beauty among the brown.

Today was an early Michigan Spring that begged us all outside.

For me, springtime absolutely takes the cake when it comes to the 4 seasons we experience here in the midwest and I take special delight in its arrival signs.   The first weed in the garden,  my first robin sighting,  and oh, the rejoicing when I first lay eyes on a blooming daffodil!

Last week, as a family we journeyed to spend a week in Florida.  I marveled the whole trip down.  Each state greener than the last as the temperatures rose and the clouds cleared.   Usually, about Virginia I find my daffodils.
I squeal, "there they are!" and my family teases me for the rest of the trip.
It's not quite the same on the trek back home.  Not so much marveling as mourning as we cross state lines back to Michigan. It's remarkable, really. The closer we get to the Mitten the cloudier and browner it gets.  Last year,  and I am not kidding -- the moment we passed the border to our home state,  it started raining.   5 years ago when we returned from a Spring Break trip a storm would come to pass in our lives.

Today I was neck deep in post vacation laundry chaos but finally made it out of my robe at noon to go outside to hang a couple of white shirts on the clothesline. I glanced around looking for emerging signs of life and suddenly remembered the special daffs that grew rogue amongst the brush and tangle behind the shed.   I couldn't find them at first and felt a bit desperate.  So special these daffodils because of the year my daughter Joy discovered them and came running into the house to gift them to me.
"They just have to be here" I thought.
And then I spotted them.
I was filled with gratitude.  As long as the earth endures!
Life bursting up through last year's death.
For me, among many things in the last 5 years, daffodils have been a symbol of God's goodness.
His sovereignty.
His grace.
His love.

5 years ago this night I was quietly admitted to the hospital and we numbly waited on my delivery of our 5th baby who was still, who had passed in my womb. We named her April. I don't think my typed words can rightly express how wonderful and beautifully made she was, how loved she is, and how painful it was. I speak of the pain in somewhat past tense as 5 years has given us much healing and hindsight. It's all I wanted back then, you know... to rush to the future, to restoration, back to the normal. But time does not speed nor slow. In this life we are given sorrow but promised that good will come from it. Friends,  so much good has come, I have been taught so much.  We are grateful.  Let's go out for coffee and I will tell you all about it.

That day, much like today Spring had sprung all around but I couldn't see it through my swollen eyes and broken heart.  Today I see. I trusted through the hurt that each new Spring, when the daffodils blossomed -  I'd know God's grace in greater measure.  The only way to move forward after you've handed over your lifeless baby to a nurse only to go home empty 5 minutes later, is to continue to lay it all down at the feet of Christ. The months and years went by and He is faithful.
My challenge, my lifeline during these times of trial is to see the gifts God gives,  trust His sufficiency, and rest in His love.

God can bring New Life to the hopeless heart.
His Grace is certain and His Salvation sure.
He will display beauty among the brown.

April's Story

Ham on Buns.

Sometimes I'm so oddly conscious of things that some folks might not give a first thought to... much less a second thought or a 15th thought.   Often, it bugs me that I'm this way.  Sometimes it's exactly how I grow...

My first unsettled experience with ham-on-buns came about 17 years ago.

Wait.   Ham-on-buns, you (did or did not) ask?

In the mid-western,  religious, Dutch influenced culture where I've grown up, life events most always involve food.   Okay,  food at life events aren't just ritual in our little corner,  but ham-on-buns may just be.   As my life has been filled with weddings, baptisms, graduations, and funerals-- often included like part of the family is the tray of lunch meat on buttered rolls (buns) and starchy side dishes.   
Ham-on-buns.  It's what's for dinner. 

Okay, back to the story. 

I was 20 and my paternal grandmother had passed away. Following the funeral service I watched my male cousins carry and lift the casket gently into the hearse.   

A touching moment. 

Witnessing my older, tall  and normally jovial cousins visibly and audibly emotional was uncomfortable.   
And sad.  
And good.   But it didn't last long.   
I sensed there was but a brief window for that kind of emotional let go, as moments later we were being quietly instructed to go to the basement for lunch. 

"What!??"  I thought.   "How am I supposed to feel this kind of sorrow one minute and indifferently slather mayo on a sandwich, the next?" 

No way.

I'd dare to assume at this point most normal people would be anxious to move things along.  Grief is not an enjoyable state,  eating lunch is.  But as I sat there staring at the foam plate and bakery bun,  I was somber and silent.    17 years ago, I found absolutely no value in the post funeral luncheon.  

And then we went home.

Early this spring my paternal grandfather (Gramps) entered his eternal home and many of the same scenes and faces from Grandma's funeral were present at his.  It was, in part a thankful celebration.  Of the life he lived and loved,  and of God's faithfulness to our ever growing family-- of Jesus' redemption in Grandpa's life. 

  

All of the great times,  the painful times,  the strong as well as strained relationships were brought to the first five rows of church pews that morning.  We lifted our voices in "Great Is Thy Faithfulness" and it will go down as one of the most precious moments of my life.  

Following the service and recessional I felt the now familiar inner struggle welling up.  Slip away and grieve, or line up for ham?   I hugged my Dad, my husband, my brother.  I could have stayed there all day.   Then from the corner of my eye I saw my eldest daughter embrace my mom and begin to weep.  I know she loved Great-Gramps but I wasn't sure how her first funeral experience would effect her.  I talked with her quietly and realized something.   These sad feelings were difficult for her and as glad as I was that she could express them,  she might also learn from the upcoming hour.  

So, just like the well meaning white-haired ladies at Grandma's funeral 17 years prior, I asked my girl,

"How about we go and eat lunch, does that sound good?" 
It did.

