Let's break the silence with my thoughts on Argo, shall we? Ok, thanks.
Halfway through the movie Bert leaned over and commented, "Are you going to have an ulcer by the end of this?" He knows I don't enjoy suspense. I like story, but not the part where it makes you wait and wait and be at risk in violent situations. Anyways. EVEN THOUGH it is a rather suspenseful movie, I really liked it. Admittedly, I did view it through my knee tips and destroyed at least 2 cuticles during the movie, but I did like it.
Argo shows the terrifying reality of anger and hate. I mean those Iranian people really, really, really hated the Americans. Any American. No matter what they were like. They were exploding with violent anger at the sight of them. You could see on the hostages faces how horribly uncomfortable it is to be hated like that, and how much they were anticipating the violence from it. Suspense for sure. Not to mention that this is a real life situation that still takes place everyday in certain countries to varying degrees. Hate is very uncomfortable.
I'll stop beating around the bush. The reason I liked the movie is because it's about a rescue. The Jesus Storybook Bible, our family favorite, is always referring to the gospel as God's great rescue mission. Where he takes on lots of personal risk and sweeps us out of danger by taking the punishment we deserved on himself. All motivated by his love and desire for us to be in relationship with him. And that happens in the movie on a much smaller scale. There is a hero who views human life as valuable, even when other people tell him to give up because the odds are very bad. And there is great celebrating when the task is complete. I mean EVERYONE is hugging. And it's very meaningful, because these people were pretty much supposed to die at the hands of evil. But they didn't. Against all odds. I feel like the words are falling flat, but when you are brushing up next to screaming people holding machine guns, the word wrath takes on some different tones. And God's wrath is a just wrath, unlike what was going on there. We actually deserve the penalty for our sins against the maker of the world. But if we believe on Jesus and live for him, we receive life instead of death. And Argo showed me a glimpse at both wrath and rescue. Thanks for that, Mr. Affleck.
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In other news, you may be wondering how I'm doing. Me too. I find myself missing Joey pretty automatically every day. He would be two months now. We'd hopefully have been breastfeeding with success. We'd be coming out of the newborn fog and enjoying life as a family of four. Cuddling as much as humanly possible. I miss him fiercely. Gwen is kissing her doll (named Baby Arleigh) instead of her little brother. It feels so wrong. And then I think, but wait there will be another baby this summer. Ezra. And then I remember that he's gone too. I am empty after a very bloody battle of losing him. And there is no baby coming. Months and months of puking and nausea for nothing. July 12 with come and go without him. He is not coming. And I picture their faces in heaven. I wonder who is holding them. How does it work up there? How does age work in heaven? Do they start as babies being held and then grow into boys? Do they know me? Do they see me? Do they know how much I ache for them every second? I know they are content and happy in God's presence and that heaven is more wonderful for them than I can every imagine. They are not losing out on anything. But I am their mother. And I wonder about them. And heaven feels very far away from the four walls of this house in the longest winter of my life.
Then there's the fact that this year will surely bring newborns (at least 3) to some of the very closest people in my life. It has already brought a newborn to a family member. And after I held him, I was a crying mess for the rest of the afternoon. And as I see my best friend's tummy swell with a baby boy's life, and the exact same timeline mine should be with Ezra, I want to crumble into a million pieces. Every time. I am left crying out to God. How could he do this in my relationships at the same time as taking my babies?
So how am I doing? Good question. I cry a lot. Particularly while driving, cooking dinner, or laying in bed during Gwen's nap time. I read good books written by people who've gone before me (aka Nancy Guthrie), and they help me wrestle with God's goodness and my grief. I hate the word "miscarriage" because why don't people just call it dead babies? That's what it is. Not a scientific emotionless medical word. A mother doesn't forget babies that lived and died inside her own body. Sorry; tangent. I am receiving precious love and encouragement by faithful friends and members of the body of Christ. I am so grateful for every hug, card, text, email, etc. But I am usually not at a capacity to respond to them. I often do my days in survival mode and struggle with the symptoms of depression. Getting dressed is a victory. Breakfast is a victory. Creative playtime with Gwen is a victory. And if I get her teeth brushed it's really a good day! Cooking dinner etc... Those things are happening, but they just take much more will power than they every used to. And by the end of the day I am spent and discouraged that another one will start soon and we'll have to do it all over again.
People say that when the hard things in life come you see what you're really made of. Well, unfortunately I see that I am really made of a lot of lack of faith. How can God really redeem all this? Each tear? Each pang of longing? How could it ever be right ever again? Something irreparable has taken place here. And that's where I see the need for faith. There is no 'seeing' or 'understanding' in this for me. It's got to be faith. It's got to be "I know whom I have believed." It has never been so clear that my faith could never work hard enough to get me to heaven. Which leaves me very, very, very thankful for the blood of Christ. His blood is the ONLY thing that could ever be enough for me. I have a mustard seed of faith and the righteousness of Christ. He will never be called not enough. He is enough to be acceptable to God. He will keep my life. So that's what I am. A kept, yet wilting, daughter with a handful of faith and a lot of questions. Filled with longing for two sons and a day when I can see my Savior face to face and no longer feel my unbelief.
I leave you with a quote from Sleepless in Seattle:
Doctor Marcia Fieldstone: What are you going to do?
Sam Baldwin: Well, I'm gonna get out of bed every morning... breathe in and out all day long. Then, after a while I won't have to remind myself to get out of bed every morning and breathe in and out...
Here's to hoping for the end of this painful season. Someday, though probably not soon.
Showing posts with label Miscarriage. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Miscarriage. Show all posts
Friday, March 1, 2013
Monday, January 14, 2013
Do You Hear the People Sing? aka Why I Love Les Mis
While watching Les Mis on Friday night, I thought my chest might burst from emotion. I know it's not amazing like that for everyone. Almost three hours is long time to listen to people sing if you are like my husband. Not so for me, however. I say, if you can, see it on the big screen! Here are some of my thoughts on the matter:
(I don't think these are spoilers, but be warned that I do reference different plot points.)
Are there other movies that refer to eternal themes like this one? I can only think of To End All Wars and Narnia. Leave me a comment if you think of others. :)
P.S. I saw the doctor today for a surgery follow-up and he was pleased with how my body is healing. He told me to take prenatal vitamins to resupply iron and gave me a clean bill of health. That felt pretty amazing. Thanks again for prayers for physical recovery and healing. What a blessing it is to be healthy again.
(I don't think these are spoilers, but be warned that I do reference different plot points.)
- We are all criminals like Val Jean. We have all broken God's rules in some way, even if it's a rule we wish didn't exist. Our souls do answer to the One who made us when we die. And we are all guilty. At the film's beginning Val Jean is a gruesome visual of the torment and never-ending sentence of sin. There is no escape for him, and he visibly wrestles with this identity from the film's start to finish. I get that in my own struggle with my rebellious and selfish heart. It is serious for him, and we have a much more serious condition than we think most of the time. Sin is real. Black-teeth real. It rots the human heart in a way that can only be cleaned by One.
- Forgiveness is the first turning point for Val Jean. He fights his pride to accept forgiveness, which you can feel in the movie. He is angry. Why would someone be gracious to him? And yet he is humbled and accepts it. He is transformed from an angry man into one that learns to love others more than himself. He sacrifices and helps, even when it comes at great cost to himself. We see such a huge change in his character visually (no more black teeth). It illustrates what's going on in his heart.
- The story holds grief and loss for almost every character in some way. They are all longing for someone or something out of reach: innocence, a child, justice, love, friends who've died. I cried their tears with them, because those feelings are very real to me.
- "Do You Hear the People Sing" makes me want to go to heaven! The singing is going to be so good in heaven and it will express what needs to be expressed! A place to belong. Voices united. No more injustice and pain. Why does this simple song say all of those things? I don't know. But it does. And I can't stop being comforted by it. We were made with voices for a reason. There is One who is worthy of being praised with them. All together, at once, to a beautiful song. Anything that points me to this reality is worth listening to!
