Thank you to Ron Dormer for videotaping this. You were so encouraging and patient with me and I stumbled through and started over many times. Thank you to Pastor Larry Hasmatali for giving me this opportunity to share Everlasting Love with the hearts of the people in our church. Thank you to Holy Sews for the use of their layette design and Teeny Tears for the diaper design.
Thursday, November 7, 2013
Thank you to Ron Dormer for videotaping this. You were so encouraging and patient with me and I stumbled through and started over many times. Thank you to Pastor Larry Hasmatali for giving me this opportunity to share Everlasting Love with the hearts of the people in our church. Thank you to Holy Sews for the use of their layette design and Teeny Tears for the diaper design.
Friday, August 2, 2013
3 years...could it really have been that long ago? So many memories come flooding back as, in my mind, I make my way through August 2, 2010. Tears are hiding within the memories and spring out when I least expect them.
Again this year we wondered how we would honour Zoe on her birthday. I wasn't really sure what my heart felt like doing this year. This week at VBS our kids have been learning about missions and about kids in other countries need our help. Through Compassion Canada our children's ministry sponsors a little boy.
Today our family chose a little girl. In honour of our little girl, we will give so that another little girl can dream with abandon and run & play without worry of where her next meal will come from.
Here name is Dilmi and she is from Sri Lanka. We chose Dilmi because her birthday was the closest to Zoe's of all the children there.
Our pastor contacted me last week as I sat trying to think of what we could do. He said that his sermon this sunday was going to be on suffering and how beauty can be found even in it's midst. He asked me to speak about how Everlasting Love began and what it is about. My heart started to pound...speak in public!?!?!?! Yikes!!! "Relax, it will be on video for our powerpoint," he says...okay, that's a little easier. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that this was a perfect way to pay tribute to our baby girl and the things her life has taught us.
After I retrieved my heart from my throat, I said that I would do it, after all, it would only serve to help others...right? Eeeek! Well now I had to come up with something to say. "Just speak from your heart." he said. If only that was possible without me crying the ugly cry.
I knew I had to plan out what I was going to talk about. After much prayer, I wrote out what I felt I should talk about and the video was recorded.
I pray that through it, women who have never been able to grieve yet, will realize that grief over the loss of their babies IS normal. When our babies are gone too soon, we still want to be able to mother them. We have to try to fit a lifetime of mothering into a few hours, sometimes into only a few moments. If the layettes that are donated allow mothers to feel even one ounce of comfort as they dress or hold their babies, I have accomplished what God laid on my heart.
In the next few weeks I intend on pulling out the sewing machine and I will let my heart, love, grief and joy pour out as I sew blankets, gowns & diapers. I will take pictures as I go so you all can see my progress :)
Happy Birthday angel baby. I love you with all my heart...
Monday, January 21, 2013
New Life, but what if?
The talk of more babies is in the air...In the past few months I have heard many friends thinking and planning another addition to their families.
Now I feel the stirrings in my heart that it is soon time. I refuse to let my mind settle and stay on being afraid of having another miscarriage. Again, I am back to simply trusting. Trusting that whatever happens, God is going to be there with me. Trusting and praying that THIS time it will work. That THIS time we will hold a live, breathing, warm and wiggly baby in our arms.
What if? The question that echoes in my heart and mind so much lately. How do I turn over all to Him? I try to stand strong, to resist fear. I try to be the "good, solid christian" who does not allow fear in. I feel it's icy fingers more often lately. Loss brings fear, fear of the unknown, fear of that gut wrenching pain. I don't ever want to feel the pain of loss again...but what if...
Pregnancy and infant loss doesn't politely ask to become part of your life. It shows up uninvited, and robs you of the very thing you thought was sacred and untouchable.
I never thought it would happen to me personally, and I hear that same statement over and over from women around me experiencing loss.
Life is full of what ifs. If I am completely open and honest, some of them scare me. A lot.
A baby born alive after pregnancy or infant loss is called a rainbow baby. A rainbow is a symbol of hope and promise. Though our hearts desire a rainbow baby, the thought that remains in the back of our minds is, "What if we try and the pregnancy ends with a loss again?" Could we handle facing that pain again? Are we willing to take the risk? Can we be brave enough to try again? If we choose not to, can we swallow that empty spot that we felt was supposed to be filled? Even though the rainbow is a sign of promise, it may still have rain that accompanies it.
