Friday, June 29, 2012

Things Change


Things are slowly drifting into a new normal around here. Not always, but often. And things I was afraid I might never do again resurfaced . It was a busy last week, filled with memories. To the people that were apart of them, the people we walked past, it was probably just a regular good day. But it was more for me…

I sat at the kitchen table of one of my best friends. The same friend who saw me through my chubby elementary school years, my butterfly-clip middle school years. (If that’s not dedicated friendship, I don’t know what is.) 
I know, I was almost too ashamed to post this.... love me through it, Meg?!

We mostly just talked and ate a lot… And we laughed as hard as we cried within those few hours. We talked about silly things and hard things. And within an hour we definitely pinpointed what’s culturally wrong with women. Modern day geniuses ;)

I watched my little toddler run all around the living room floor with another best friend’s child. (you can really never have too many best friends). We ate popsicles and sat on the deck and those sweet little girls looked like the epitome of summer with melted strawberry & honey dripping down their bare chests. And I watched as the youngest of the group took off walking across the deck, 16 full steps, desperate to get herself a bite of a popsicle.  

I ate Cajun food twice and went out with my husband. We laughed in the car while he cracked silly jokes and almost got lost (which is almost always guaranteed when we go on a date).  We went bowling, stopped to buy socks because we forgot ours at home, and I really want to post all the pictures but I’m just way too embarrassed. I need the bumpers as much as I needed them at my birthday party where I turned 9. Tommy felt so sorry for me that he said, “We’re a team! Let’s shoot for a team score!” I’m so lame. But it was lots of fun, and even funnier when I bowled 2 gutter balls back to back in the final frame of the night. We went out and saw a movie and ate popcorn and candy for dinner. And as normalcy never seems to follow us on dates, we got to catch the movie for the hearing-impaired (i.e. there were captions throughout the entire movie. Awesome.) As Tommy said, “We get to read a book AND watch a movie.”


We went and picked blueberries and holy mackerel was that a task in itself. If I’d had gold stars in my car, I would’ve given them to the farmers. We came home with pounds of blueberries, just the right mixture of sweet and tart. Abi Kate was the ultimate blueberry thief, eating so many off the bushels that I felt sure we owed them at least the cost of 2 additional pints. She shouted “BLUE!” when she realized what they were and took off running down the rows.






It's always sad to leave fun places. :( 

We bought a potty. And not for us but for the little girl who started telling us, “Potty!” a few weeks ago. She’s got a long time ahead of her, as she tells us usually while she’s going and she doesn’t always mention it. We’re in no hurry at all (her diapers are cute) and we weren’t really prepared for her interest (can’t we just force her to use our potty?), but we figured we’d roll with it and let her experiment with her own as she becomes ready. She loves it. She filled the entire thing up with 10 pairs of my panties the other night and closed the lid. I found them later…. At least she’s finding good use for it?! But she did tell us ahead of time the other day, we took her to the potty, and sure enough, she pooped in it. (I can’t believe my blog has succumbed to poop stories….) She thinks it’s a really big deal.





Abi Kate and I went swimming with some of our favorite friends. We talked birth and babies. Fears and faith. We laughed at the wittiness her seriously hysterical oldest daughter. And when this sweet, intelligent little girl asked me about the baby we lost, I was able to answer her questions without falling apart. Abi Kate dressed up like Rapunzel, which I totally loved-- her, not so much. It was a good day.



In a lot of ways, life has changed for us in the last few weeks. For me, change rarely comes easily. People that we didn’t expect stepped out and genuinely loved us well.  That has changed me. We learned that some of the people we thought cared a lot for us, probably don’t care as much as we’d hoped or thought.  And that has been hard and brought change too. But in the grand scheme of things, we’ve found ourselves humbled and in need of the constancy of Christ--another change that has ushered in spiritual growth. It’s difficult to recognize and accept the lack of control we have actually have in this life, that such encounters with life’s brevity conjure fear and sadness.  Everything is not perfect or whole or even comfortable in our lives yet. But this week, these memories, these people that have invested in us, they are the proof that God restores.

And even though my thoughts and heart never stray far from the sadness, I found myself genuinely happy on these days. Balancing joy and sorrow. Enjoying simplicity and every day moments. 


And that has been a welcome change

Friday, June 22, 2012

You Are the Best Thing


Sunday will be 6 years of wedded bliss for Tommy & I…. I know that’s just a silly phrase-- wedded bliss-- but I feel like it’s pretty appropriate for us.