- Javier can't accept grace. He believes he is doing God's work. He is ruled by his pride which tells him he can't live in a world where he forgives Val Jean. (And where he forgives himself for failure.) "A world that cannot hold." It's heartbreaking, yet it is exactly how most of us live. We think we are living a good life and being a good person, and we don't want to accept that those terms are not acceptable to God. We need to live a perfect life. We are already guilty, and our only hope is to receive the perfect life of Jesus in our place, and to believe our sins were already punished on his cross. It's hard to be humble and receive it, but it's literally our only hope. So do we refuse like Javier, or bend a knee like Val Jean? Both men are fallen in themselves. This is real life folks. Can we call this allegory? Can we relish the moments of these two characters wrestling with each other?
- "I Dreamed a Dream" is pretty much my anthem right now. I know I will get over it, but right now it says what I feel and I need to hear it multiple times a day. Is there a song that better grieves a broken heart and shows that there's still a point in hoping? Grief and hope; my best friends lately. My heart groans and heals every time I listen to Fantine saying the line: But there are dreams that cannot be, And there are storms we cannot weather
- Don't you love how Cosette and Marius make references to dreams in their songs? It's honoring Fantine, and they don't even know it. Very sweet.
- "Bring Him Home" aches with a selfless love. How often do people sing about that kind of love? It's so unique and pure. I love how Val Jean pleads with God to save Marius because he acknowledges that decisions of life and death fall under God's authority. Even though he sees God as the authority, he pleads. And God honors his request. It's really beautiful and I am inspired.
- The church scene at the end. Incredible. Val Jean is so close to the end of his suffering. Still tied to earth by love for Cosette, but more tied to heaven by love for God. Looking at the story of his life from the last chapter. You are so exhausted along with Val Jean by this point, and more than ever you want relief for him. Then they sing and your chest explodes. Ahhhhhh! This movie wakes up my soul and makes me feel things about the way I was made. Can you see how dramatic I am being about it? Oh boy. Sorry. Can't stop.
- I remember my younger self thinking that people in movies and musicals were too dramatic, but I am starting to realize that those dramatic parts of us come alive when we experience great pain. And it's a good thing to express it, or see it expressed. It makes the load easier to bear when you are sharing it, even if just with a character on the screen. I wonder how old I will be when I really start liking opera if this keeps up.
Are there other movies that refer to eternal themes like this one? I can only think of To End All Wars and Narnia. Leave me a comment if you think of others. :)
P.S. I saw the doctor today for a surgery follow-up and he was pleased with how my body is healing. He told me to take prenatal vitamins to resupply iron and gave me a clean bill of health. That felt pretty amazing. Thanks again for prayers for physical recovery and healing. What a blessing it is to be healthy again.
Saturday, January 12, 2013
A Promise that Groans With You
There's a way to quote Romans 8:28 as a promise,
a promise that groans along with you in the pain involved.
There's also a way to quote Romans 8:28 as a dismissal,
a way of saying, "Get over it."
The first is of the Spirit, the second of the flesh.
-Russell Moore (Adopted for Life, page 102)
And we know that in all things God works
for the good of those who love him,
who have been called according to his purpose.
Romans 8:28
Clinging to the promise and groaning with the pain involved...
Friday, January 11, 2013
Christmas and the Week After Photos
Christmas Eve: dinner at Anjuli and Ben's
Christmas Day: day at Keith and Lori's, evening at Aunt Jane's
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| Gwen is finally participating in cousin hugs! |
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| Aunt Anji showing Gwen one of her nutcrackers |
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| The girls got a hold of someone's phone. I suspect Grandma. |
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| So pretty |
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| In her Christmas dress! |
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| When you give a kid an ipad... |
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| Annika and Willa |
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| Gwen and the trampoline was a sight to behold. |
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| Matching Jamas! |
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| We spent an afternoon playing at Jill's house |
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| I made a kitchen for Gwen out of a vacuum box with an inset tupperware sink. She likes to press the buttons on the stove with emphatic beeps. This will work for now :) |
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| We got up quite early to hit the road for our Christmas gathering at Dee and Barry's. Note Gwen's beloved monkey and kitty in hand |
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| Can't wait to be done with these dark mornings! |
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| YiaYia and Gwen having way too much fun :) |
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| Love this place |
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| Gwen's favorite dance move. I don't understand it either. |
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| Gwen got to be in the kid huddle reading the Christmas story before presents |
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| We played pictionary! |
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| Kaian and his shepherd |
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| Jessie! |
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| My best attempt at hospital humor. I was showing off my huge IV, just like the girls in Bethel hallways with new engagement rings. This thing definitely helped save my life though. Respect! |
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| Where it all went down. My dad brought me a flower and came to visit after I woke up. |
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| Wheelchairs are wonderful when you need them to get to the car. This is my picture to say, "I survived and it was real." |
Monday, December 31, 2012
The Physical Side (Part 2)
Another warning that this is personal stuff and probably more suited to female readers. Read at your own risk.
We were on our way to the hospital in Fergus Falls. It was around 7 am and beginning to get light outside, which was very strange because we hadn't sleep and still felt like it was the middle of the long, dark night. (In fact I almost titled these blog posts something about The Dark Night and The Dark Night Rises, but it was just too silly.) After a half hour of driving and trying not to let my thoughts wander into the terror and blood of the previous hours, we made it to the hospital.
They wheeled me into an Emergency room right away and a very kind nurse began helping me. She said that the ER doctor would come and take a look at me and he'd probably have to do a pelvic exam. Then if they needed more help they might call their OB doctor. The ER doctor came and asked me questions. I tried my best to explain everything without crying but was getting exhausted. Yes, my third pregnancy. Yes my second miscarriage. When was your healthy pregnancy? How did your second one end? Are you in pain? YES! A lot! Ugh. Finally the questions ended. Bert reminded me that we are in a new place and they have to ask everything. just in case.
The ER doctor returned and told me the famous, "scoot to the edge of the bed." I thought to myself, "yeah right, I can't even sit up on my own." Somehow, with Bert's help, I got down to the edge of the bed and put my feet in the stirrups. What followed was definitely the worst part of the entire experience. I cried and writhed as something I call the "speculum of satan" was plunged into me and the doctor tried to "just pull out some of the tissue that I see." It would not be pulled out, even after much trying, After the exam ended and my sobbing subsided it was agreed that I could have some pain medicine. My wonderful nurse put in an IV with an extra big needle ("just in case we need to get you fluids really fast") that felt like sliding a carving knife into my wrist. More tears. Didn't really have much control at this point. She gave me morphine and I started to feel less pain. And shake. Thankful for some relief.
The OB doctor was called and arrived a while later. There's a lot of waiting in the ER because you don't have appointments. It doesn't matter that you're freezing cold, shaking, and laying in a pool of your own blood. You have to wait because everyone is busy doing the best they can to take care of you. Overall I was very happy with my care, but that didn't make the experience quick and painless. Guess what we got to do when the OB doctor came? Another pelvic exam. He was much better with the speculum, but I still sobbed and writhed from the pain of how tender everything was down there. Then I started feeling a heavy weight on my chest and struggled to breath. I couldn't get a deep breath, either from anxiety, exhaustion asthma, or all of the above. Our nurse leaned over me and hugged my head saying, "just take a big breath for me honey, it's ok." I gasped repeatedly and tried but I could just barely get air through.
They told me that they (both doctors were at my feet for this exam/procedure) were able to clear out a lot of the material that was stuck in my cervix and had been able to extract what they thought was the placenta. But we'd have to do an ultrasound to see if everything was out. Otherwise I should have a D&C to make sure everything is cleared out and I don't die of infection etc. Meanwhile I couldn't stop moaning, shaking, and was beginning to think about meeting Jesus. It was so weird to be completely out of control of my body. I remember thinking it was weird that I was scared about dying. I always thought I'd be up for the chance to go home when the time came. But I was still pretty scared and didn't want to leave Bert.
We asked the doctor if I could use my inhaler to help me breath easier. He kindly ordered me some Benadryl and a nebulizer treatment. After those treatments I was finally able to rest. And my shaking started to get better. I think it was around 10 am. So almost 12 hours after when the pain started wrecking me.
Then came an ultrasound (PRAISE THE LORD it wasn't internal). The tech we had was very kind and cared about what we were going through. She asked us about Gwen. She immediately noticed that there was much more to come out and my uterus was no where near empty. The baby and placenta may have come out, but the lining was still very thick. Same as before. I told her that I have a sticky uterus and she laughed.