The weight of fear can become so great, I cannot carry it on my own. When I feel overwhelmed by it, I realize, it is not mine to carry. The yoke of it was removed from me long ago, if I would/could only give it over to Him. That seems easier said than done. It is a constant decision, you have to be able to catch fear at the earliest sign of it, and give it God. In the Bible it says that God has not given me a spirit of fear, but somehow I forget this in my humanity.
Next step, believing. Do I believe? Yes, I do. If I close my eyes, I can see our family. Our family has four, sometimes more, children running around us, but can it become a reality?
My head tells me I can't take any more grief, but at the same time, my heart holds so much joy and so much love, I can't imagine not trying again. Many people refer to this journey as a dance between grief and joy, and it truly is that. There, amidst the most ugly, scary, horribly awful times, there is joy. There is peace. There is a sacredness because a child existed. A child was loved. So if my journey holds more grief, then I still continue this dance, after all, I am already here. My Dance Partner loves me and comforts me like no other. I know that despite my two left feet, He will guide me gracefully through and make my dance into a thing of beauty.
Something I so badly want. I wanted to have a large family and I do have one in a way I guess. They are just not all here with me. My heart is beginning to stir, like the tiny new buds in spring on the trees.
Dare I begin to hope again...can I do this again?
Up until recently, I knew I wanted another baby, I just was not sure my heart was ready. I have been working so hard to get my body ready because I know I want to be able to have another baby, I just was not ready YET.
Some friends it is almost as easy as sitting on a toilet seat for them to get pregnant.
Some are able to plan according to ovulation calendars. For me it has not been that easy. Not at all.
I have tried, but it just has not worked out that way.
Now I feel the stirrings in my heart that it is soon time. I refuse to let my mind settle and stay on being afraid of having another miscarriage. Again, I am back to simply trusting. Trusting that whatever happens, God is going to be there with me. Trusting and praying that THIS time it will work. That THIS time we will hold a live, breathing, warm and wiggly baby in our arms.
Do I dare to believe? Some would say it will never happen if you don't believe. They say you have to first have a dream. Well I have a dream, in fact I have many, many of them. I have had dreams of rooms filled with babies, rows on rows of cribs lining walls, and all of these babies were somehow mine to love, care for and protect. I have had these dreams ever since I was a very little girl.
What if? The question that echoes in my heart and mind so much lately. How do I turn over all to Him? I try to stand strong, to resist fear. I try to be the "good, solid christian" who does not allow fear in. I feel it's icy fingers more often lately. Loss brings fear, fear of the unknown, fear of that gut wrenching pain. I don't ever want to feel the pain of loss again...but what if...
Pregnancy and infant loss doesn't politely ask to become part of your life. It shows up uninvited, and robs you of the very thing you thought was sacred and untouchable.
I never thought it would happen to me personally, and I hear that same statement over and over from women around me experiencing loss.
Life is full of what ifs. If I am completely open and honest, some of them scare me. A lot.
A baby born alive after pregnancy or infant loss is called a rainbow baby. A rainbow is a symbol of hope and promise. Though our hearts desire a rainbow baby, the thought that remains in the back of our minds is, "What if we try and the pregnancy ends with a loss again?" Could we handle facing that pain again? Are we willing to take the risk? Can we be brave enough to try again? If we choose not to, can we swallow that empty spot that we felt was supposed to be filled? Even though the rainbow is a sign of promise, it may still have rain that accompanies it.
The weight of fear can become so great, I cannot carry it on my own. When I feel overwhelmed by it, I realize, it is not mine to carry. The yoke of it was removed from me long ago, if I would/could only give it over to Him. That seems easier said than done. It is a constant decision, you have to be able to catch fear at the earliest sign of it, and give it God. In the Bible it says that God has not given me a spirit of fear, but somehow I forget this in my humanity.
Next step, believing. Do I believe? Yes, I do. If I close my eyes, I can see our family. Our family has four, sometimes more, children running around us, but can it become a reality?
What is the key to making a pregnancy end successfully this time...is it if I believe enough, pray enough, have faith enough, am good enough, am healthy enough, am brave enough? The list could go on and on. But what it really comes down to is that I have no control over it. As much as I like to try and maintain control over things in my life I cannot control this. This is something that is completely out of my hands. So I find myself in the same position I was after Zoe was born, needing to trust.
Can I trust enough to do this again, acknowledging something I dare not speak out loud? In fact I don't even want to type it! What if? What if it doesn't work AGAIN?