We walked to the other side of the church and what began with- quiet tones of wiping tears and blowing noses beautifully transitioned into smiles,
and memories--
and breaking bread together.  

I had finally found value in the ritual. 

 

A large (but not the whole) part of the family poses for a photo 

following the --much to my delight-- Ham-on...croissants!

It was Sadness and Celebration.
Pain, still Praise.
Death, yet Victory!

Joy and sorrow are often intermingled into the ways and the days of this life.  

What is your only comfort
in life and in death? 

That I am not my own,
but belong—

body and soul,
in life and in death—

to my faithful Savior, Jesus Christ.

He has fully paid for all my sins with his precious blood,
and has set me free from the tyranny of the devil.
He also watches over me in such a way
that not a hair can fall from my head
without the will of my Father in heaven;
in fact, all things must work together for my salvation.

Because I belong to him,
Christ, by his Holy Spirit,
assures me of eternal life
and makes me wholeheartedly willing and ready
from now on to live for him.

 

The Heidelberg Catechism above says "all things"

I desire to be a person who can see the big picture, have that keen awareness of all the gifts and all the grace surrounding life's circumstances.   

In the great moments and especially in the hard times be less bogged down with fickle feelings and more attuned to what The Lord wants me to see and learn. 

It's not easy. 
Just about anything can fog our senses.    
But by the same token,  just about anything can be used to teach us.  

Even a ham sandwich.

an offering

I remember my Mom telling me what song they sang in church the Sunday morning following my delivery of our 5th baby,  a girl we named April.     Mom said I would have had a difficult time singing the words,  as did she that Spring Sunday morning, 3 years ago.

Blessed be Your Name

On the road marked with suffering
Though there's pain in the offering
Blessed be Your name

The reality of pregnancy loss and the literal giving away of our deceased baby to the nurse was,  as the lyrics of the song truthfully convey,  a painful offering. 

Was it a true offering?   Something (someone) was being taken that I was unwilling to give.  At the time it seemed to make no earthly sense.

Why was I given only 17 weeks to carry her? 

Was I to offer God the life of this baby?  a life that had already ended?  

I used to think of an offering as a voluntary action.  I give my time or my service,  or maybe even a gift or tithe.   Offerings were something I initiated,  that I was comfortable with.   Meaningful and fruitful,  but not painful offerings. 

3 years ago today God moved in my life to make an offering of a different sort.   When faced with the devastation and sadness of April's death I learned (although not immediately) that I had to offer it all back to the Lord.   The confusion,  the ache,  the tears,  the emptiness,  the doubt,  the fear.    I had to release my plans,  our hopes for the child this baby would become.   Hanging on so tightly to these things would never give me peace.

The song continues and within the chorus, these words:

You give and take away
You give and take away
My heart will choose to say
Lord, blessed be Your name

I had always found these lyrics perplexing.
Yes,  God gives.  That was easy to see.  All I had to do was look at the beautiful faces of my 4 children.
He gives immeasurably more than we need and most certainly more than what's deserved.  Perhaps this song speaks also of the comfort God gives,  or the Grace and love he lavishes on us.   Or the joy in Salvation that circumstance can't deplete.  
He gives.

But,  the next part...
He gives... AND takes away?  Lord Blessed be your Name?  
If I sing this,  do I claim that God took our baby?   am I supposed to praise His name anyway?
That seemed to make lesser sense.
Praising God in the midst of pain is work,  it is a choice,  it's an offering.  It takes faith.  For me it opened my heart for healing.  I believe this song speaks also to the way Jesus takes away our hurts,  our anger,  our sadness,  our guilt,  our sin. 
He takes. 

I don't want to imply that 3 years later everything is tied up nicely with a bow and this chapter is closed.  Nor do I mean to over simplify healing or equate my loss with the pain another may be experiencing.  I do desire to be honest about what I've learned.  I am thankful to see the ways the Spirit moves in my life through our loss of April.    So, yes.  Her short life was an offering.   An offering of my heart to ways that were not my own.   A yielding to the Father when my circumstance was beyond my understanding.

In those days I realized with new eyes that God held my life,   just as He held April's life until the moment her heart stopped beating,  and that He holds her still today.

If you are new or are interested in reading more about my story...

 Here is a link to click.  It's a summary with additional links to other posts.

15.

I wanted to do this 2 months ago, but you know how it is...  life gets in the way.

So,  15 years and 2 months into our marriage we celebrate 

with this slideshow of photos... through the years,  

and a wedding prayer.

Every step we are breathing in Your grace
Evermore we’ll be breathing out Your praise.
You are faithful, God, You are faithful.

--- Matt Redman Never Once 

Father in heaven,
        give today your blessing
        upon the marriage of Dan and Michelle.
      We thank you for the vows
        they have spoken
        and the love in which
        they are now united.
      Keep them faithful and strong
        in every trial.
      Sustain their joy and affection
        for many years.
      We pray, Lord Jesus,
        that you will be acknowledged
        head of their home
        and master of their lives.
      Equip them, Holy Spirit,
          with patient endurance,
      sacrificial service, unfailing courtesy,
        endless trust, and lasting love.
      Grant that their home
        will often be a place of laughter;
        and in times of difficulty or trouble,
        a haven of healing and forgiveness.
      May they and their children
        give constant praise to you,
        eternal Father, who with the Son and the Spirit
        is God, blessed and exalted forever. Amen.

2 years

There are certain landmarks,  places in my everyday life
that when I pass by them...
I remember...

I am never so healed that I can't still feel the sadness.

Just a linger in my mind for awhile on a silent night brings me back.
2 years.