I’ve known Tommy for the better part of my life. I met him when I was about 10 at church, he met me, and we never really thought about each other again until I was 16. We became friends in late spring that year, and then we went both went to church camp together.... And I always say, “Don’t go to church camp to find a boyfriend/girlfriend,” but seeing as I snatched him up on that trip, I’m pretty sure my opinion is completely null and void.
 
I remember on our trip back on he told me that he didn’t want to kiss anyone again except his wife, and I remember sitting there silently thinking, “Well, then I’m going to be your wife because you ARE going to kiss me.” Persistent, much?

We dated for almost 4 years before we got married, the month after I turned 20 (that sounds so incredibly young and insane. Don’t go getting any thoughts, Abi Kate). And I am grateful for each and every one of those years. We had lots of time to form a deep friendship, to make tons of sweet memories, to form a clear understanding of how the other one operates, how communication works and doesn’t work in our relationship. We figured out each other’s quirks, so well in fact that Tommy often identifies what’s actually bothering me before I even really realize it myself… 

 It is fun to reminisce about particular dates and funny outings and landmark times for our relationship as it grew into something more than just friendship…. Like the first time he told me he loved me… He called me to suggest that we meet early for breakfast the next morning at Cracker Barrel. He sounded so distant and uneasy that I went 100% certain that he was going to break up with me. I had even started forming my responses on the drive over. And in due fashion, we got our times and places mixed up. So when he finally strolled in, I was sure that it was completely over. He acted weird the entire meal and I was so nervous I could hardly eat. Then, after we were done eating he dropped that horrible line that no one likes to hear, “I think we need to talk.” So we hopped in the car and drove to the parking lot next door where they were building a new hotel. It was quiet and there were no distractions. And I braced myself for the bad news, and started trying to hold back tears when he started talking about where our relationship was going. I assumed he was about to say, “Nowhere,” and here I’d been absolutely crazy for him the past few weeks, but instead he said, “Katie, I love you”. And then I really DID cry. Tears of happiness and excitement because Lord knows I was completely spent for that man months before.


I remember our wedding day, walking down the aisle at the church where "we" began and not being able to quite catch a glimpse of him for all the people in the crowd. I was so wound up it would’ve appeared I was nervous, but really I was just anticipating his seeing his face. That same excitement carried me all the way through our reception where we danced ourselves silly with a host of friends and family.

This October we will have been together for 10 years… an entire decade carved out for just us. I love our memories, big moments and small ones. I spent some time looking at pictures of us from years ago, before babies and weddings and engagements. I thought about these last 6 years, how we had no clue what was ahead of us when those pictures were taken. We didn’t know the joy of sharing in a life together. We didn’t know that excitement of anticipating new life, of working together as a team through labor, of falling so deeply in love with a creation that is both part of us. We didn’t know the journey of parenting together-- the moments where you feel like it’s an unending mountain and the moments where you feel like there’s so much joy your heart just pours over.  We didn't know that sadness that we would experience, learning that grief could unite us even more deeply than joy. And I am so grateful that each of these moments has been shared with him.

At our wedding, his brother referred to him as a “man among men”. And he is. There are many things I love about Tommy. I love that he knows how to be a friend, that he invests in our relationship with time and intention. I love that he takes full responsibility for us and our well being. I love that he isn’t afraid of hard work and of new situations. He isn’t easily intimidated or easily impressed, reading people and situations clearly. He is patient and tender, free flowing with outward expressions of love. He is deeply invested in Abi Kate’s life, the big events and the small day to day things like what toy she prefers to play with, and he loves her in the sweetest of ways.

He is the man who easily calms my biggest fears with just his words. The man who prays over our daughter every night with such heartfelt gratitude and petitions.  The one who committed himself to understanding the inner workings of labor and my needs so intimately that words weren’t necessary as we welcomed new life. The one who sends me messages nearly every day that he misses me and Abi Kate while he’s at work. He is the one who loves the little baby that does not share our home with such intensity, a child we will not meet on this side of heaven, that his sorrow at her loss was as tangible as mine. He is the one who knew exactly when to be strong for me and when to fall apart with me in the last four weeks. The one who has come home from working all day, for weeks, only to be welcomed by my tears and grief. And he was gentle enough to embrace that and encourage me to let grief and joy flow as they need. He is as quiet as I am loud, relaxed as I am wound up, intrinsic as I am extrinsic. And because of that, he creates a beautiful balance in our life and our love. 