My head tells me I can't take any more grief, but at the same time, my heart holds so much joy and so much love, I can't imagine not trying again. Many people refer to this journey as a dance between grief and joy, and it truly is that. There, amidst the most ugly, scary, horribly awful times, there is joy. There is peace. There is a sacredness because a child existed. A child was loved. So if my journey holds more grief, then I still continue this dance, after all, I am already here. My Dance Partner loves me and comforts me like no other. I know that despite my two left feet, He will guide me gracefully through and make my dance into a thing of beauty.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Reflecting on her birth day, 2 years later
***Warning, some graphic descriptions and emotions***
"There's a peace I've come to know
Though my heart and flesh may fail
There's an anchor for my soul
I can say it is well...
Jesus has overcome and the grave is overwhelmed
The victory is won, He is risen from the dead...
I will rise on eagle's wings, no more sorrow no more pain"
Chris Tomlin
This song is so close to my heart. My heart sings it loud...
This post has taken awhile to write, but for a few days now Zoe's song has been playing through my head over and over. Her second birthday in Heaven has just passed. We celebrated her birthday on August 2 by going down to the river where we held her memorial service and putting many different colours of rose petals in the water. Daddy bought his baby girl the best he could find. We thought there were only two colours in the bag, but as we dug deeper, we came out with more colours. The water has never looked so beautiful to me as it did that night.
"There's a peace I've come to know
Though my heart and flesh may fail
There's an anchor for my soul
I can say it is well...
Jesus has overcome and the grave is overwhelmed
The victory is won, He is risen from the dead...
I will rise on eagle's wings, no more sorrow no more pain"
Chris Tomlin
This song is so close to my heart. My heart sings it loud...
This post has taken awhile to write, but for a few days now Zoe's song has been playing through my head over and over. Her second birthday in Heaven has just passed. We celebrated her birthday on August 2 by going down to the river where we held her memorial service and putting many different colours of rose petals in the water. Daddy bought his baby girl the best he could find. We thought there were only two colours in the bag, but as we dug deeper, we came out with more colours. The water has never looked so beautiful to me as it did that night.
We stood by the water's edge and sang Happy Birthday to our girl. The kid's voices ringing out loud and clear over the ripples as they sang their hearts out with love for their little sister. I didn't care who heard us. We were loving her the only way we knew how in this moment. Kyler blew his kiss at the end of the song.
I miss my babies in Heaven with every fibre of my being. I know I will be with them one day, but until then, there are empty spaces in my heart that they have left behind. Those spaces ache so deeply, there are not words to describe it. Tears filled my eyes so many times that day as I replayed in my mind all of the moments of that day two years ago. The rose petals floated away and as they did, some of them formed a perfect heart on the water. A quick reminder of His love that holds us through this. It was gone before I could get a picture of it though.
It was such a peaceful night. You would never know that just hours before, the sky had let loose a downpour unlike any we had seen since the night that a tornado touched down just outside Moose Jaw. On any day that has held significance to Zoe, it has rained...the day of the ultrasound where we found out her little heart was no longer beating, the day she entered this world, the day we went to the funeral home to make the arrangements for her little body to be cremated (It still turns my stomach to say that, a pen has never been so heavy to lift as it was the day I had to write her name on that paper and sign my name giving permission. It literally took all my strength), and the day of her memorial service.
As the day went on, I saw scene after scene in my mind. You can read the events of her birth that I wrote out a short while after she was born here:
Zoe's Birth Part 1 and Zoe's Birth Part 2
Right now, I write the scenes in my memories...
Waking up in the morning, heading to the bathroom. There was blood and my womb hurt...my heart sank and hot tears poured down my face. I knew she would be born that day. I wanted to hold her in my arms, but not yet, not in this way. I wanted to see her sweet face, but not this soon. The phone call was made to our doula. She would meet us at the hospital. My mom comes in, tears running down her cheeks as she walks through the front door. We stop to pray together before leaving. It is still not too late God. Never too late for a miracle. The breathe of life breathed into a tiny body restoring what is missing. She gives me a tight squeeze and tells me how much she loves me and this little one. Driving up to the hospital, my stomach was in knots. What would our baby look like? How would the birth feel? I knew that now, not only was there physical pain coming, but there was a raw, searing pain that was present. I could not get away from it. I didn't want them to take my baby from my body. She deserved to be born just the way she was supposed to have been in only a few more months. I was so angry with death. I was so angry for the life of my baby being stolen. I didn't want to think about them taking her away after she was born. Each footstep into the hospital was agonizing. I did it only because I felt I had no choice. I didn't get to have a say in this one. I wanted to turn and run. Talking to the lady at the admitting desk, I hear myself saying that I am there to deliver my baby who passed away a few weeks ago. What? Are those words really coming from my mouth...this can't be real.