Sure enough a D&C was next. I was amazed that I didn't have to go into an Operating Room. They said they would just use my current IV to help me sleep and do the procedure in my same room. When the OB doctor came I had one question, "how do you hold my legs up when I'm sleeping??" This was still bothering me since my last D&C. He laughed at my question and then said the nurses hold them, and sometimes they even tape the patient's feet onto the stirrups. Weird. Bert kissed me goodbye and went outside for my 10 minute surgery. The doctor had reassured him that there was very little risk because my cervix was already so open that there shouldn't be any risk of infection and they should be able to get everything out easily and quickly.
I remember my feet being taped. The third speculum of the day - boo. And the nurses and doctor talking about going out of town for a basketball game or something. Then, I was out. I opened my eyes a while later to see Bert standing beside my bed staring at me with worried eyes. He told me to go back to sleep. I was warm and dry for the first time all day and night. I had a lot of drugs in my system and it took me a while to fully wake up. Bert stayed beside me with those precious worried eyes the whole time. I felt relieved to be alive and with him. I felt so full of love for him and glad we got to have more days together.
Eventually they let me leave the hospital, but I wasn't back to normal. I felt pretty horrible and missed Gwen like crazy. It was about 12:30 pm when we got back to my Aunt and Uncle's. I couldn't walk on my own and was extremely weak. They told me in the hospital that my hemoglobin levels were down to 10.8. (They were 9 after Gwen's birth.) A regular number for me is around 13.
Everyone was very caring and sensitive towards me. I think it was scary for them too to see me go through all of this. I am so thankful for my wonderful family. And I'm so thankful that my Mom was with me during the first half of everything. She stayed with Gwen while we went to the hospital which was also a blessing. God does set the parameters of our suffering and I'm thankful for all the edges where he provided and didn't allow things to go wrong. Like in caring for Gwen and giving us great people at the hospital.
My healing from this physically has been difficult. But I am determined to heal. I haven't been able to care for Gwen which has been very sad for me. She is such a source of joy in my life. She has, however, been in good hands and having a great time with cousins and family. I don't know how long this will take but I am slowly gaining my strength back. And taking ibuprofen every 4 hours! Ouch.
I am thankful to be alive, and heartbroken that Ezra's fragile body didn't come home with us. I'm still thankful for Jesus and that God never left me alone through all my trauma. He even woke up our dear friend to pray for us at 1:30 am on Friday. The song running through my head in the hospital was a way that God gave me the grace to press on, a reminder of his love and understanding of each pain:
We were on our way to the hospital in Fergus Falls. It was around 7 am and beginning to get light outside, which was very strange because we hadn't sleep and still felt like it was the middle of the long, dark night. (In fact I almost titled these blog posts something about The Dark Night and The Dark Night Rises, but it was just too silly.) After a half hour of driving and trying not to let my thoughts wander into the terror and blood of the previous hours, we made it to the hospital.
They wheeled me into an Emergency room right away and a very kind nurse began helping me. She said that the ER doctor would come and take a look at me and he'd probably have to do a pelvic exam. Then if they needed more help they might call their OB doctor. The ER doctor came and asked me questions. I tried my best to explain everything without crying but was getting exhausted. Yes, my third pregnancy. Yes my second miscarriage. When was your healthy pregnancy? How did your second one end? Are you in pain? YES! A lot! Ugh. Finally the questions ended. Bert reminded me that we are in a new place and they have to ask everything. just in case.
The ER doctor returned and told me the famous, "scoot to the edge of the bed." I thought to myself, "yeah right, I can't even sit up on my own." Somehow, with Bert's help, I got down to the edge of the bed and put my feet in the stirrups. What followed was definitely the worst part of the entire experience. I cried and writhed as something I call the "speculum of satan" was plunged into me and the doctor tried to "just pull out some of the tissue that I see." It would not be pulled out, even after much trying, After the exam ended and my sobbing subsided it was agreed that I could have some pain medicine. My wonderful nurse put in an IV with an extra big needle ("just in case we need to get you fluids really fast") that felt like sliding a carving knife into my wrist. More tears. Didn't really have much control at this point. She gave me morphine and I started to feel less pain. And shake. Thankful for some relief.
The OB doctor was called and arrived a while later. There's a lot of waiting in the ER because you don't have appointments. It doesn't matter that you're freezing cold, shaking, and laying in a pool of your own blood. You have to wait because everyone is busy doing the best they can to take care of you. Overall I was very happy with my care, but that didn't make the experience quick and painless. Guess what we got to do when the OB doctor came? Another pelvic exam. He was much better with the speculum, but I still sobbed and writhed from the pain of how tender everything was down there. Then I started feeling a heavy weight on my chest and struggled to breath. I couldn't get a deep breath, either from anxiety, exhaustion asthma, or all of the above. Our nurse leaned over me and hugged my head saying, "just take a big breath for me honey, it's ok." I gasped repeatedly and tried but I could just barely get air through.
They told me that they (both doctors were at my feet for this exam/procedure) were able to clear out a lot of the material that was stuck in my cervix and had been able to extract what they thought was the placenta. But we'd have to do an ultrasound to see if everything was out. Otherwise I should have a D&C to make sure everything is cleared out and I don't die of infection etc. Meanwhile I couldn't stop moaning, shaking, and was beginning to think about meeting Jesus. It was so weird to be completely out of control of my body. I remember thinking it was weird that I was scared about dying. I always thought I'd be up for the chance to go home when the time came. But I was still pretty scared and didn't want to leave Bert.
We asked the doctor if I could use my inhaler to help me breath easier. He kindly ordered me some Benadryl and a nebulizer treatment. After those treatments I was finally able to rest. And my shaking started to get better. I think it was around 10 am. So almost 12 hours after when the pain started wrecking me.
Then came an ultrasound (PRAISE THE LORD it wasn't internal). The tech we had was very kind and cared about what we were going through. She asked us about Gwen. She immediately noticed that there was much more to come out and my uterus was no where near empty. The baby and placenta may have come out, but the lining was still very thick. Same as before. I told her that I have a sticky uterus and she laughed.
Sure enough a D&C was next. I was amazed that I didn't have to go into an Operating Room. They said they would just use my current IV to help me sleep and do the procedure in my same room. When the OB doctor came I had one question, "how do you hold my legs up when I'm sleeping??" This was still bothering me since my last D&C. He laughed at my question and then said the nurses hold them, and sometimes they even tape the patient's feet onto the stirrups. Weird. Bert kissed me goodbye and went outside for my 10 minute surgery. The doctor had reassured him that there was very little risk because my cervix was already so open that there shouldn't be any risk of infection and they should be able to get everything out easily and quickly.
I remember my feet being taped. The third speculum of the day - boo. And the nurses and doctor talking about going out of town for a basketball game or something. Then, I was out. I opened my eyes a while later to see Bert standing beside my bed staring at me with worried eyes. He told me to go back to sleep. I was warm and dry for the first time all day and night. I had a lot of drugs in my system and it took me a while to fully wake up. Bert stayed beside me with those precious worried eyes the whole time. I felt relieved to be alive and with him. I felt so full of love for him and glad we got to have more days together.
Eventually they let me leave the hospital, but I wasn't back to normal. I felt pretty horrible and missed Gwen like crazy. It was about 12:30 pm when we got back to my Aunt and Uncle's. I couldn't walk on my own and was extremely weak. They told me in the hospital that my hemoglobin levels were down to 10.8. (They were 9 after Gwen's birth.) A regular number for me is around 13.
Everyone was very caring and sensitive towards me. I think it was scary for them too to see me go through all of this. I am so thankful for my wonderful family. And I'm so thankful that my Mom was with me during the first half of everything. She stayed with Gwen while we went to the hospital which was also a blessing. God does set the parameters of our suffering and I'm thankful for all the edges where he provided and didn't allow things to go wrong. Like in caring for Gwen and giving us great people at the hospital.
My healing from this physically has been difficult. But I am determined to heal. I haven't been able to care for Gwen which has been very sad for me. She is such a source of joy in my life. She has, however, been in good hands and having a great time with cousins and family. I don't know how long this will take but I am slowly gaining my strength back. And taking ibuprofen every 4 hours! Ouch.