But what I truly love most about him is his constant love for the Lord. To hear him pray is to know his heart, and his faithfulness and trust in Christ is his most beautiful trait. He leads our family to the cross, and I love him most for that.

Our life is far from perfect, and so is this man that I love so deeply. He is chronically messy, so laid back that time and schedules usually don’t apply to him. He takes procrastination to a great new level ;). We argue like any couple does, hitting bumps in the road and doing the hard work to make them smooth. But those things are hard to dwell on in light of his character.

On our wedding night, after the excitement and partying and fun… when we were finally alone, he grabbed a basin and he washed my feet. And while he washed, he read the passage from John 13 where Jesus washed the disciples feet, and he spoke of his new role as my husband… that just like Jesus humbled himself and served his disciples, this is what he had set for himself as a goal as my husband-- to be humble and serve me faithfully. And he has done just that. I’ve heard him say before that he “married up,” but the truth is, I married up. I married a man who is far more compassionate, more merciful, more selfless, and more sacrificial than I am on all of my best days combined.  I am inexplicably grateful to walk beside him in this life, to truly call him my best friend, and to share in the sweetest and hardest moments life has offered us together. I thought I loved him six years ago, but our relationship has found depths within these years that I never anticipated…

You, my love, you are the best thing

Monday, June 18, 2012

Where Troubles Melt Like Lemon Drops


We took a trip this week to the beach. 8 days of ocean and sun and rest. I was very anxious about going, with the current circumstances of life. But it was needed and so much better than I anticipated. It was good to be in a new environment, where every room in the house didn’t conjure up another memory of sadness. It was good to break routine, to need sunscreen everyday and have sand stuck all over my body. To nap and to read and relax. To simply have regular companionship and help throughout the day…

I’m always a last minute packer, and I always inevitably want my house completely clean for when I arrive back home. Not the best two things to be coupled together…. So the Friday before we left, I’m relatively certain I fell apart no less than 3 times crying over suitcases, laundry, and unmopped floors. But it all got done just like it always does.  

We loaded up bright and early Saturday morning, and I was braced for a loud and eventful car ride. Last year when we went to the beach, she woke up for all of 30 minutes. Knowing her the way I do, I knew there would not be a repeat performance of that this year….I love my baby girl more than I love life itself, but she does NOT love her car seat after about 30 minutes and she usually feels the need to let others know how much she isn’t enjoying herself. I had a bag of ‘goodies’ packed and prepared. It was really more like an arsenal for “Try this next!” But she surprised me, as she often does, and was mostly content for the entire 8-9 hour drive.
Magnetic letters & numbers on a cookie sheet= quiet driving :)

I felt the same quiet excitement that I always feel upon arriving at a vacation destination. Relief and anticipation. It was raining lightly and overcast, but as I walked out onto the balcony of our condo and looked out over the white sand and watched the waves rolling in, cresting white foam and filling the air with the scent of salt, I couldn’t help but be awed. I have seen this same ocean countless times throughout my life, but it doesn’t matter. It still screams the majestic artistry of the Creator. And the lulling of the waves brings a sense of peace to me, always. Even when it storms.

The first night we were there, I thought we were probably in for a week-long trial of poor sleep. Abi Kate, much like her momma, is a creature of habit. When she is ready to go to sleep, she needs her bed, her room, and her music. We brought the pack and play, which obviously can’t compete with a mattress. We brought her music….And I’m pretty sure this might make me sound like the crappiest mom ever, BUT… she totally slept in the bathroom connected to our bedroom the entire time we were there. Her pack and play filled up our room and honestly, she sleeps better in the dark without distractions (aka a closed door.) I was pretty sure I had reverted back to newborn days when she woke up every hour from 1 am-7 am our first night there.  I couldn’t blame her much. I never sleep that great when I’m away from home. She clearly did not prefer her bed or our bed, so I finally waved my white flag of surrender and got up at 7 with her. I know that’s a pretty typical wake time for most toddlers, but that’s an hour and a half earlier than she gets up at home… Coffee was my BFF as usual. I braced myself for naptime that next morning, but she decided to gift her momma with sleep. For every nap and every night after that. She still woke up about an hour early every day, but there were no middle of the night wakings or crying when it was time to go to sleep. So…. Sleeping in the bathroom for the win!