We make our way up to Women's Health, the unit where babies are born every day. I cringe inside hoping desperately that there are none in the nursery we have to walk by. We are greeted by coldness. I keep my eyes averted from the window that proudly showcases live babies. I know that without a miracle, my baby will never be joining them there. The nurse seems so cold and so uncaring about what we are there for. I don't know why. The bleeding is getting heavier, there has been no miracle. We are sent to another room to wait. T.V. making useless noise, I have no idea what is on or what it is talking about. The room feels small, too small. It is getting harder to even breathe. I want to leave. My Doula sits beside me, I ask her questions like does she know what the baby will look like when it comes out. She is not sure, but says another doula friend of hers said that the baby's are well preserved in their momma's tummy. As many times before in the last two weeks, I feel again that I am a walking tomb. I feel it now more than any other day, but yet I desperately don't want my time with her to end. At least if she is in my womb she is warm and safe. I am praying, God I can't do this on my own.
The time has come, the Dr is here. We see the him. More questions, do I even know the answer to these? I have to bare myself for him to check me, I am laid open to my very soul as I lay there on the bed. Vulnerable, heart broken, desperate, angry, lost, empty and scared and trusting that my God has me safe in His arms. I don't understand, not at all, but I trust.
When we are done with the Dr. we are told to come back when the bleeding gets worse or once the baby is born. He has been kind. He leaves and there is only more coldness from the one that I thought was supposed to be trained to support me as a patient. A patient about to deliver her dead baby any time. We are told we can go home. The time of birth is unknown. The rest of the day blurs with tears, many more tears than I ever thought I could cry, falling from my red and swollen eyes.
My heart is in agony. How does one "get through" this. What are the "proper ways to grieve"? How do I accept birthing a baby I will never bring home? I don't have a clue! There are no guidelines or instructions for grief. It is what it is, it comes when it wants, it drowns you at times.
The late afternoon approaches, the contractions that have been sporadic all day start to become more regular, they intensify. As I prepare our meal, I stop many times to lean on the counter, rocking through contractions, knowing she is closer to leaving me until I meet her in our Heavenly home. My tears fall soaking sleeves as I pointlessly try to wipe them away. How will I bear this? God, How can I do this? I can't...I just can't. And yet I know I will, because I have to. Because He gives me strength, hope and love. We have finished eating, I could hardly eat a thing. I don't want to eat. I don't want to do anything but change events to keep my little girl growing healthy inside me.
The contractions are stronger and regular, though not as strong as with my other kids...I wonder how close I am to meeting my baby. I have to go to the bathroom. At least I think I do. My kids are laying on my bed watching a show. Oblivious to what was going on as I walk past them and into the bathroom. We had told them in the morning before we left for the hospital that probably today would be our baby's birthday. I didn't want them to worry.
With the urge to push, I can feel my baby's head ready to be delivered. I am scared. Really scared. With bleeding troubles after birth in my previous pregnancies, I didn't know what to expect. We called our doula again. Together we decided that probably by the time she got in to town, the baby would be born so there was no point in her coming. In my heart, I wanted her to come, but didn't want to inconvenience her. It was the wrong choice. I should have had her come in. She wishes she would have just come in. I did too.
We call the hospital. The unkind nurse answers the phone on women's health. She says some of the ugliest words my heart heard that day..."When you come to the hospital, bring the products of conception with you." WHAT??? These "products of conception" as you call them, is MY BABY!!! A BABY! Not just some leftover science experiment. My head is screaming. Tears pouring out. We reached out for help and support and found none from this woman. I am scared. the scenarios play out in my mind. Of course fear brings the worst images to mind.
If we deliver at home and I bleed too much, I could die. If I bleed too much, the ambulance has to come get me. How scary will it be for my kids to see mommy being loaded onto a stretcher to go in an ambulance if it comes to that...I don't want to die with my kids watching T.V. just outside the bathroom door. God please help me to not fear. Help me through this. Hemorrhaging is not something I have any interest in doing again much less having my kids see me in all that blood so we opt for the hospital just in case.
We get to the hospital, we are sent to women's health...would she still be working. I prayed not. As the elevator doors open, my hands holding the pink paper are trembling. I want to throw up. I want to close my eyes and scream. I want to scream until this all goes away and I wake up from this nightmare. I am trying not to move much, breathing carefully so as not to push the baby out while I sit in the wheelchair. The same nurse with coldness is working. She sends us away. "Go to Emerg. You don't belong here." There must be some mistake. Maybe all the rooms are full. A glance down the hall tells me no, they are not. We don't understand why we are being sent away so coldly but we turn around and head back to the elevator. I don't belong here...here is where they deliver babies who will live, who will open their eyes. Babies who will go home with their parents dressed in a cute little outfit and snuggled into a carseat covered with a warm, soft, fuzzy blanket.