I am thankful to be alive, and heartbroken that Ezra's fragile body didn't come home with us. I'm still thankful for Jesus and that God never left me alone through all my trauma. He even woke up our dear friend to pray for us at 1:30 am on Friday. The song running through my head in the hospital was a way that God gave me the grace to press on, a reminder of his love and understanding of each pain:
Why should I feel discouraged, why should the shadows come,
Why should my heart be lonely, and long for heaven and home,
When Jesus is my portion? My constant friend is He:
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me
The Physical Side (Part 1)
I need to write about what happened on Thursday night. Most likely this will turn out to be pretty personal and not for the faint-of-blood reader. But I'm not scared to share, so read only if you really want to know. This is mostly for my memory. Consider yourself warned.
On Thursday morning we drove 3 hours to my aunt and uncle's home near Fergus Falls to enjoy a third Christmas with another branch of extended family. I had been feeling well physically besides the occasional nausea, fatigue, etc that was still happening from pregnancy. We knew I only carried Ezra's body. I had finally come to a place of being thankful that I got some extra time with him instead of just thinking it was weird to have a dead baby inside of me. We had a pleasant day with family and enjoying Gwen.
At 11 pm, while watching Holiday Inn, I suddenly started experiencing labor-like cramping. Probably the best description of that kind of pain is a 'charlie horse' but in your uterus. It came in waves of pain and I was ok just breathing through them. I was exhausted from a long day so I got into bed and hoped I could sleep a little bit. Within 10 minutes I knew I wouldn't be sleeping much that night. I grabbed an extra shirt, blanket, ibuprofen, and pack of pads and went downstairs to camp out by the bathroom. I was already bleeding steadily and the pain was intense.
There was an empty twin bed near the bathroom and I laid down on it after wrapping my extra shirt around my waist, just in case I leaked. I didn't want to stain any sheets! A short while later, I knew I had to get up and switch pads. In the bathroom I was shocked at how fast things were going. Knowing my body, and how slowly things progressed last time, I thought this could take 4-5 days to get through. But no. It was clear that my body was freaking out and was trying to start a full clearing out process tonight. The shirt I had wrapped around my waist was very bloodied and my pajamas were a mess. I called my Mom, who was sleeping upstairs, and asked her to come down and be with me.
I have always struggled with the sight of blood. It's one of my most frustrating flaws! My Mom stayed with me for a while in the bathroom as I breathed through the contractions and let my body work. Around 2 am, I called my midwife to ask her about what my plan should be for dealing with this. She mentioned going to the hospital if things weren't slowing down in an hour or so. I was shaking uncontrollably and she said that is probably caused by all the hormonal shifts that were happening in my body.
At one point I felt that the tissue of the baby was beginning to emerge. Before this there were a lot of clots and other yucky looking things, but this was different. I expected him to come out all at once like my last miscarriage. I had my hand below me because I really wanted to bring Ezra's body home to bury him under the tree with Joey. I so longed to just hold his body in my hands and see the way that God knit him together and had sustained his life. Seeing his body is a way of verifying to myself that he lived! He was real. This was the moment that I was longing for, even though it was terrifying at the same time. It would make everything about his life and death real.
While my hand was below me to catch him, minutes passed. Contractions hit me over and over and still he wouldn't emerge all the way. It was so frustrating. And after looking at my hand filled with blood a few times and feeling the blood pour over my hand without bringing a baby along, I started to feel dizzy. My ears went numb and my vision started going. My mom was right there, and I passed out into her arms while sitting on the toilet. I was so scared. I remember screaming "help me" over and over. It was such a horrible feeling to loose control of my body. Somehow my mom caught me and supported my weight while I sat. I came around to her voice saying "Rebekah, Rebekah, I have you. You are with me. You are ok." I started vomiting before I even opened my eyes. This is one of the many reasons why I wish I could give my Mom and award. She just held a towel up to my chest and then the trash can while I threw up into it. I was shaking uncontrollably and really scared. She helped get off the toilet and sit on the freezing ground. Then while I cried on the floor I felt her wiping the blood off of my fingers, palms, and legs with wet wipes.
She told me I couldn't sit on the toilet like that anymore because I was losing blood flow to my legs. She somehow got me cleaned up enough to lay back down in the twin bed, with a fresh pad and a towel wrapped between my legs. She was so calm it made me feel better even though I was still in pain and feeling shaken. I eased myself onto the bed and Mom went to wake up Bert. I felt like I needed him with me to continue to face the night ahead and recover from passing out. He was so great and let me lean on him. It helped a lot.
From then on I was doing trips to the bathroom every 15-30 minutes to refresh pads, with my Mom right beside me. In between bathroom trips the three of us would sit on the couch and try to talk about something cheerful while I breathed through my painful contractions. I couldn't let myself lay down because it was too hard (or depressing) to not be able to actually sleep. Any woman who has gone through a long labor knows, part of the challenge is fighting the tiredness to get the job done.
After a series of super painful contractions I passed the tissue of the baby. I could tell it was a heavier mass than the clots and just knew it was him. Mom was worried that me looking for him would make me pass out again, but I had to look. Seeing him meant too much to me. I got one glimpse of a rounded gray form. And then I couldn't see him. He was too far back. I tried to get to him with a plastic fork and he kept slipping further and further back. I couldn't believe it. After a few tries I felt the words, "God is saying no." "No." You don't get to see him. You don't get to hold him. You have to wait until heaven. This is not part of his plan for you. No! I could barely accept this was really happening. I never considered that I wouldn't be able to get to his body. I sobbed into my mom's legs and she cried over me. Then I stood up to wash my toilet-water-hands and nodded for her to flush the toilet. Heartbroken. I remember being glad that even though I couldn't hold him, I got to know his name. Ezra. So many tears for you.
I told Bert back on the couch and we cried. Then we continued on through the hours of pain and more blood. I didn't know how much more I could take and started talking about going to the hospital. It was 5 am, and 3 hours past when the midwife told me to "give it another hour." I called her again and she said as long as my head felt clear while standing up I was probably fine. She said things should start slowing down after passing the tissue of the baby and they probably wouldn't do much more for me in the hospital than was already being done.
Bert got a movie set up for us on his laptop for distraction and I leaned on him and listened to Bing Crosby singing in "Going My Way." I was still consistently having to get myself up for the bathroom every 15-30 minutes and meanwhile was overflow bleeding onto a couple of maroon towels that we had discovered in a cabinet. My mom was a champion of always getting up first when I said, "I think I need to go again." She was up and willing before me every time and somehow was accomplishing laundry of my bloodied clothes in the meantime.
I felt my vision start to fade again while I was on the toilet and asked Mom to get Bert. We yelled for him to come in and they both helped me up and out of the bathroom and then I passed out on the floor into Bert's lap. Again. I woke up crying. I said, "I can't do this anymore. Can we go to the hospital now?" They both said yes and we started making arrangements. Bring me pants. Get some clean clothes and a hair binder. Call ahead. Borrow a car to drive. etc. I was relieved and felt sure that as soon as we got to the hospital, they would give me an IV of pain medicine and everything would be ok. Too bad that's not how things turned out...
On Thursday morning we drove 3 hours to my aunt and uncle's home near Fergus Falls to enjoy a third Christmas with another branch of extended family. I had been feeling well physically besides the occasional nausea, fatigue, etc that was still happening from pregnancy. We knew I only carried Ezra's body. I had finally come to a place of being thankful that I got some extra time with him instead of just thinking it was weird to have a dead baby inside of me. We had a pleasant day with family and enjoying Gwen.
At 11 pm, while watching Holiday Inn, I suddenly started experiencing labor-like cramping. Probably the best description of that kind of pain is a 'charlie horse' but in your uterus. It came in waves of pain and I was ok just breathing through them. I was exhausted from a long day so I got into bed and hoped I could sleep a little bit. Within 10 minutes I knew I wouldn't be sleeping much that night. I grabbed an extra shirt, blanket, ibuprofen, and pack of pads and went downstairs to camp out by the bathroom. I was already bleeding steadily and the pain was intense.