I am that kind of person that has to feel,  has to recall,  has to express.   I really couldn't let the 2 year mark of our baby's death and my delivery of her go unmentioned.   It was too important an event in our lives and even 2 years past I still get emotional at the thought of what we went through.
That is OK,  and good.   Freedom from hurt is not my goal.   Grieving is not some kind of ladder to climb and when you reach the top you are free.  That kind of freedom just can't be found on this earth.   Strange as it may seems, I am thankful for the scar.

On the evening of April 14, 2010 we were scheduled at the hospital for the induction and delivery of our 5th baby,  already passed away.   We pulled up to the emergency room entrance like we had done 4 times before.  This time was so very different.  There was no excitement,  only sorrow.   A smiling man came out with the wheelchair to escort me.    He didn't know why I was there. 
I didn't need a wheelchair,  but I sat in it anyway.    Someone wheeled me up to the corner room,   far away from all the other labor and delivery mothers.   My nurses that night already knew this was a case of fetal demise and I truly believe they were chosen by God to be at my side.

They. were. wonderful. 

I recognized the mauve floral print of the wallpaper and decor of the hospital room.   It used to be quaint and inviting.

It no longer was.  

I hated being in that gown, wearing those slipper socks.  I prayed about how I would find the strength to deliver a dead baby as my poor husband sat lovingly and helplessly by my side.

I just wanted to get it over with.  Why couldn't they just knock me out, I thought?
Why?   Why did I have to be conscious of what was about to happen.   Honestly,  I felt like a terrified child.   I cried and I cried.   I wanted that baby,  I wanted to carry her all summer,  and deliver her full and alive on or around September 17.   That was the plan,  My plan.

God's plan was different.
His ways are for my good.   Always.   It was a truth I knew even in those moments.
He would sustain me.   I just had to trust that.

April 14 turned into April 15 and at 4:12am,   almost unintentionally I delivered a very small  but incredibly real,  still,  baby.

I wailed.
Dan held my hand and encouraged me, and watched in somewhat disbelief as well.
Now what?

This is where the healing begins.

As with any baby birth,  visitors followed.   At first I wanted no one there,  followed by wanting everyone there to see the reality of it.   (I felt they wouldn't, they couldn't fully understand unless they saw her)    But then, again   I wanted no one there.

Our pastor visited us and I remember feeling bad that in the midst of a beautiful spring day he had to attend to and enter in to our sorrow.     He sat with us,   really let us be exactly where we were at,  prayed with us and ultimately encouraged me with his confidence that I would not lose my faith over this,  that I would certainly grieve but April's death was not a dealbreaker for me.   I was stronger than that, and most importantly God's love is strongest and I was firmly in His grip.   


Everytime  I pass by the church bathroom,   visit our family doctor and see that exam room,  drive the on ramp to the highway,  see the daffodils bloom,   wash Dan's black sweatshirt,   converse with our pastor,  hear specific songs (the one playing in the background)-  I go there.

2 years later I don't know why God chose to take her to him.   But I do have the gift of hindsight. Looking back I clearly see some of the ways God moved, lead, comforted.

In our hearts she leaves a legacy, in our hearts her very short life had value. In my heart I want to hold her again. Until then, I will continue to open the healing gifts that God gives.

Happy 2nd heavenly birthday, April.

Today we honor, remember, and thank God for you.

damaged goods/beautiful things

Hearts will Mend in time...but they will never be the same....

This phrase says it so well.
This post is a bit heavy and lengthy,  but bear with me (or not) -- it does me so much good to get the swirling thoughts out.    I promise my next post will be airy and full on minivan musings.

Anyone who has ever lost a loved one--be they old, middle age, way too young,  or even unborn knows that it changes your heart.  That is the way of this life.   Hearts will Mend in time...but they will never be the same....

This of course was true of me after April.

I was gifted this necklace at Christmas and it's such a cool visual.

The lines represent the mending of a broken heart.   

 

 

The birthstone is for the month of April.  

Truly,  my life has resumed the normalcy I longed for and a full, full heart beats this day.  
But,  I do see evidences that I am somewhat damaged goods.  Maybe that sounds harsh, but it's okay.

Allow me to explain.    There are things that bother me about my now mended heart.    Today, when I hear of a new pregnancy announcement I still mentally hold my breath until that baby's live birth.   That bugs me.   Why can't I assume that all will be perfectly fine?  Because statistically speaking,  it nearly always is.  But still,  my heart worries.

I'm not sure I can accurately write about the guilt I feel for the time when my dear friend was fighting for the life of her baby.   I had doubts that God would heal.   Even with Naomi at my breast (my proof that God gives) my damaged side ached and angered they might be asked to give this baby back to God.    I really longed for the absolute conviction (that many did have)  that Tessa would be born whole and live a full life.   I was filled with fear for a pain I did not want my dear friends to know.   I wish I could go back and change my thinking.  

And here's more...
Recently,  I was able to participate through singing at a service honoring the sanctity of human life, specifically unborn life.     This is a yearly event in our area and last year as well as this  brought about for me intense emotion.
The music,  the images on the video presentation,   the life like models detailing second a trimester baby.
If at any time my damage was felt,  it was that night.    I held it together during the service but following it,  I hugged my mom and for some reason then and there, the pain of my loss came rushing back.
I had not felt that pain in quite a long time,  and it surprised me that yet,  there is still was.

Our pastor shared this with us once... 

"Grief can be fickle. 

Everyone seems to experience it a bit differently.   

It's also a bit shifty.  Profound sadness, anger, and fear
can also be replaced by calm and joy--

but then pop up again
unexpectedly"

Damaged goods.   Like a dented soup can.   Still functional and purposeful but with a bruise that can't be perfectly erased.


Beautiful Things.

We sang a song that aforementioned night titled Beautiful Things.  ( you may or may not be listening to it in the background)  If I spend all this energy explaining why I am damaged goods,  I also need to talk about the beautiful things that have come.