We get to Emerg. The doors open and we have to explain yet again why we are there. Inside my head it all sounds like a recording. Words without meaning. We are taken to a room. I climb onto the bed and our baby girl makes her entrance into the world "En Caul" which means her amniotic sac didn't break during birth. This is supposed to be good luck and mean that the baby will live a long happy life. Not this time. Good thing I don't believe in luck. They are having trouble controlling the bleeding again. The placenta will not deliver. Her umbilical cord breaks under the pressure they are putting on it, slight as it was. Fearful looks being shared by the nurses now. The atmosphere in the room changes. Staff are rushing, they keep pulling out chux pads and replacing them underneath me. I feel the warmth as the blood and clots still come. I am scared. Thoughts rushing through my head. What if I die here tonight? I would get to be with my babies in Heaven, but I would leave behind my babies on earth. I can't leave them, not yet. My Zoe is safe, she is loved, she is happy, she is dancing before her Heavenly Father.
If I don't make it, what is Greg going to tell the kids? How will they bear this on top of losing their sister? Will they remember how much I love them? Will they remember my hugs and kisses, my laugh, my mothering? Or will they only remember the sadness of the last few weeks...I don't feel like I said a proper goodbye to them before we came to the hospital because I didn't want them to worry.
So many thoughts. I pray for peace. I pray for comfort. I pray to push all of the worry and scared thoughts away. I pray that I will make it so I can hug them again and tell them just how special they are to me. So much blood again. The smell fills my nostrils and makes me nauseous. Hospital smell...the blood...the smells of that night are forever in my memory. I know He will never leave me nor forsake me. I know I am safe in His arms no matter what the outcome.
I am to be sent for a D&C to stop the bleeding. A stretcher at the door. A transfer to women's health. Then a message again, I am not to go there. She says again that I don't need to be there.
Another jab at an already bleeding and broken heart. Why is she so against me being there? Maybe it is not that, but it sure felt like that in the moments of dealing with so much more.
The placenta delivers and the bleeding slows...D&C averted. Thankfulness, peace, comfort, longing to hold my baby and see her face. It is time. What will she look like? Will she look like her brothers or sisters? Will she just be an individual all unto herself.
I feel a bit of the excitement of a new mom about to gaze on the beauty of and marvel at her newborn child like I have three times before. This mixed with the sorrow of knowing she will not move. She will not cry, she will not open her eyes.
The nurse opens the amniotic sac. "Oh, she is beautiful" the nurse says. "She is so tiny and perfect. Look at her ten little fingers and ten little toes!" I am watching Greg's face to see his reaction to her. I watch his heart melt as he sees this tiny creature, so perfect. I have seen that look 3 other times and my heart knew it well. The look of pride, love, awe and joy all mixed into one on the face of a man becoming a new father. I am glad that he loves her so much too.
The nurse hands her to us. We gaze upon the beauty of our child. She IS perfect. She is beautiful. She is ours. Part me, part her daddy. Hands, fingers, feet and toes so tiny and yet perfectly formed. The hot tears are mixed with smiles, as we are awestruck with the intricacy that God creates in human life. She is warm still. I snuggle her up to my shoulder, close my eyes and just breathe. I don't want this moment to end. I smell her scent, a mama knows this by heart within moments. My heart is torn between wanting to gaze at her memorizing every single detail of her face and being so that I don't forget her and wanting to hold her close to me and not lose a moment. To see a baby not move and be so flaccid is unnerving. It is foreign and seems so wrong, but this moment with her on my shoulder is so very right. She is close to my heart where her memory will forever stay.
I take her away from my shoulder and hand her to her Daddy. He holds her with such tenderness and gentleness, it brings fresh tears to my eyes. He doesn't keep her long, knowing how little time we have with her, I think he wanted me to have as much time as possible. I hold her tiny fingers on mine, and her tiny feet. Never have I seen something so small, yet so perfectly formed. We tell her we love her over and over. I tell her how much her brothers and sisters would have loved to have met her and held her. We sang to her. I want to sing the song that I had sang to her all those weeks in my womb
Psalm 23 (sung by Temple and her husband in this video)
I can't get the words out though. Every time I would try, I fresh tears would come again. I am not supposed to be singing this to her while she lays dead in my arms. This song was supposed to be a blessing of sorts to sing over her while I was in labor and when she was born. The words are still true, the promise remains the same, I just didn't think that the valley of the shadow of death would be so real and relevant.