There was an empty twin bed near the bathroom and I laid down on it after wrapping my extra shirt around my waist, just in case I leaked. I didn't want to stain any sheets! A short while later, I knew I had to get up and switch pads. In the bathroom I was shocked at how fast things were going. Knowing my body, and how slowly things progressed last time, I thought this could take 4-5 days to get through. But no. It was clear that my body was freaking out and was trying to start a full clearing out process tonight. The shirt I had wrapped around my waist was very bloodied and my pajamas were a mess. I called my Mom, who was sleeping upstairs, and asked her to come down and be with me.
I have always struggled with the sight of blood. It's one of my most frustrating flaws! My Mom stayed with me for a while in the bathroom as I breathed through the contractions and let my body work. Around 2 am, I called my midwife to ask her about what my plan should be for dealing with this. She mentioned going to the hospital if things weren't slowing down in an hour or so. I was shaking uncontrollably and she said that is probably caused by all the hormonal shifts that were happening in my body.
At one point I felt that the tissue of the baby was beginning to emerge. Before this there were a lot of clots and other yucky looking things, but this was different. I expected him to come out all at once like my last miscarriage. I had my hand below me because I really wanted to bring Ezra's body home to bury him under the tree with Joey. I so longed to just hold his body in my hands and see the way that God knit him together and had sustained his life. Seeing his body is a way of verifying to myself that he lived! He was real. This was the moment that I was longing for, even though it was terrifying at the same time. It would make everything about his life and death real.
While my hand was below me to catch him, minutes passed. Contractions hit me over and over and still he wouldn't emerge all the way. It was so frustrating. And after looking at my hand filled with blood a few times and feeling the blood pour over my hand without bringing a baby along, I started to feel dizzy. My ears went numb and my vision started going. My mom was right there, and I passed out into her arms while sitting on the toilet. I was so scared. I remember screaming "help me" over and over. It was such a horrible feeling to loose control of my body. Somehow my mom caught me and supported my weight while I sat. I came around to her voice saying "Rebekah, Rebekah, I have you. You are with me. You are ok." I started vomiting before I even opened my eyes. This is one of the many reasons why I wish I could give my Mom and award. She just held a towel up to my chest and then the trash can while I threw up into it. I was shaking uncontrollably and really scared. She helped get off the toilet and sit on the freezing ground. Then while I cried on the floor I felt her wiping the blood off of my fingers, palms, and legs with wet wipes.
She told me I couldn't sit on the toilet like that anymore because I was losing blood flow to my legs. She somehow got me cleaned up enough to lay back down in the twin bed, with a fresh pad and a towel wrapped between my legs. She was so calm it made me feel better even though I was still in pain and feeling shaken. I eased myself onto the bed and Mom went to wake up Bert. I felt like I needed him with me to continue to face the night ahead and recover from passing out. He was so great and let me lean on him. It helped a lot.
From then on I was doing trips to the bathroom every 15-30 minutes to refresh pads, with my Mom right beside me. In between bathroom trips the three of us would sit on the couch and try to talk about something cheerful while I breathed through my painful contractions. I couldn't let myself lay down because it was too hard (or depressing) to not be able to actually sleep. Any woman who has gone through a long labor knows, part of the challenge is fighting the tiredness to get the job done.
After a series of super painful contractions I passed the tissue of the baby. I could tell it was a heavier mass than the clots and just knew it was him. Mom was worried that me looking for him would make me pass out again, but I had to look. Seeing him meant too much to me. I got one glimpse of a rounded gray form. And then I couldn't see him. He was too far back. I tried to get to him with a plastic fork and he kept slipping further and further back. I couldn't believe it. After a few tries I felt the words, "God is saying no." "No." You don't get to see him. You don't get to hold him. You have to wait until heaven. This is not part of his plan for you. No! I could barely accept this was really happening. I never considered that I wouldn't be able to get to his body. I sobbed into my mom's legs and she cried over me. Then I stood up to wash my toilet-water-hands and nodded for her to flush the toilet. Heartbroken. I remember being glad that even though I couldn't hold him, I got to know his name. Ezra. So many tears for you.
I told Bert back on the couch and we cried. Then we continued on through the hours of pain and more blood. I didn't know how much more I could take and started talking about going to the hospital. It was 5 am, and 3 hours past when the midwife told me to "give it another hour." I called her again and she said as long as my head felt clear while standing up I was probably fine. She said things should start slowing down after passing the tissue of the baby and they probably wouldn't do much more for me in the hospital than was already being done.
Bert got a movie set up for us on his laptop for distraction and I leaned on him and listened to Bing Crosby singing in "Going My Way." I was still consistently having to get myself up for the bathroom every 15-30 minutes and meanwhile was overflow bleeding onto a couple of maroon towels that we had discovered in a cabinet. My mom was a champion of always getting up first when I said, "I think I need to go again." She was up and willing before me every time and somehow was accomplishing laundry of my bloodied clothes in the meantime.
I felt my vision start to fade again while I was on the toilet and asked Mom to get Bert. We yelled for him to come in and they both helped me up and out of the bathroom and then I passed out on the floor into Bert's lap. Again. I woke up crying. I said, "I can't do this anymore. Can we go to the hospital now?" They both said yes and we started making arrangements. Bring me pants. Get some clean clothes and a hair binder. Call ahead. Borrow a car to drive. etc. I was relieved and felt sure that as soon as we got to the hospital, they would give me an IV of pain medicine and everything would be ok. Too bad that's not how things turned out...
Monday, December 24, 2012
So here's what happened (so far)
I scheduled my 10 week appointment for Wednesday, December 19th and really really hoped we could hear a heartbeat by then. I would be 10 weeks and 5 days after all, and they say that 10 weeks is usually when you can start hearing it. We were expecting to joyfully hear the heartbeat in the very room where last time we got sad news. And it was going to be redemptive (an Ephraim experience if you will, Genesis 41:52). Then we would be off to California to see our extended family and rejoice in a new pregnancy with family we don't get to see enough.
Instead, Gwen, Bert, and I waited as the midwife searched and searched for a heartbeat. Our midwife said my uterus felt small for 10 weeks, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. She scheduled me an ultrasound at a nearby office (they don't have one in the midwife office) for a couple hours later. At the beginning of our appointment we learned that our previous 6 week ultrasound report mentioned a possible subchorionic hemorrhage. But it wasn't a serious concern. It was normal to see things on early ultrasounds that resolve naturally and never turn into concerns. Our midwife said with the lack of detectable heartbeat and the possible subchorionic hemorrhage, it would be best to verify everything was ok by ultrasound. We were thankful that we'd only be waiting a couple hours, and not overnight to find out.
We dropped off Gwen at Ivy's house, because it was our date night anyway, grabbed a bite at Noodles, and went to get our ultrasound. Still hoping, praying, and trusting that we'd get good news and get to see our baby moving around. They look like babies at 10 weeks. With head, rump, and little limbs that visibly move.
During the ultrasound (ha! I used to think 'internal' ultrasounds were scary and uncomfortable. Now I could care less) she located the baby and he was cute. Little head and rump, but no moving arms and legs that we could see. Then she asked me to take couple deep breaths to look for blood flow in the baby. There was definitely blood flow everywhere else, except for the little gray baby body. Then she charted the heartbeat line across the bottom of the screen and there weren't any bumps on it. Nothing. I covered my face with my hands and started sobbing. Total shock. The tech finished about 30 seconds later, handed me a washcloth to cry in because she didn't have any kleenex, and then she said "I'm so sorry" and left the room after giving us instructions to wait in the lobby.
Bert wrapped his arms around me while I sobbed and gasped, "no! not again. i can't do this again." Over and over. And then somehow I turned it off and got dressed, buckling my belt in front of the bulletin board full of ultrasound pictures of big, happy, alive babies. It said "BABIES ON PARADE!" with a big silhouette of a pregnant belly on the paper background. I wish I could think of words to give justice for how much I HATE that bulletin board. It seemed like the cruelest thing possible in that moment. And way too familiar since I also hated it the last time I was in that room with a dead baby inside. Seriously, I might write them a letter of complaint.
