see what happens . . .
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