Our nurse comes in to say she is done her shift and will be leaving. She says again that she is so sorry for our loss. A new nurse is taking over now. The new nurse comes in to introduce herself and see how we are doing. We nod, words won't come. My sweet girl, my little angel...oh how I wish this could be different. The time hands keep moving on the clock, but my world is standing still and spinning around making me dizzy all at the same time. Another half hour passes and the nurse comes in to see if we are ready yet. Ready for what? Oh yes, ready to give you my baby's lifeless body so you can take it to the lab. Ugh...my stomach is turning again. We have discussed autopsy and genetic testing with the Dr. and agreed to it. It seems so wrong to allow it, but she is not in this body anymore and we felt if it could give us some answers for next time, then it was what needed to be done. That didn't make it easy.
We say no, we are not ready. Not yet. A bit more time. Not that it changes anything, but I needed one more moment to try to etch the details into my memory forever. I don't want to forget. How do these tears keep falling? So many, I thought my body would have run out long ago. Another half hour, the nurse is at the door again. Are we ready yet? It is starting to seem like they are trying to hurry us along. Maybe the room is needed. Are we ready? What does ready mean, what does it feel like? I don't have a clue.
We each took turns and held her close to our hearts one last time, whispering I love you's and saying our goodbyes. The nurse is here waiting to take her away. So incredibly hard to hold her little body out to be taken away. It is done.
It is late and now I am sent upstairs to Women's Health for the night. I am utterly and completely exhausted, yet I can't sleep. I lay in bed watching the clock hands move. I hear babies cry and mommies try to comfort. I hear nurses moving about, I hear deafening silence in my room. No baby cries, only my own sobs. A big room, by myself, but it feels like the walls close in. It is again hard to breathe. They ask if I want something to help me sleep. No, I don't, but I take it anyway, just to escape from this night if even just for a little while. I look down at my gown, traces of amniotic fluid still on the shoulder. All I have left of her. No blanket she was in, nothing else to hold, so I hug the pillow tight. Oh God, please hold me. Please make this hurting stop. He tells me He loves me and will carry me through. Then I realize, for Him to make the hurting stop, I have to not love her still. I have to erase all of being her mommy from my memory. I don't want that, so I accept that this hurt and this emptiness in my heart is forever a part of me. Because I love so deeply, I welcome it to be part of my life from now on. In the emptiness and hurt, He is there and His tears fall with mine. His tears are tears of sorrow for me, but tears of joy as He watches her dance in His presence. He watches her twirl and sing and worship. What a beautiful sight. So with that vision in my head, I sleep.
In the morning I wake early, after only a couple of hours of sleep. I get chills up my spine as I hear the cold nurse's voice at my door. She tells the Dr she has no idea about where I delivered.
I just want this to be over so I can go home and be with my family. I am released to go home. She tosses my hospital card onto the bed carelessly. I get dressed and wait for my husband and kids to come get me. I desperately want to pack the gown into my bag and take it home. It may be silly, but it took everything in me to turn and walk out of that room leaving it behind on the bed. All traces of her existence will soon be washed out. I leave empty handed and broken hearted to go home and begin a new "normal" of learning to live with loss all over again. Each time has been individual to itself.
Now it is time to face the phone calls, the people and life. We are not ready, but by His grace we can and we do.
As the day went on, I saw scene after scene in my mind. You can read the events of her birth that I wrote out a short while after she was born here:
Zoe's Birth Part 1 and Zoe's Birth Part 2
Right now, I write the scenes in my memories...
Waking up in the morning, heading to the bathroom. There was blood and my womb hurt...my heart sank and hot tears poured down my face. I knew she would be born that day. I wanted to hold her in my arms, but not yet, not in this way. I wanted to see her sweet face, but not this soon. The phone call was made to our doula. She would meet us at the hospital. My mom comes in, tears running down her cheeks as she walks through the front door. We stop to pray together before leaving. It is still not too late God. Never too late for a miracle. The breathe of life breathed into a tiny body restoring what is missing. She gives me a tight squeeze and tells me how much she loves me and this little one. Driving up to the hospital, my stomach was in knots. What would our baby look like? How would the birth feel? I knew that now, not only was there physical pain coming, but there was a raw, searing pain that was present. I could not get away from it. I didn't want them to take my baby from my body. She deserved to be born just the way she was supposed to have been in only a few more months. I was so angry with death. I was so angry for the life of my baby being stolen. I didn't want to think about them taking her away after she was born. Each footstep into the hospital was agonizing. I did it only because I felt I had no choice. I didn't get to have a say in this one. I wanted to turn and run. Talking to the lady at the admitting desk, I hear myself saying that I am there to deliver my baby who passed away a few weeks ago. What? Are those words really coming from my mouth...this can't be real.