In some room, somewhere, the ultrasound results were viewed by a radiologist who wrote up a report and sent it to my midwife, who then called me on the private lobby phone at the ultrasound office. Bert and I were sitting there numb with shock and grief when she called. We were facing the question, "What do we do now?" We had not even acknowledged that question or made tentative plans because we were sure we'd get good news. The midwife affirmed my hesitations about still going to California, saying it may be very difficult and uncomfortable for me if my body starts miscarrying while we're there. So we decided not to go which was very heartbreaking for such an important and highly anticipated trip.
The midwife mentioned that the baby had a crown-rump measurement meaning it was big enough to be measured and hadn't started "being absorbed" back into the lining as some younger embryos do. It measured to be around 8 weeks old, so it had probably already been dead for over two weeks. (I thought back to how even though I still felt very pregnant, it had been almost exactly two weeks since I last threw up.) The midwife recommended that I see an OB to discuss my "options" and gave lots of comfort and kindness during our phone call as I dealt with the shock of having to do that again. In the same room. With the same voice on the same phone. She said how she had been so excited for me about this pregnancy and emphasized how this was so difficult to go through again. I need to thank God more for the HealthEast midwives. They are such a grace to me.
Calls were made to parents and sisters and we got big, wonderful hugs and tears when we went to pick up Gwen at Ivy's. How can anything be better than tears? I'm not asking for words. I'm not asking why. I just need tears sometimes. So when someone shares that with me I feel so very loved and grateful.
God blessed us with a really compassionate woman at Delta who didn't charge us any fees for needing to reschedule our plane tickets. She kept apologizing and told Bert to "tell your wife to be strong" because she was a mother too and knows how hard it is. Bert cancelled our CA hotel. And he emailed our small group to cancel our Christmas party we were supposed to host the next day. (Bert is my HERO.) Then we took a deep breath to digest that this was really happening and somehow ended up sitting in our hallway crying together. It was precious and painful as we grieved the fact of two sons we won't raise here. Or hold. Or call their names out the back door to come in for dinner. Or play with their sister. Or swaddle in hospital blankets.
Now it's been five days since that night. Christmas Eve.
My heart is heavy with many things... grief, numbness, comfort,sadness, joy, and thankfulness that Jesus was born. There is still darkness here, but it's not for long. He is King and will one day truly wipe away all these tears. And if he hadn't been born there wouldn't be a happy ending to this story. My sin is enough to condemn me, but my Savior gives me HIS perfect life in my ledger and God welcomes me into his family forever. Where I will see my babies again.
Here's what I am struggling with now. I am still pregnant. I still feel pregnant. I still get nauseous in the morning and throughout the day. I still crave naps. I still have other unmentionable pains and extras. I still wake up in the morning feeling the baby's weight on my bladder. And then I remember he is dead. It's multiple times a day I simply think, "dead baby." So now I am the pregnant girl with a dead baby inside of her. My brain knows, but my body is clueless. I feel insecure about how that must seem to other people (which is admittedly silly). It's like I have a big emotional shift, but my physical experience (whatever that will be) is lagging behind awkwardly. I both like it and dislike it. It's comfortable to not be empty, but uncomfortable to know this pregnancy is not going anywhere. I'm over 11 weeks now, and have little hope for my sticky uterus to have success on its own with its poor track record. So mentally I have constant questions about what will happen and when and how long...
So will you pray for my mental and emotional patience and peace? We are going to ride out the holidays and start talking about medical interventions in early January. But sometimes I feel a little crazy in the waiting. So I'm trying to take thoughts captive, am keeping a thankfulness list, and need to stay in the word. And that's what I need most right now, so I'm out.
Instead, Gwen, Bert, and I waited as the midwife searched and searched for a heartbeat. Our midwife said my uterus felt small for 10 weeks, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. She scheduled me an ultrasound at a nearby office (they don't have one in the midwife office) for a couple hours later. At the beginning of our appointment we learned that our previous 6 week ultrasound report mentioned a possible subchorionic hemorrhage. But it wasn't a serious concern. It was normal to see things on early ultrasounds that resolve naturally and never turn into concerns. Our midwife said with the lack of detectable heartbeat and the possible subchorionic hemorrhage, it would be best to verify everything was ok by ultrasound. We were thankful that we'd only be waiting a couple hours, and not overnight to find out.
We dropped off Gwen at Ivy's house, because it was our date night anyway, grabbed a bite at Noodles, and went to get our ultrasound. Still hoping, praying, and trusting that we'd get good news and get to see our baby moving around. They look like babies at 10 weeks. With head, rump, and little limbs that visibly move.
During the ultrasound (ha! I used to think 'internal' ultrasounds were scary and uncomfortable. Now I could care less) she located the baby and he was cute. Little head and rump, but no moving arms and legs that we could see. Then she asked me to take couple deep breaths to look for blood flow in the baby. There was definitely blood flow everywhere else, except for the little gray baby body. Then she charted the heartbeat line across the bottom of the screen and there weren't any bumps on it. Nothing. I covered my face with my hands and started sobbing. Total shock. The tech finished about 30 seconds later, handed me a washcloth to cry in because she didn't have any kleenex, and then she said "I'm so sorry" and left the room after giving us instructions to wait in the lobby.
Bert wrapped his arms around me while I sobbed and gasped, "no! not again. i can't do this again." Over and over. And then somehow I turned it off and got dressed, buckling my belt in front of the bulletin board full of ultrasound pictures of big, happy, alive babies. It said "BABIES ON PARADE!" with a big silhouette of a pregnant belly on the paper background. I wish I could think of words to give justice for how much I HATE that bulletin board. It seemed like the cruelest thing possible in that moment. And way too familiar since I also hated it the last time I was in that room with a dead baby inside. Seriously, I might write them a letter of complaint.
In some room, somewhere, the ultrasound results were viewed by a radiologist who wrote up a report and sent it to my midwife, who then called me on the private lobby phone at the ultrasound office. Bert and I were sitting there numb with shock and grief when she called. We were facing the question, "What do we do now?" We had not even acknowledged that question or made tentative plans because we were sure we'd get good news. The midwife affirmed my hesitations about still going to California, saying it may be very difficult and uncomfortable for me if my body starts miscarrying while we're there. So we decided not to go which was very heartbreaking for such an important and highly anticipated trip.
The midwife mentioned that the baby had a crown-rump measurement meaning it was big enough to be measured and hadn't started "being absorbed" back into the lining as some younger embryos do. It measured to be around 8 weeks old, so it had probably already been dead for over two weeks. (I thought back to how even though I still felt very pregnant, it had been almost exactly two weeks since I last threw up.) The midwife recommended that I see an OB to discuss my "options" and gave lots of comfort and kindness during our phone call as I dealt with the shock of having to do that again. In the same room. With the same voice on the same phone. She said how she had been so excited for me about this pregnancy and emphasized how this was so difficult to go through again. I need to thank God more for the HealthEast midwives. They are such a grace to me.
Calls were made to parents and sisters and we got big, wonderful hugs and tears when we went to pick up Gwen at Ivy's. How can anything be better than tears? I'm not asking for words. I'm not asking why. I just need tears sometimes. So when someone shares that with me I feel so very loved and grateful.
God blessed us with a really compassionate woman at Delta who didn't charge us any fees for needing to reschedule our plane tickets. She kept apologizing and told Bert to "tell your wife to be strong" because she was a mother too and knows how hard it is. Bert cancelled our CA hotel. And he emailed our small group to cancel our Christmas party we were supposed to host the next day. (Bert is my HERO.) Then we took a deep breath to digest that this was really happening and somehow ended up sitting in our hallway crying together. It was precious and painful as we grieved the fact of two sons we won't raise here. Or hold. Or call their names out the back door to come in for dinner. Or play with their sister. Or swaddle in hospital blankets.
Now it's been five days since that night. Christmas Eve.
My heart is heavy with many things... grief, numbness, comfort,sadness, joy, and thankfulness that Jesus was born. There is still darkness here, but it's not for long. He is King and will one day truly wipe away all these tears. And if he hadn't been born there wouldn't be a happy ending to this story. My sin is enough to condemn me, but my Savior gives me HIS perfect life in my ledger and God welcomes me into his family forever. Where I will see my babies again.