I was so excited to get her down to the beach that first day. She was only 4 months old when we went last year (holy cow), and I knew her experience would be so different this time. If you’ve ever gone to the beach solo as an adult and then later in your life packed up an infant or a toddler for the beach, then you know what a crazy long process this is. I remember last year thinking, “Good Lord it takes so blessed long to get her sunscreened, dressed, hat on, bag packed, get myself ready, nurse her…. “ by the time we’d get to the beach we’d be 30 minutes out from her next nap time. And while it still definitely took time to get it all together this year, prepping a toddler for the beach was way easier somehow. Maybe I was just better prepared… Anyway, we get down to the beach and it’s slightly overcast but still humid as the day is long. We sit down in the sand and she starts digging for all of 5 minutes. And a big ole truck starts driving by, blowing the whistle, telling us all to get off the beach for a tornado warning. WHAT?! Seriously. I thought my brain was going to explode. My immediate response was, “Can tornadoes even happen here?! How is this possible?!”  

Thankfully, it cleared up for the rest of the week. The sun was out in full force (I have the proof on my lily white burned skin), and the water was refreshing in the humidity.


 Playing at the Splash Pad by our pool


 Pruny feet-- the sign of a day well spent! 

 She took her first "ride" in the mechanical toys at the mall... NOT loving it.

 Out in the waves with Daddy




On our first night there, I texted two friends and asked for prayers for sleep. And minus the first night of Abi Kate’s all-night party, sleep came to me in ways that I’ve craved for 3 weeks. No hours of restlessness from racing thoughts, no dreams that replay the sadness over and over again. And with sleep comes clarity and renewal.  
Date night :)

One night, Tommy, Rachel, and I grabbed some chairs & drinks and went down to the ocean around 9:30. We were far enough away from the shore to stay dry, but close enough to feel the spray of water and sand as the wind blew. It was too dark to see far out and too dark for others to see my face. And the crashing waves drowned out our quiet, short conversation. At some point we all stopped talking and just sat there watching and listening. And the waves reminded me of a few things…

I have yet to be in the ocean since giving birth that I haven’t thought of labor. In Alpha, we teach about the mechanics of contractions-- how they follow a wave-like pattern strengthening as they go, peaking, and then slowly releasing. My midwife with Abi Kate referred to contractions as waves. She told me that when they came to “get on top of the wave and ride it down,” just like I would if I were surfing. But after laboring twice, I’ve found that what works best for me is to truly surrender to the power of the ‘wave,’ to let it crash over me and take me wherever it needs to. And while I sat in the sand thinking about this, I couldn’t help but find grief to be the same way. I have braced myself against the thoughts and memories, trying to “get on top” of them. But what’s been best is to just let grief be what it is…. Sometimes small waves that I can stand up through, sometimes ones so big that I’m not sure I’ll resurface. But letting myself grieve as often, as long, as light, and as hard as I’ve needed-- that’s what has been most helpful.  So I stopped fighting those memories and closed my eyes. And I went back to the moments before I was even certain that I was pregnant. That day while I juiced for us at lunch and the smell sent me running to the bathroom… I let myself think about later that day when I knew for sure I was pregnant, touching my stomach and saying, “Hi, baby. Mommy loves you.” I remembered as much as I could about each day all the way up to the present….and it helped.

It’s always bittersweet when a vacation comes to an end. I started my mornings like this at the beach….. 


I love Tennessee. I love its simple beauty, that we experience all 4 seasons here, that there are green hills and dark mountains in the east, that trees and rivers abound all across the state. But it’s pretty hard to compete with that view.

My sister said this week that it’s interesting how people try to “get away” from their lives by going on a vacation. But the truth is, problems and struggles follow you wherever you go. Destination doesn’t undo reality. And she’s right. Our present struggles found us 9 hours away in an environment completely different than the one at home. I wish the sand and sun did melt all sorrows--even they aren’t strong enough for that. But it brought a quiet reprieve, took the sting of the sadness, and allowed me to begin feeling a sense of normalcy again. Laughing out loud at jokes, enjoying good food and too much of it.

Tommy came to me one night while we were there and said that he did want to name our baby. We’d both been kind of torn on that, but I think getting away helped us make some decisions. So we spent some time on Father’s Day evening looking up names for her, searching out their meanings. We haven’t decided on anything yet, wanting to give her the name that is just right.