We make our way up to Women's Health, the unit where babies are born every day. I cringe inside hoping desperately that there are none in the nursery we have to walk by. We are greeted by coldness. I keep my eyes averted from the window that proudly showcases live babies. I know that without a miracle, my baby will never be joining them there. The nurse seems so cold and so uncaring about what we are there for. I don't know why. The bleeding is getting heavier, there has been no miracle. We are sent to another room to wait. T.V. making useless noise, I have no idea what is on or what it is talking about. The room feels small, too small. It is getting harder to even breathe. I want to leave. My Doula sits beside me, I ask her questions like does she know what the baby will look like when it comes out. She is not sure, but says another doula friend of hers said that the baby's are well preserved in their momma's tummy. As many times before in the last two weeks, I feel again that I am a walking tomb. I feel it now more than any other day, but yet I desperately don't want my time with her to end. At least if she is in my womb she is warm and safe. I am praying, God I can't do this on my own.
The time has come, the Dr is here. We see the him. More questions, do I even know the answer to these? I have to bare myself for him to check me, I am laid open to my very soul as I lay there on the bed. Vulnerable, heart broken, desperate, angry, lost, empty and scared and trusting that my God has me safe in His arms. I don't understand, not at all, but I trust.
When we are done with the Dr. we are told to come back when the bleeding gets worse or once the baby is born. He has been kind. He leaves and there is only more coldness from the one that I thought was supposed to be trained to support me as a patient. A patient about to deliver her dead baby any time. We are told we can go home. The time of birth is unknown. The rest of the day blurs with tears, many more tears than I ever thought I could cry, falling from my red and swollen eyes.
My heart is in agony. How does one "get through" this. What are the "proper ways to grieve"? How do I accept birthing a baby I will never bring home? I don't have a clue! There are no guidelines or instructions for grief. It is what it is, it comes when it wants, it drowns you at times.
The late afternoon approaches, the contractions that have been sporadic all day start to become more regular, they intensify. As I prepare our meal, I stop many times to lean on the counter, rocking through contractions, knowing she is closer to leaving me until I meet her in our Heavenly home. My tears fall soaking sleeves as I pointlessly try to wipe them away. How will I bear this? God, How can I do this? I can't...I just can't. And yet I know I will, because I have to. Because He gives me strength, hope and love. We have finished eating, I could hardly eat a thing. I don't want to eat. I don't want to do anything but change events to keep my little girl growing healthy inside me.
The contractions are stronger and regular, though not as strong as with my other kids...I wonder how close I am to meeting my baby. I have to go to the bathroom. At least I think I do. My kids are laying on my bed watching a show. Oblivious to what was going on as I walk past them and into the bathroom. We had told them in the morning before we left for the hospital that probably today would be our baby's birthday. I didn't want them to worry.
With the urge to push, I can feel my baby's head ready to be delivered. I am scared. Really scared. With bleeding troubles after birth in my previous pregnancies, I didn't know what to expect. We called our doula again. Together we decided that probably by the time she got in to town, the baby would be born so there was no point in her coming. In my heart, I wanted her to come, but didn't want to inconvenience her. It was the wrong choice. I should have had her come in. She wishes she would have just come in. I did too.
We call the hospital. The unkind nurse answers the phone on women's health. She says some of the ugliest words my heart heard that day..."When you come to the hospital, bring the products of conception with you." WHAT??? These "products of conception" as you call them, is MY BABY!!! A BABY! Not just some leftover science experiment. My head is screaming. Tears pouring out. We reached out for help and support and found none from this woman. I am scared. the scenarios play out in my mind. Of course fear brings the worst images to mind.
If we deliver at home and I bleed too much, I could die. If I bleed too much, the ambulance has to come get me. How scary will it be for my kids to see mommy being loaded onto a stretcher to go in an ambulance if it comes to that...I don't want to die with my kids watching T.V. just outside the bathroom door. God please help me to not fear. Help me through this. Hemorrhaging is not something I have any interest in doing again much less having my kids see me in all that blood so we opt for the hospital just in case.