Last month I passed by the 2 year mark of learning I was pregnant with April.   Since I learned that information in our church bathroom,  I just had to have a moment there a couple weeks ago.    I walked into the same stall and sat there thinking about the wonderful shock I learned there and how my life was about to change in so many ways.  I said a true bathroom prayer of thanks for her life and death--every bit of it.  The hope, the joy,  the sadness,  the fear,  the pain,  the confusion. What her life and death meant to my husband,  to our kids.   It is a beautiful thing.   

For me, April's life had so much meaning.   I am still discovering the blessing that she was.   
My friendships deepened.  I felt truly loved and learned how to truly love,  in all things.   

We were given Naomi.

My Drew has said to me more than once,

" Mom,  if April didn't die,  would we have Naomi?"
"I guess not",  I reply.

It didn't always set well with me when folks said just that.   If April wouldn't have passed away,  I wouldn't have Naomi.  True as that is,  I wanted them both.   Today I can find peace in knowing that one waits for me and I will know her again.

With hindsight I can know that when grief pops up unexpectedly (or even expected) it is a Beautiful thing.  
Because,  feeling is more nourishing than avoiding.  
Remembering how we were held during that time, initiates deep gratitude.
Experiencing that loss gifted me a new compassion,  a new heart for the hurting.  



This list could go on.  And it will, my whole life through--
because I choose to see the beauty shining through the damage.

We Do, God Helping Us.

Mother's Day this year was a myriad of emotion and experience.

I was awaken at 5:15 by our sweet Naomi.  I suppose she was eager to get this special day started.  For that day she was to be baptized into the covenant.

On my mind at that early hour was Mother's Day 2010 , last year.    Oh,  how uneasy I was heading to God's house that beautiful spring Sunday.  Conflicted because I had much to be grateful for after all,  I was a mother 4 times over,  but grieving the still baby I had delivered 3 weeks prior.   It was the first Mother's Day I experienced with a heavenly baby.   How clearly I remember telling myself not to be so upset,  to be logical.

Don't let Mother's Day get to you,  I told myself... it's just a Hallmark holiday anyway. 

I survived that day, even got a few photos of it.   When last year's Mother's Day was through, I prayed that the next year,  my heart would have some healing and I could testify to God's work in my life.  

That was my prayer.  

In fact I even wrote about it here. 

God,  as He promises to do,  answered that prayer and I was given the opportunity on Mother's Day to share during the worship service.  Speaking honestly about the pain and joy our last year has seen,   how God is always good and His blessing is not based on my deserving or perception. 

I'm forever grateful for the chance to stand there,  with my husband and newborn daughter at my side,  and proclaim-- To God Alone be the Glory!  Thank you for bringing us this far!!

It was just one of those days where I realized how amazing this life can be.  How,  through the loss of April,  God can use me,  how He opened my eyes and heart to so much.  How it is only the beginning.

Well, like I mentioned at the start of this post.  Mother's Day was also Baptism day for Naomi.  I was determined to keep a calm attitude despite my nerves and the chaos of getting everyone out of the house.   Unlike any given Sunday,  I did NOT want the drive to church to be one of kids fighting,  me grumbling under my breath about how Dan waited so long to brush his teeth and surely that is why we were late.   Rather, I hoped for smooth and methodical Sunday morning preparation and did my best to facilitate that.   You would think I would do this everyday of my life,  but no.  Chaos generally reigns.

Thankfully,  everyone (including myself) was well behaved and we had a joyous time celebrating  with family and friends.

Naomi in the baptism dress worn by me, my sis Stacey, Joy, and Juliet

love, love, love the history in that gown!

First, 

do you confess Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior, accept the promises of God, and affirm the truth of the Christian faith which is proclaimed in the Bible and confessed in this church of Christ?

Second, 

do you believe that your children, though sinful by nature, are received by God in Christ as members of his covenant, and therefore ought to be baptized?

Third, 

do you promise, in reliance on the Holy Spirit and with the help of the Christian community, to do all in your power to instruct these children in the Christian faith and to lead them by your example into the life of Christian discipleship?

We do, God helping us.

April's Garden 2011

Last year we created a garden in the front of our home.
A memorial garden.

it was a productive activity,  and i really, really needed to do something with my time and anxious thoughts.

At the time (May) Dan suggested that we plant a good amount of spring bloomers because after all,  our baby passed away in April just as spring was budding and blooming.   The garden as it bloomed would remind us of April our 5th baby,  of God's faithfulness in our lives and ultimately bring us joy.

But, by the time we prepared the yard and put the finishing touches on the garden,  Spring had long passed.   We had to wait until Spring 2011 to see new growth and beautiful blooms.   It rather well represents the patience and waiting I had to learn this last year. 

Looking back I can still feel how impatient I was.   I wanted time to pass as quick as possible.  I wanted to rush the outcome.  In my mind one year after April's passing would be significant.  Significantly healing,  I had hoped.   God did reveal His plan this last year,  in powerful ways.
I like that the garden is so much more than just a collection of soil and vegetation.  It is a symbol.  Not just this Spring,  but every Spring season in the future. 

Today,  it is Spring 2011, one year later.   I snapped a few photos to share the progress and the beauty of the garden.

9 years. 3 years. 1 year.

April 15.

Nine years ago today, God gave unto Dan and I,  a precious son.   

Andrew. 

He came into this world with a bang, as he nearly entered the world in the back of our mini-van!  At nine years old he delights us with his energy,  and his unyielding devotion to his big brother.   He is easily brought to tears and is sensitive.   This sensitivity is an asset because it helps him to see when others are hurting or rejoicing.   He is the self proclaimed "best goalie on his soccer team" and still likes to sleep with his "dee-tee".  The perfect blend of innocence and confidence.   Drew, Dewey, Double D-- by whatever name we call you-- You are a gift!