Home welcomed us back with comfort and with memories-- both happy and sad. But sitting on the couch last night, looking through the book of names, I recognized healing happening right here…. I think the Tennessee sun is hot enough to melt troubles, too.

One of my friends has been diligent to regularly send me scripture in the last few weeks. As I was reading through the chapter she’d messaged, I found myself crying, from bittersweet joy at this verse.

“…The Lord will guide you continually and satisfy your desire in scorched places and make your bones strong…” Isaiah 58:11

I can't find any beautiful words to describe how and what I felt. All I could think was, "Thank you, Jesus." 

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

What Loss Has Taught Me About Life


It has been two weeks since we learned that our baby was gone. 14 days doesn’t seem like a long time until you’re on the road of loss. I told someone the other day that it feels like walking on a road filled with rocks and shards of glass and you lost your sandals a few miles back. It feels like walking towards an unknown destination, with no particular end in sight. Every step hurts and makes you bleed, but then your feet start to toughen against the sharp pains and so the steps begin to feel less breath-taking, less raw. And you start to think you’ve gained some leverage and maybe you can just keep walking, but then one of those rocks finds a place on your foot that hasn’t toughened yet and it sends you reeling back down and it’s just as breath-takingly painful as the first step was. It is a hard road because there are constant ups and downs.

I’ve been a believer for 17 years, but this experience has made me feel like I’ve been a believer for more like 17 seconds. It has shaken the very foundations of my soul and made me come face to face with the reality of my faith in Christ. It’s put my faith up against a measuring scale to test it, to weigh it, to see if it’s true and accurate, and to measure how deep it runs. And I wish I could say that it’s been easy, that no questions surfaced, and that my humanity didn’t interfere with my spiritual certainties in this life, but I’d just be lying. It’s made me stop and re-examine the theological truths that I’ve held for years. And it has refined them.

I believe in praying specifically. It’s a large part of my testimony in Abi Kate’s pregnancy & birth. We prayed specifically in faith for things and against things, and every one of those things came to pass. We trusted that He would answer, and while I certainly had fears during that time, I clung to Matthew 21:22, that faith the size of a mustard seed was enough. He answered, and He And He was faithful. We approached this pregnancy in the same manner. Every single night, Tommy and I came together to pray over the life I carried, to pray for their health and mine. And one of the things I prayed specifically was that I would not miscarry this baby and that their little heart would just continue beating. And He answered…. I want to say that this didn’t throw me for a loop and that it didn’t make my heart fear, but again, I’d just be lying. It really made me consider what I believe about faith, the provision of God, and where exactly my faith comes to play in the perfect will of Christ. I was so grieved in the days that followed that as this spiritual battle ensued, I really struggled to make sense of things. This is one of those times that I was incredibly grateful for the gift of my husband and for the wisdom he offers. I also talked with a friend who has an incredible heart for the Lord, who possess a deep understanding of the things of Christ, and who understood my loss because she had walked this road before too. I have learned that it times like this, it is good to have spiritual truths spoken over me, even if I already know them and believe them, because they are reminders that hold my heart steadfast.  Some of the best wisdom I received from her was to be desperately honest with the Lord in my prayer life, to be honest with Him about my struggles. In the midst of grief, I was so afraid to be brutally honest because I feared where it might lead me. That it might take me down the road of resentment or anger towards God. So I hung on to biblical truths and told them to myself over and over again because they were healing. But nothing was as healing as being honest about my confusion to my Creator. It was liberating, and instead of pulling me towards human emotions, He pulled me in closer to His heart. I can’t say that I’ve felt angry at God throughout this process at all. I just haven’t. He is sovereign, so His will is right. I know it, and I believe it. But I felt such sadness that He hadn’t answered as we’d asked, confused about why He had penned this into our story, unsure about why He had delivered each request for Abi Kate’s life but not for the life of this baby, and fearful of praying in faith in the future. Her words have resonated in my heart- “I think God longs for us to be intimately involved in the daily ongoings of our lives and His role in them. But in the end, His will rules over us all.” It was such a simple truth, truth I’ve believed, but truth that I had lost sight of in the face of sadness. I’ve learned in these days that nothing will remind you of your position in reference to His Holy position as quickly as sorrow. It is easy to accept His will and walk in faith when the road is smooth and filled with blessings. It is harder to walk in faith when the road is bumpy, where there is little light, and it is filled with sadness.