Here's what I am struggling with now. I am still pregnant. I still feel pregnant. I still get nauseous in the morning and throughout the day. I still crave naps. I still have other unmentionable pains and extras. I still wake up in the morning feeling the baby's weight on my bladder. And then I remember he is dead. It's multiple times a day I simply think, "dead baby." So now I am the pregnant girl with a dead baby inside of her. My brain knows, but my body is clueless. I feel insecure about how that must seem to other people (which is admittedly silly). It's like I have a big emotional shift, but my physical experience (whatever that will be) is lagging behind awkwardly. I both like it and dislike it. It's comfortable to not be empty, but uncomfortable to know this pregnancy is not going anywhere. I'm over 11 weeks now, and have little hope for my sticky uterus to have success on its own with its poor track record. So mentally I have constant questions about what will happen and when and how long...
So will you pray for my mental and emotional patience and peace? We are going to ride out the holidays and start talking about medical interventions in early January. But sometimes I feel a little crazy in the waiting. So I'm trying to take thoughts captive, am keeping a thankfulness list, and need to stay in the word. And that's what I need most right now, so I'm out.
Thank you for your prayer, care, and tears.
I wish I could say THANK YOU big enough and loud enough.
It means to much to not be alone on this path. You are a part of God's grace to me in this.
Friday, December 21, 2012
Ezra Joseph
On Friday, October 19th I was sitting on the couch with my Patriarch's Bible study spread over my lap, reading about Leah and Rachel. They were desiring to have babies. I felt a new sympathy for them this time around. I, too, desired a baby and was still heart sore from the baby that should have been in my womb if it hadn't died over the summer.
Then I read Genesis 30:22:
22 Then God remembered Rachel, and God listened to her and opened her womb. 23 She conceived and bore a son and said, “God has taken away my reproach.” 24 And she called his name Joseph, saying,“May the Lord add to me another son!”
At that moment I was praying to the Lord that he would give me another son. Then I distinctly felt these words, as if spoken but not audibly: You are already pregnant with Ezra Joseph.
I asked Bert if he thought that could be true. I knew I didn't think those thoughts on my own. I wouldn't have dared to think them. The words just dropped in and I received them. He recommended that we have child-like faith and believe it. So we prayerfully did. I refused wine at a party and started eating extra protein. And when I got a positive pregnancy test two week later I was joyfully not-surprised.
I also agreed to finding out the gender of the baby since I already knew it was a boy. It might as well be public. One night Bert remarked, "so we have to name him Ezra right?" And I answered, "Yep, doesn't seem like an option to me."
about the name Ezra Joseph...
Ezra was (secretly) declared our boy's name when we were pregnant with Gwen. We love it. It means "God is my help." In fact, when I was pregnant with Gwen, we called the baby "Gwen-Ezra" in private. I had some hesitation about using this name. In the past year Bert's cousin (who lives far away and we see rarely) named his son Ezra. Also, it is a very Biblical sounding name which might not be perceived as "normal." So it was nice to feel like the name wasn't an option since the Lord had given it to me so clearly.
Joseph is a different story. One I feel ready to tell. We think of the first baby we lost in June as Joey. He was to be born just after Christmas, and his name is both to honor my Uncle Joey (born at Christmas) and Joseph from Genesis (the story of goodness being brought out of evil). I was given another sweet experience from the Lord a few weeks after he died. I was at the YMCA on a treadmill near windows when across the parking lot a young boy with orange-red hair looked straight at me. I had been watching him get out of the car and do a little dance by the back of his van. He was probably 5 years old. When I realized he was staring at me I waved to him and smiled and then he waved back and went back to his dancing. Then I felt the words, "That could be what your baby looks like." I then started to think of the baby we lost as a boy and not just a baby. Reading the book Heaven is for Real reminded me that when God makes a baby, he makes a person. It was right for me to think of the baby as a person in heaven, and the visual I got from the boy that day deeply blessed me as I grieved for him. A little boy who looked just like Gwen.
So in a way, Ezra Joseph was a name that honored his brother in heaven. Now both of my boys are in heaven. We are heartbroken for them, but thankful that they are very much alive.
I know these words will seem far-fetched to some. But it's my story and I feel compelled to tell it. And maybe it would sound doubtful to me too if it hadn't very much happened to me. I didn't specifically ask for these "words from the Lord" but He is a kind, loving, and relational God. And he cares for us primarily through his Word the Bible, but also through his ever present and comforting Holy Spirit. And this is basically a few chapters from my story in how the Holy Spirit is active is getting me through the path he's chosen for me. I am grateful.
All of this would have been saved until Ezra's birth announcement, but since we learned he has died, I feel it's appropriate to share it now. Maybe to some it will seem extreme to name a life that is so young, and in a body so very fragile. But Ezra's name was received more than chosen. And I believe that when the Lord creates a life, however small, he creates a soul that will live forever. He welcomes those souls into his presence in heaven. And I am grateful that God chose to give us a name for the life I will always long for this side of heaven. We miss you already Ezra.
Matthew 19:14: but Jesus said,
“Let the little children come to me and do not hinder them,
for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven.”
Monday, October 29, 2012
Hands Full
Maybe writing something will be better than nothing. It's been hard to get myself in front of this screen even though I think about doing it daily. The problem is that I can't summarize grief. If someone were to ask me, "how are you doing with that?" I have to answer, "Well, lately it's been..." Because it's not consistent.
Some days I still find myself suddenly weeping in the kitchen or with the crushing weight on my chest while I'm trying to fall asleep. And I think, "How does it feel so fresh? How can I be missing my baby so much when I didn't even get to know him?" But I do know a lot of things about what he would've been like, so I grieve those things one at a time, and then sometimes over and over again.
Other days I am really OK. A lot of days don't hurt and are overwhelmed by the joy of the season of life with Gwen. She runs up to me and says, "Hi mom mom!" And I think about the hope of Baby living with Jesus right this moment in perfect joy. And how he is more alive than I am in this body stained by sin. And those are happy moments of hope.
So, my assignment in this seems to be holding grief in one hand and hope in the other. Both are important and must not be ignored.
I think I need to write this to remind myself that at 4+ months after our Baby lived and died, I am not 'over it' and it remains often in my heart and mind. I still often think of the weeks of bleeding evidence that he was gone. I still have dreams about being pregnant, and wake up sobbing to reality.
And my heart is still broken in a way that I'm learning to believe it is supposed to stay. I can't look at suffering people with the same distance I had before this experience. But I also look at Jesus differently. He is really the only one who knows the depth of hurting and the height of healing to come. I love him so much. Somehow I sing harder now, often through tears. And I'm thankful for this new version of heart even though it's heavy and often too much to bear alone.
I've listened to this sermon more than once and am thankful for how compassionate it its:
http://www.hopeingod.org/sermon/why-god-created-world
Also, this is the song that Gwen and I turn up loud these days:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1klpScWvkRA
Some days I still find myself suddenly weeping in the kitchen or with the crushing weight on my chest while I'm trying to fall asleep. And I think, "How does it feel so fresh? How can I be missing my baby so much when I didn't even get to know him?" But I do know a lot of things about what he would've been like, so I grieve those things one at a time, and then sometimes over and over again.
Other days I am really OK. A lot of days don't hurt and are overwhelmed by the joy of the season of life with Gwen. She runs up to me and says, "Hi mom mom!" And I think about the hope of Baby living with Jesus right this moment in perfect joy. And how he is more alive than I am in this body stained by sin. And those are happy moments of hope.
So, my assignment in this seems to be holding grief in one hand and hope in the other. Both are important and must not be ignored.
I think I need to write this to remind myself that at 4+ months after our Baby lived and died, I am not 'over it' and it remains often in my heart and mind. I still often think of the weeks of bleeding evidence that he was gone. I still have dreams about being pregnant, and wake up sobbing to reality.
And my heart is still broken in a way that I'm learning to believe it is supposed to stay. I can't look at suffering people with the same distance I had before this experience. But I also look at Jesus differently. He is really the only one who knows the depth of hurting and the height of healing to come. I love him so much. Somehow I sing harder now, often through tears. And I'm thankful for this new version of heart even though it's heavy and often too much to bear alone.