With a grateful heart,  I celebrate you this day.

 _____________________________________________________________

3 years ago today,   God gave unto Dan and I,  a precious daughter.   

Juliet

She came into this world smoothly and beautifully.  I had to fight tooth and nail to talk Dan into having a 4th child.   He was done after three.  It didn't take long at all for that little gal to securely wrap Daddy around her finger.   At 3 years of age she is scrappy and animated.  All she needs is a few toys and her favorite TV show Max and Ruby for background noise and she will play the day away.   Her role has recently changed from the baby to big sis  so naturally we are still working out the kinks with that.   Buns,  Bunser, Babe-- by whatever name we call you-- You are a gift!!

With a joyful heart,  I celebrate you today.

_______________________________________________________________

1 year ago today,  God gave unto Dan and I,  our third daughter.  

April.  

She came into this world silent and still.   She was already with the One who allowed her conception and knew with Him she would remain.   At 1 year remembered,  we do not know her.  I can't share about her personality or what color were her eyes.   She didn't have the chance to earn her own nickname.   Even so,  she had weight in this world.   Physically speaking she was 3.7 oz.   But my pregnancy,  the short labor and the delivery of her changed our lives.   Our kids will carry her in their hearts always.  I have struggled and learned so much this last year.  I will continue to find meaning ,  not necessarily a neat and tidy explanation of why we could not keep her,  but God's hand in all the events that surrounded her conception and death. 
April, the baby we lost,  our daughter,  our 5th child--by whatever name we call you-- You are a gift!!

With a heavy heart I remember you this day.

11 months ago...

"There is no despair so absolute  

(indescribable pain, indescribable peace)

as that which comes with the first moments of our first great sorrow,

(naming our baby girl)

  when we have not yet known what it is to have suffered and be healed,  (one day I will testify!)
 

to have despaired and have recovered hope."

(it's a Gal !!)

--George Eliot

I  recently came across this quote.  I read it and thought to myself-- SO true!   I immediately thought how it so poetically described our last 11 months.
I broke down each phrase of the quote followed by parenthesized links to previous blog posts. 
If you are new to my story,  click the above links for a small summary.

First came despair.   

Losing April was our first great sorrow.   Perhaps the pain of losing her was second to the immense fear I held that I didn't know how to live life after loss.  What if I couldn't move past it?  What if I dissolved into a disaster of a woman filled with bitterness,  emptiness, and anger.   What if I turned my face from God or believed he turned his face from me?

I did not know what it was to have suffered and be healed.

As the weeks went on I learned and experienced much.  The ways, shapes and forms that healing comes.  But also the ways,  shapes and forms grief over our loss that still remains to this day.  

In what surprised me as a relatively short amount of time,

God gave us a gift to recover our hope.

I did a bit of research,  not a lot but some, about the person who wrote these words.

She wasn't a George after all,  that was her pen name.  Her given name was Mary Ann Evans and she denounced Christianity.   How she must be rolling in her grave knowing that the beautiful words she penned so long ago speak to me only of Jesus. 

I don't say that to be condescending,  I just love, love, love it when I come across something so full of truth!!!

11 months have passed and our story  still beginning.
What I'm realizing now is-- that it always can be...beginning.

the crib in the corner and her memory on the wall

Well, there it is.

The crib in the corner.   Again.

It was only a short 2 years ago that we moved it out of our bedroom much to Dan's dismay.   Juliet was one year old and needed to get her buns in Joy's room and take up residence.  
The crib itself had a brief hiatus from use for about 2 months after we moved the girls to bunk beds.   Back in January, my heart was not ready for the crib to stand at the ready for a baby that was not close enough to coming.   By February, we repainted our bedroom and I had to ride the wave of Dan's motivation for makeover.   So the crib is up,  the pinky flower car seat is free of mouse turds from our basement and I've even busted out the old breastfeeding paraphernalia.

It feels good,  I feel ready as I'll ever be ... for 5 kids.


A special addition to our room,  11 months the making,  is the shadow box.
It contains the few pieces of memorabilia that we have from the pregnancy and loss of our baby, April.   I delivered her, nearing what would have been my 17th week of pregnancy,  last April 15.  

sorry about the photo quality, I am the WORST photog. !!

I don't know why it has taken 11 months to create something I wanted to do immediately.   Partly because I am a procrastinator,  partly because I think I just needed to keep them in the box,  in the drawer,  until I was ready.    Who knows?    But I am happy with the result.   Someday I will tell this little one about another, even smaller one that came before her.    A story that tells of God's hand,  His will,  His comfort,  His sovereignty and how very much I have yet to learn.

the final countdown.

Sometime around 30 weeks I began to count down the weeks,  while before that point I was counting up.    A wonderful milestone and I am thankful!    With less than 7 weeks to go before my due date I am trying to get my head around this being my last pregnancy.   I have many fun comparisons going on my my head about the first time I walked this road 11 years ago.   I hope to dig out a few  thoughts and photos from the olden days pretty soon and blog them,  but for today, though writing I hope to kick some fear to the curb.

I have said countless times that my previous pregnancy and this one have kind of melted together to one long hormonal circus.     Hope and loss,  sadness and searching,  anticipation, fear, and joy all weaving their own mark into my time line the last 10 months.

The closer I get to the 40 week mark increased anxious thoughts and memories of April's induced delivery reach the surface of my heart.    The way the last few weeks have lived out resemble the way I spent the first trimester of this pregnancy--living in fear.