 There are still many fears that sit near to my heart, but I try to remember my husband’s wisdom, too. I sat at the kitchen table one night in the middle of dinner and just cried uncontrollably while I told him my fears. He said, “Katie, this is faith…. We will just keeping trusting and keep praying earnestly and keep believing that He will answer those prayers. And we will know that He is in control and His perfect will will prevail… but we will continue to trust. We have to. This is faith.” So, as I’ve worked through this and processed it all, it has been exactly as Philippians 2:12 says, “Continue to work out your own salvation with fear and trembling.” Nothing will make your heart tremble as much as grief. Nothing makes a mother’s heart tremble more than loss. But I am thankful that Christ has brought me to a place in these hard weeks where I can say, that even in this pregnancy, He didn’t just give us an answer to our prayers, but He answered and He was faithful. Just like He was in Abi Kate’s. Different ending, same provision.

In the days after delivery, Tommy and I talked a lot about the way the Lord had provided for us in this situation, the ways he’d been faithful. The ways that He had prepared us and was holding us up. I almost didn’t go for that ultrasound, almost talked myself out of it and told myself I was simply being paranoid, told myself to wait until my scheduled appointment with my midwife that was just a few days away. But I woke up that Wednesday morning with great concern and couldn’t get a peace in my heart about my pregnancy all day because I just felt that things were “off” with my body. The years of Natural Family Planning had given me a great awareness about my body that would’ve been so easily missed otherwise. And miraculously, when I called the ultrasound tech, he was able to squeeze us in that night just 2 hours later despite his previous appointment. Tommy was able to make it home just in time for us to make that hour long trek out to his house. And because I knew ahead of time that our baby was gone, once the process of birth began, I was not afraid. I cannot imagine the fear I would’ve had when those contractions started otherwise, if I hadn’t known. I would’ve been in a hospital ER, having an ultrasound where I’d have to wait to hear the results from a doctor I didn’t know. And the fear of the unknown would’ve made the pain worse. That's horrifying for me to consider. Had I been in the hospital, it is almost certain that I wouldn’t have been offered the choice of waiting because I was past 10 weeks pregnant, but would have been encouraged to proceed with surgery with a checklist of reasons about why it was dangerous to wait.  But because of where I was and the midwife I had, she knew that it was perfectly safe to wait. Controlled risk and medical liability weren’t on her radar-- my health, my future pregnancies, and my need to see this journey from beginning to end were. I didn’t know what to expect in terms of pain, but I knew I had labored & delivered naturally before with a full-term baby, so I knew my body was capable of doing this, too. Tommy had the foresight to take off work that day even though we were still just waiting. My labor started and ended almost entirely during Abi Kate’s nap. She slept much longer than she normally does. I was incredibly thankful because I needed Tommy during that time just like I did in my previous labor. It would’ve been so much harder to have been alone or to have him splitting time between me & Abi. If I’d never labored & delivered unmedicated before, I would’ve struggled so much with the pain. I feel like I could keep going on about all the small things that made this road softer, but even in the unfolding of such sorrow, Christ provided for us. All those nights when Tommy had prayed over me, he had said the same thing, “We ask for these things, but we will make our will submissive to Yours.” We had no clue what depth that would hold weeks later, but even though God’s will wasn’t what we anticipated, He was still faithful to give us what we needed.

Loss teaches us a lot about life, but one thing that it has solidified in my heart without a doubt is that even in those earliest weeks of pregnancy, there is life. There’s no mistaking it, friends. We live in a culture of convenience. Sometimes it’s convenient for a woman to carry a baby, and when a baby is not convenient, it’s a "cluster of cells". It’s always baffled my mind how people could refer to a baby as a “mass of tissue” or “cluster of embryonic cells”, and yet that same person can cry and feel such sorrow if they miscarry a baby. And it is simply because there is life. And losing life hurts. It’s not the loss of dreams or hopes. I’ve lost those things before, and they don’t cause this type of pain, the ache that persists. We can call that life whatever we want to pacify ourselves and our needs and our “choice,” but I have carried, delivered, and held my baby at 39 weeks in my arms. I have carried, delivered, and held my baby in the palm of my hand at 11 weeks. And once you have lived that, have seen it with your own eyes, have held that precious being, there can be no mistake. There is no going back. There IS life, even in those early weeks. It is not a cluster of cells. It is not a mass of tissue that will turn into a human. It is a tiny baby, being knit together with distinguishable body parts just like a full term baby. I’ve seen proof of both of my babies’ vitality, their movements, and their strong little hearts beating rapidly on a screen even at the earliest of weeks-- at 6 weeks with Abi Kate and 8 weeks with this baby. And I have held both of their intricately formed bodies, tiny toes and little arms--one bursting with life and one that was quiet and still.  I have always believed that life begins at conception, but after this experience, I don’t just believe it. I know it.