I've listened to this sermon more than once and am thankful for how compassionate it its:
http://www.hopeingod.org/sermon/why-god-created-world
Also, this is the song that Gwen and I turn up loud these days:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1klpScWvkRA
Friday, July 27, 2012
Book Corner: Heaven is for Real
Heaven is for Real
By: Todd Burpo with Lynn Vincent
By: Todd Burpo with Lynn Vincent
What kind of read is it?
Not well-written. I had to often skim useless details, but I was encouraged by the account of Jesus and heaven that Colton experienced.
Why did I read it?
Someone mentioned to me about how he meets his sister in heaven even though he never was told his parents had a miscarriage. That aspect of the book grabbed my attention enough to investigate.
Favorite quotes from the book?
"The first person you're going to see is Jesus." (p.119)
"Hey, Daddy don't forget," he'd say, garbling the words through a mouthful of toothpaste foam, "Jesus said he really, really loves the children!" (p.106)
What will I remember most about this book?
This book made me feel like it's ok to think about the baby we lost as a person in heaven with Jesus. Not only a tiny baby. It's hard to imagine, but somehow helpful too. Also, this account gave me a fresh look at the way that God loves and cares for children and babies. Jesus does really love children, and there's something really simple in how a child grasps that.
Caveat:
If you run in conservative theology circles you are probably skeptical of this book as something that could distract from the basics of the gospel. I also read it with a critical eye. What he says about heaven lines up with ways that scripture describes it. I didn't find anything contradictory to the gospel. The book is based on heaven and not gospel-centered.
The main controversy comes with people saying he couldn't have seen heaven because he didn't officially die. I can see that point, but don't feel strongly that it's true. I have known people to have visions or dreams that are encouraging for the body of Christ to hear. I view this as one of those.
This book certainly blessed me (besides being very poorly written). And I felt the drive behind the book was to love JESUS (not spirituality in general) if you hope to be in heaven someday. Even though gospel specifics were not drawn out (no mention of sin at all), it still encouraged me to love Jesus more and believe his love for me.
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Vaccines and Love
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| Gwen was zonked after her 15 month appointment so she indulged in a soft blanket, sesame street, and a nuk |
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| Day after vaccines, fever of 101.5 :( |
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| She never sits still like this! |
Thank you for a glimpse at your mysterious love today in the car with Gwen. I hated that she was in pain from her vaccine and I hated that those diseases that could easily kill her existed. But I was grateful that by giving her a vaccine, though painful and sad, she can be saved from death.
My love for her gave her pain today. And I KNOW I did it out of love. I have FIERCE love to protect her. Yet I allowed her pain.
You do love me. Even when Your providence rips open my heart and stomps on the pieces. You have saved my life. Thank you for the glimpse of that today.
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| Her response in asking for a smile for the camera :) So groggy |
I feel the tension that there's more to be said on this topic. But for now, this is what I'm chewing on and praising God for perspective in. He is good. He has saved my life. He does love me. Really important stuff.
Saturday, July 14, 2012
The Windows, George Herbert
Lord, how can man preach thy eternal word?
I love this poem. The gist of it: I am a stained glass window. Brittle and cracked, yet when His light and story are displayed through me I become something beautiful. Not just beautiful, but "reverend" glory is seen when His light hits my glass. Yes, please. Make something beautiful out of this cracked mess, Lord.
The last stanza is about how explosive the combination of doctrine and life are. Think about it. It's easy to say you believe something, but to LIVE it is what brings the "strong regard and awe". (There's nothing beautiful about stained glass on a dark night.) You can say something all you want, but if you don't live it out, then it just rings in people's ears. If you live it out, it lives in their consciences. What a sobering challenge.
But really, it's about stained glass windows. I need more of those in my life! "Colors and light".
---
I memorized this poem, starting during a very long wait in an ultrasound office. My mind was begging for something to do other than thinking about my baby being dead inside of me. So I memorized. And it helped.
The message of this poem was very comforting to me that week. I believed (doctrine!) God would bring his glory (which is my good) even from this ugliness. That even though this world has been stained by sin and death, God has a redemptive purpose in everything that happens to his children. That Romans 8:28 is true. God was very near to me during that week to give me faith and the grace I needed to keep going and believing through the pain.
Now I am in the walk of grief for my Baby who I will never hold, hug, or name on earth. I am asking questions like, how do you love someone you don't know? What do I do with all this love and longing that has no living recipient? How do I honor my Baby's life and keep on living? This is not just about healing and disappointed hopes. This is about a life. What about that life, Lord? Can miscarriage really be that common? What about all those babies, Lord?
These are what I call 'hard thoughts' about God. Where my thoughts often have to face the music...the problem of pain and suffering in this world. This is the 'life' part of the poem. It's easy to simply say that I believe God is good and things have purpose. But how do I believe and live when my womb is painfully empty and my heart is torn in two?
There's comfort that these questions aren't the end of my story. I can still come back to the gospel. Once I had not been given mercy, and man do I deserve judgement! But now, because of Jesus, I have been given mercy. My life and my eternity depends on that mercy. Jesus was a real person. Out of love, he lived here on this crummy planet! He showed us what love was and invited people to come to him and be satisfied in their deepest longings. God DIED for me. And He says about a million times in the Bible that he LOVES me. So if the cross is true then his heart is kind.
So here is my tension. Think about the mercy and the kind heart of God, while also thinking about my baby who died and the crushing weight of that reality. Please pray that I would think often about the mercy, and truly believe he does love me in the crushing weight moments.
He is a brittle, crazy glass;
Yet in thy temple thou dost him afford,
This glorious and transcendent place,
To be a window, through thy grace.
But when thou dost anneal in glass thy story,
Making thy life to shine within
The holy preachers, then the light and glory
More reverend grows, and more doth win;
Which else shows waterish, bleak and thin.
Doctrine and life, colors and light, in one
When they combine and mingle, bring
A strong regard and awe; but speech alone
Doth vanish like a flaring thing,
And in the ear, not conscience, ring.
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| (source) Sainte-Chapelle in Paris best. stained. glass. |
The last stanza is about how explosive the combination of doctrine and life are. Think about it. It's easy to say you believe something, but to LIVE it is what brings the "strong regard and awe". (There's nothing beautiful about stained glass on a dark night.) You can say something all you want, but if you don't live it out, then it just rings in people's ears. If you live it out, it lives in their consciences. What a sobering challenge.
But really, it's about stained glass windows. I need more of those in my life! "Colors and light".
---
I memorized this poem, starting during a very long wait in an ultrasound office. My mind was begging for something to do other than thinking about my baby being dead inside of me. So I memorized. And it helped.
The message of this poem was very comforting to me that week. I believed (doctrine!) God would bring his glory (which is my good) even from this ugliness. That even though this world has been stained by sin and death, God has a redemptive purpose in everything that happens to his children. That Romans 8:28 is true. God was very near to me during that week to give me faith and the grace I needed to keep going and believing through the pain.
Now I am in the walk of grief for my Baby who I will never hold, hug, or name on earth. I am asking questions like, how do you love someone you don't know? What do I do with all this love and longing that has no living recipient? How do I honor my Baby's life and keep on living? This is not just about healing and disappointed hopes. This is about a life. What about that life, Lord? Can miscarriage really be that common? What about all those babies, Lord?
These are what I call 'hard thoughts' about God. Where my thoughts often have to face the music...the problem of pain and suffering in this world. This is the 'life' part of the poem. It's easy to simply say that I believe God is good and things have purpose. But how do I believe and live when my womb is painfully empty and my heart is torn in two?
There's comfort that these questions aren't the end of my story. I can still come back to the gospel. Once I had not been given mercy, and man do I deserve judgement! But now, because of Jesus, I have been given mercy. My life and my eternity depends on that mercy. Jesus was a real person. Out of love, he lived here on this crummy planet! He showed us what love was and invited people to come to him and be satisfied in their deepest longings. God DIED for me. And He says about a million times in the Bible that he LOVES me. So if the cross is true then his heart is kind.
So here is my tension. Think about the mercy and the kind heart of God, while also thinking about my baby who died and the crushing weight of that reality. Please pray that I would think often about the mercy, and truly believe he does love me in the crushing weight moments.
Hope in God; for I shall again praise him...
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