Fearful of what exactly?   Frankly,  another pregnancy loss and delivery of a baby already gone.   The thought of living through that again is breath stealing  and joy taking.   I DO NOT want to be filled with this fear,  but here I am again letting it seep back in.    I say  "I"  am letting it seep in because it certainly is not of God.

He has restored me.
He has displayed His power in creating this life that I carry. 
He has promised to be near me every hour.

I don't want the loss of April to be for nothing.  Of the many things I have learned and will continue to learn following that time is that God is God!    His promises are true, and He carries us.   

It was not a one time gig.   

He will do this over and over again in my life as certainly more and greater storms will arise.  

Matthew 8:26 (Contemporary English Version) 

²⁶But Jesus replied, "Why are you so afraid? 

You surely don't have much faith." 

Then he got up and ordered the wind and the waves to calm down. And everything was calm.

So,  as a kind of declaration of independence from fear I say,  that come what may,

God will restore me.
God will display his power whatever the circumstance!
God will be near me every hour.

Moving forward in faith.   49 some days to go!

Not what I once was.

Tonight,  over the phone I told Dan I just want to get back to the old me.

Perhaps that doesn't make much sense out of context. 

Let me explain,  and in doing so I hope to figure out if the old me is really the former me and not likely to be me again.    You follow?   Probably not. 

Tonight I stare at the laundry undone,  the presents waiting to be wrapped.   I smell the clogged garbage disposal ,  the wet boots and gloves.    I chow down on the Christmas goodies that I just can't resist.   I hear our 2 year old crying out for her pacifier and I sigh.      All of these things could have described a typical December night a year ago,   but the difference this year is -- me.  You see,  I'm not dealing with the day to day quite as well. 

It's been nearly one year since I became pregnant with our 5th child,  the baby we lost and Heaven gained.   And ever since I learned of that pregnancy,   lost that pregnancy,  grieved that pregnancy,  and discovered this new pregnancy I have not been the me I once,  or you,  once knew. 

Maybe I can blame the  pregnancy hormones which have been raging in me for 41 of the last 53 weeks,  with 14 yet to go.   Or maybe it's the tiring work of sorting through grief.   I was/am  new to it,  and had to find my own way through it.   Grief can be a sneaky jerk,  popping up at times when you just don't want to go there. 

Maybe it's the constant balancing act of hope and fear.     Although God has given me so much joy and hope over this new pregnancy,   it only takes a bad dream recalling the day I delivered April to send me running for the tissue box and rendering me  useless when it comes to things like cleaning toilets or dusting.

Maybe it is those things.    Some days I like to blame the economy.   That sounds fair,  doesn't it?   The nation's economic crisis has trickled down to the industry in which my husband is employed. .   He has to go out of state to find work and that has been a HUGE adjustment for the kids and I.    Yes!  that is why I am no longer the productive,  stable,  self controlled,  person I once was--  being a on again,  off again single parent to 4 kids and growing another is doing me in!  

Why can't I be the me I used to be?

I get it,  really I do--this post sounds like a list of woes!

But I had to get them out to see that although they are certainly the raw ingredients in the lump of dough that I think I've become--
This  past year...  God changed the recipe.  

I may want to function at a certain level  because I think that is my best.
But... perhaps God is forming (and let's just say-- baking, for the sake of the metaphor)  

A new me. 

I have to trust,  that in His time the new me will in fact be a sweet,  not bitter creation. 

Philippians 1:6  NIV 

being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.

a new gratitude.

As with many folks,   we genuinely have many repeat  "I'm Thankful Fors..." year after year.

We gather around the table and offer our gratitude for many of the same blessings as years prior.    When I really think about it,  it is an amazing thing to do just that.     As an example -- for my parents to sit at this their 39th Thanksgiving table together and be grateful yet again for that same person --- awesome!

Some years are like that , some years are not.   For many,  the year that lives on between each Thanksgiving holiday brings about pain,  struggle,  disillusionment,  junk.

I am nearly positive that my personal  list of gratitude on Thanksgiving 2009 included our children,  Dan's job,  our amazing circle of family and friends.     Fast forward to 2010 and those are all abundantly true!

But,  I have a few more " I'm thankful fors"  to add.   Some things I never thought would cross my mind,  or my heart only one year ago.

I am thankful for human compassion.   We had never lost a baby before.  The pure love and kindnesses shown to us after April's death and delivery fill my heart with gratitude.  We could not have survived those early days without- people.

I am thankful for empathetic hearts.    One of the things I craved most this year, was knowing I wasn't alone in my experience.   People I knew and many I do not,  have shared with me their story and inspired me in knowing that God will restore.

i am thankful for freedom of expression.   I realize that all people find their own way to process loss and work through pain.   I am thankful that I live in this day and age.  For the most part, I wasn't discouraged from talking about our loss.   Blogs,  face to face conversations,  and many resources have helped me this year.   I have learned this freedom wasn't as available 20, 30 years or more ago.

I am thankful for God's word.   Where else would I to find His promises?  Where else would I find true hope? 

 

I am thankful for this guy.  
Ok, this one is for sure a repeat but,  surely in a new way.  Dan was called upon this year to see with his own two eyes an ultrasound of a still baby-- while I wailed.  He was called upon to stand by, feeling somewhat powerless, as I delivered her.  He was called upon to stay with me through it all and be the a source of strength-- all the while feeling his own pain of loss and experiencing something that is really difficult for a man to process.

He was required to do all of this while going back to work full time in a ridiculous economy and a work setting that allows NO time for grieving.    I cringe at the thought of how he must have had to take a deep breath when I would call... not knowing what he was about to get on the other side of the phone.   He must of wondered what environment would greet him when coming home from a long day at work.   It is not easy to see your wife in pain,  and not being able to stop it.     I say all of this not so you would feel sorry for him (or me)  but to just scratch at the surface of why I am thankful for Dan this year!  