I’ve learned that things don’t have to “be back to normal” and probably never will. I’ve received much encouragement in recent days, particularly from women who have experienced such a loss. For many of them, even though years have passed, they still cried when they talked with me about their babies. And they assured me that even all these years later, when they have all their children in their lap or in the same room with them, they still feel like there’s one that is missing. And that has helped me in so many ways. To know that they have carried those little lives with them all these years. They haven’t been forgotten or replaced as their families have grown. And even years later, these mothers still miss that tiny life that they carried, so much so that the tears flow when they talk about it. It is still difficult for me to be around other people because it all feels like pretense for me. I tend to wind up crying for several hours after being “fine” just for one hour out in public. And I still can’t talk about it in person. Writing is incredibly helpful, but speaking about it is just too much. There is a phrase I’ve heard used for years, and one that I wasn’t sure that would apply to me in this situation, but after talking with a friend she assured me that this would simply be a “new normal” for me. And I think she’s right. One day, it won’t be pretense to be around others.  And one day I will be able to speak about this. It will get easier. But there will always be a sadness when I look back, and that’s ok.

I’ve learned that even if one of your biggest fears comes to fruition, God is still present when you’re shattered. I was afraid that if I lost a baby I’d never be ok again. And while things will always be different from here on out, He has been faithful to begin mending that which is broken. And life keeps going. There may be dark and sad times, but I am not alone in my grief.

I’ve learned that this is why God designed us for other people, why in Genesis 2 He said, “It is not good for man to be alone.” And I believe this reaches beyond just a marital relationship. People need people. I know people who think they only need their spouse, their immediate family, and that’s it. An idea based around selfishness, fear, or just plain foolishness. I am social by nature, so my new longing for seclusion has been a harder part of this process for me to embrace. While I haven’t been able to be around others during this time, they have made themselves available to me, and that has made such a difference. I can’t count the number of emails, Facebook messages, texts, calls, letters in the mail that we’ve received. People who have just checked in, weeks later, to let us know we aren't forgotten & that they are there. And every single one has served to encourage my heart in some way (and if I haven’t responded to yours, please know it’s just gotten lost in the shuffle, but I promise I’ve read it. And I guarantee I cried when I read it).  It is good to not grieve alone, to have others share in your burden. It truly makes the load lighter. It was a blessing to share in the joy of this new life with others and it has been a blessing to grieve this loss with others.

I wish this were an easy process. That I could say I’d never doubt again or fear again. But that’s not true. I feel strong at moments in my faith and equally weak at other times of the day. I’ve shared the verse that was placed on my heart throughout pregnancy-- Joshua 1:9… And I have learned that I don’t have to feel strong and courageous. Scripture simply says to be strong and courageous. And never in scripture have I seen it referenced to be strong within myself, but instead to be strong in “Him and His mighty power.” So even though my pregnancy with this baby is over, the scripture that Christ placed on my heart so many weeks ago is still relevant weeks later. And the same God that was strong when I heard our baby’s heart beating remains strong weeks after it has stopped beating. So even though I am weak, I can be strong in Him.

I’ve learned that even though the circumstances of this life can shake you to your core, so deep that you aren’t sure the quaking will ever stop, that God is present in those moments. And the foundation that He lays remains firm and unmovable. I have prayed that this truth will overtake my present thoughts and my fears. That its truth will pour over me in excess, and I will soak up every drop.

And I have remembered, just like Christ revealed through Abi Kate’s birth, that He does make good on His promises, even in the face of death. A friend who has lost babies messaged me and assured me that one day I will laugh out loud again and that I would smile instead of wiping tears. And oh, how I needed that reminder. So desperately. Because I remembered that “weeping may endure for the night, but joy comes in the morning.” So we wait in anticipation for the day where we rejoice for this sweet, short life more than we grieve for their loss. We miss our baby every day, cry every day. But we wait in anticipation for the morning, because we know it is coming….