Truly, a Happy Thanksgiving 2010.

October 15...6 months

Today is worldwide  Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day.   To tell you the truth,  last October I had no idea such a day existed.  This year,  6 months to the day our lives were touched by pregnancy loss we honor April by participating in the Wave of Light.

www.october15th.com

I am often asked how our kids have understood,  or felt about the loss of a baby they never saw,  and never got the chance to know.    I would say that as painful as it was for Dan and I,  the kids have not had to feel the intensity of grief.   I thank the Lord for this.    We decided and were encouraged early on to be honest with our children about what had happened and to never close the conversation on April's existence.    Following the loss, I wanted to be strong and solid for them as a mother,   I was afraid my tears and emotional spirals would frighten them.   I knew the first day home that it was not business as usual.   I learned that hiding my emotions and pretending that everything was A.O.K was not going to benefit them as much as showing them the realness of sorrow,   and at the same time point their thoughts and hopes to the ONE who promises to restore our joy.  

Looking back,   knowing that she was a girl,  naming her and referring to her as their sister has been immensely healing for all of us.
It did not come naturally though.    I was hesitant to know her gender,   name her,  and accept all the momentos that the hospital staff so lovingly provided.    All of these things made her life as it was,  too real.   At that point all I wanted to do was forget the agony of the loss.   A name,  momentos,  it only reminded me of a life that was never meant to be on this earth.   It was simply too devastating.

But what was this teaching our children?    Dan and I wanted, if anything for our kids to learn and grow through this experience.   NOT to be left scared and confused with unanswered questions.    In the months that followed each one of our kids in their own unique way as worked through their feelings.    Joy loves to see the teeny, tiny baby gown and April's plaster footprints.   Drew talks often about the memorial at the cemetery and requests to go back there (perhaps it is only to chase squirrels).  Chase is intentional about including her when he talks about his "brothers and sisters".    All three of them have expressed sadness about not being able to have her as a sister yet a curiosity about seeing her again someday.

I guess that is all I can hope for.  That they have learned a life lesson--THE life lesson-- through this loss.   The lessons that feelings are meant to be felt and communicated when needed,   that life does include deep disappointment,  and most of all that God's promises are true-- they can trust Him when things don't make sense-- He is the road to restoration and salvation!

the T-shirt.

There is a T-shirt of mine hanging in the back corner of our closet.

It is one of my faves.  I would have worn it all summer except for one thing...

I don't like to look at it.

So, you can see that wearing the shirt would force me to look at it and force me to think about the last 3 times I wore it.   Yes,  I am that odd.  I can remember the last three times I wore said T-shirt.

Well, even though you didn't ask,  may I tell you about the last 3 times I wore the T-shirt that I don't like to think about,  but like so much.

1. Back in March at a doctor's appointment when Dan and I heard April's heartbeat for the last time.

2. On Spring Break 2010 when we were in Florida having a marvelous time with our kids and our dear friends.

3.  On April 13 in the Dr.'s office and subsequent ultrasound that confirmed our baby had passed away.

I remember burying that thing in the closet as far as it could go.   You might think I would just get rid of it altogether,  but I haven't.   I had the grand idea of bringing it out into the daylight and wearing it  the day I would tell Dan that I was pregnant again.   I wimped out.   It's a good thing too,  because he said he wouldn't have remembered what I was wearing that dreadful day.   It is interesting how we both have individual things that we remember about that day.

My memory is strong and quirky and easily triggered.   Sometimes this is an asset,  other times I wish I could forget little details like T-shirts,  songs,  smells,  dates,  places,  things people have said.  

A T-shirt seems like such a non-issue,  but it is representative of a greater struggle.  

Trying not to push memories and feelings too far in the back corner of my mind's closet because they are too painful.   Trying to be brave and wear with joy the T-shirt (and perhaps this baby bump) without fear.

 only 25 weeks to go!  oh my, that is so many weeks!

my heart divided

When I was still in the hospital last April 15,  I completely exhaustedly cried to Dan,  "I feel like the only thing that will ever take away this pain is becoming pregnant again"  and having the 5th child that we dreamed of.   If I could be pregnant by April's due date,   wouldn't that be even better?!" 

Desperate thoughts and prayers of a mother who wanted to catch up to where I thought I would be.  Feelings of a mommy who would always feel that someone is missing.

Fast forward 5 months and my desperate plea became truth.   Being pregnant again has brought about joy, hope and happiness,  but not exactly in the way I thought it would  when I spoke those words in the delivery room last spring.    

I tend to keep the grief of April's death separate from the hope of the new life growing within.    Being pregnant again does not bring April back.  I did not get to pick up where I left off at 17 weeks.  I am starting over and frankly,  that has been difficult.     It sometimes feels like in order to keep April's life and that pregnancy remembered I need to keep her loss and this new life on two separate sides of my heart.   I have been reluctant to let this new pregnancy assist in joy's restoration.   I have seen how this new pregnancy brings joy and delight to those around me.  It somewhat fills the void for them.   For us,  the void will always exist.

Recently,  after I passed April's due date I began to think that maybe I should let the two lives intersect.  Open up my mind to the fact that this new baby can be a part of what God is giving me to heal the pain of April's death.   I know that this baby will will not replace her,  but allowing myself to really grab hold of this pregnancy sometimes feels like it pushes her significance to the side, or eventually to the far, far background of our memories. 

my heart divided.

a long time coming.

Nine months,  or 40 weeks.  However you want to count it,  pregnancy is a slow process.

So is living out a phantom pregnancy as I have been doing for the last 5 months. 

Tomorrow, I have finally reached the end.  It seems significant, if only for my own heart.

My feelings are mixed to say the least.  Since the moment I knew I lost April I yearned for this due date to come... I wanted it to be over with.  Why?  Because I wanted the future to arrive at my doorstep as a expedited special delivery.   I would open that package in and in it I would find healing and wholeness again.   You might say that I was wishing my life away.    It makes sense, right?   If time heals, and God is faithful why wouldn't I want to be months farther along in my life?

Honestly,  now that I've reached this due date the package at my doorstep is a big box of grief.    When I really let myself think about how this very night I could have been holding my living, healthy daughter my heart finds a new place to break.    The difference between now and last spring is-- I let my heart break a little when it needs to because I know that God's amazing love will fill the cracks.  I have learned this time and again over the long summer season that I wished so badly to skip through.  

I guess that is what the last 23 weeks have been about.  I had to live out this pregnancy each-and-every-minute-of-everyday-of-it to learn the things I have and to feel the pain I have-- and ultimately to experience first hand how true God's promises are!  

I am weepy and weary tonight,  but tomorrow is a new day!

John 16:20-22

²⁰I tell you the truth, you will weep and mourn while the world rejoices. You will grieve, but your grief will turn to joy. ²¹A woman giving birth to a child has pain because her time has come; but when her baby is born she forgets the anguish because of her joy that a child is born into the world. ²²So with you: Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice, and no one will take away your joy.

What? It's not about me?

I've been so ticked at myself lately.

So many things I have desired to do in my process of healing after the loss of April,  in April.

I remember scouring the internet,  asking others for resources to help me through the pain of pregnancy loss and stillbirth.    I have these materials.   They sit in my nightstand,  just ready to be read and learned from.

I am ticked because there they sit.   My predisposition to procrastination lives on even in my time of grief.   You would think I would have done everything possible so far to move past the pain of loss,   yet I have not.

So in the midst of being annoyed at myself again,  for being me.   I took a step back to look at why I might not be doing these things I think will be so beneficial.

Oh, that's right.   I have 4 kids.   They were home all.summer.long.    They are needy, fun, beings that depended on me for meals, fun, and attention.  

I have family, church and friend obligations.   Generally those things do not fade away during times of sadness--even when, at times I could barely bring myself to participate.

Ultimately,  I am realizing that me, myself, and I am not solely responsible for my healing.

 God is. 

The way, shape, and form of the healing that He provides is not for me to determine.   My job is just to trust Him and go to Him.   Yes,  the books,  blogs and studies I have in my nightstand can be tools-- but God is the One who will do the work.

Certainly, He has.   In ways I prayed for,  in ways I never expected.   Still the road continues.
It makes me glad to know that I don't have to heal myself or be surprised by joy.   I thank you Lord,  for bringing me to this place!

Philippians 1:6 (Contemporary English Version)

God is the one who began this good work in you, 

and I am certain 

that he won't stop before it is complete 

on the day that Christ Jesus returns.

   

with and without her

It has been 15 weeks and 5 days.    I realize no one would know this but me,  but today it feels right to do some remembering.     

I remember when the my doctor told me  "the baby measured at 15 weeks 5 days."    At the time I was 17 weeks and 4 days into my what had turned into a pregnancy loss.    Today I have been without her as long as she was with me.

How in the world did I carry this baby for 2 weeks and not know she had passed away?   What kind of mother was I?     The early days following April's delivery I writhed in pain at the thought.      Looking back,  there were perhaps mild indications that the baby was not developing.

I remember how I was waiting  and waiting to feel the first obvious sign of movement.  

I remember thinking how I would enjoy traveling to and from Florida on Spring Break 

feeling the baby flutter as all I had to do was sit on my butt in the van. 

I remember laying in bed every night of Spring Break,  

convincing myself that I had felt some type of movement.    I did not.

I remember noticing that my maternity swimsuit had fit exactly as it had 

when I tried it on 2 weeks prior.  

I remember wondering about all these things 

but not being overly worried or despaired.

I remember driving the 5-8am stretch of our road trip home.   I was feeling extremely grateful for the week we had just had.   I glanced over at Dan asleep holding a restless Juliet.  I peered in the rearview mirror and saw the big 3 sprawled across the van trying to find comfortable sleep.      I was hearing songs one after the other on an Indiana Christian radio station.   The songs were not praise songs.  They were songs of honest pain and surrendering our will.    "hmm...sad songs"  I thought to myself.    One song in particular brought back a slew of thoughts.  Specifically about a little baby named Hannah.   What I heard on the radio that early morning  was the song played at Hannah's funeral.    I thought and remembered what her parents were claiming when they played the song with these lyrics:

It's all about you, Jesus.

And all this is for you,

for Your glory and Your fame.

It's not about me,

as if You should do things my way.

You alone are God and I surrender

to Your ways.

Not for the first time I thought to myself,  would I be able to honestly speak those words if I had lost a baby?

All of these moments, and thoughts I've just shared  when compiled together are, to me an obvious display of God protecting and yet preparing me.   

Perhaps it seems like naivety or denial.   Perhaps it seems like I am grasping at some kind of neat explanation for the reality of what has happened.   Perhaps I am over thinking.    Yes,  it is a bit of all those things.     

But remembering such as this keeps her alive .    Identifying  and testifying to God's provision through  it all is part of April's legacy.

Okay,   this post is getting disorganized.   I also realize this blog has taken quite a serious and perhaps less entertaining turn in the past 3 months.  Nevertheless,  putting my thoughts down on virtual paper has been a major part of my moving forward.     To you reading this-- thank you so much for stopping by.   It is a desire of my heart that through telling my story ,  April's short life will have meaning far beyond what I can express.