We get to the hospital, we are sent to women's health...would she still be working. I prayed not. As the elevator doors open, my hands holding the pink paper are trembling. I want to throw up. I want to close my eyes and scream. I want to scream until this all goes away and I wake up from this nightmare. I am trying not to move much, breathing carefully so as not to push the baby out while I sit in the wheelchair. The same nurse with coldness is working. She sends us away. "Go to Emerg. You don't belong here." There must be some mistake. Maybe all the rooms are full. A glance down the hall tells me no, they are not. We don't understand why we are being sent away so coldly but we turn around and head back to the elevator. I don't belong here...here is where they deliver babies who will live, who will open their eyes. Babies who will go home with their parents dressed in a cute little outfit and snuggled into a carseat covered with a warm, soft, fuzzy blanket.
We get to Emerg. The doors open and we have to explain yet again why we are there. Inside my head it all sounds like a recording. Words without meaning. We are taken to a room. I climb onto the bed and our baby girl makes her entrance into the world "En Caul" which means her amniotic sac didn't break during birth. This is supposed to be good luck and mean that the baby will live a long happy life. Not this time. Good thing I don't believe in luck. They are having trouble controlling the bleeding again. The placenta will not deliver. Her umbilical cord breaks under the pressure they are putting on it, slight as it was. Fearful looks being shared by the nurses now. The atmosphere in the room changes. Staff are rushing, they keep pulling out chux pads and replacing them underneath me. I feel the warmth as the blood and clots still come. I am scared. Thoughts rushing through my head. What if I die here tonight? I would get to be with my babies in Heaven, but I would leave behind my babies on earth. I can't leave them, not yet. My Zoe is safe, she is loved, she is happy, she is dancing before her Heavenly Father.
If I don't make it, what is Greg going to tell the kids? How will they bear this on top of losing their sister? Will they remember how much I love them? Will they remember my hugs and kisses, my laugh, my mothering? Or will they only remember the sadness of the last few weeks...I don't feel like I said a proper goodbye to them before we came to the hospital because I didn't want them to worry.
So many thoughts. I pray for peace. I pray for comfort. I pray to push all of the worry and scared thoughts away. I pray that I will make it so I can hug them again and tell them just how special they are to me. So much blood again. The smell fills my nostrils and makes me nauseous. Hospital smell...the blood...the smells of that night are forever in my memory. I know He will never leave me nor forsake me. I know I am safe in His arms no matter what the outcome.
I am to be sent for a D&C to stop the bleeding. A stretcher at the door. A transfer to women's health. Then a message again, I am not to go there. She says again that I don't need to be there.
Another jab at an already bleeding and broken heart. Why is she so against me being there? Maybe it is not that, but it sure felt like that in the moments of dealing with so much more.
The placenta delivers and the bleeding slows...D&C averted. Thankfulness, peace, comfort, longing to hold my baby and see her face. It is time. What will she look like? Will she look like her brothers or sisters? Will she just be an individual all unto herself.
I feel a bit of the excitement of a new mom about to gaze on the beauty of and marvel at her newborn child like I have three times before. This mixed with the sorrow of knowing she will not move. She will not cry, she will not open her eyes.
The nurse opens the amniotic sac. "Oh, she is beautiful" the nurse says. "She is so tiny and perfect. Look at her ten little fingers and ten little toes!" I am watching Greg's face to see his reaction to her. I watch his heart melt as he sees this tiny creature, so perfect. I have seen that look 3 other times and my heart knew it well. The look of pride, love, awe and joy all mixed into one on the face of a man becoming a new father. I am glad that he loves her so much too.
The nurse hands her to us. We gaze upon the beauty of our child. She IS perfect. She is beautiful. She is ours. Part me, part her daddy. Hands, fingers, feet and toes so tiny and yet perfectly formed. The hot tears are mixed with smiles, as we are awestruck with the intricacy that God creates in human life. She is warm still. I snuggle her up to my shoulder, close my eyes and just breathe. I don't want this moment to end. I smell her scent, a mama knows this by heart within moments. My heart is torn between wanting to gaze at her memorizing every single detail of her face and being so that I don't forget her and wanting to hold her close to me and not lose a moment. To see a baby not move and be so flaccid is unnerving. It is foreign and seems so wrong, but this moment with her on my shoulder is so very right. She is close to my heart where her memory will forever stay.
I take her away from my shoulder and hand her to her Daddy. He holds her with such tenderness and gentleness, it brings fresh tears to my eyes. He doesn't keep her long, knowing how little time we have with her, I think he wanted me to have as much time as possible. I hold her tiny fingers on mine, and her tiny feet. Never have I seen something so small, yet so perfectly formed. We tell her we love her over and over. I tell her how much her brothers and sisters would have loved to have met her and held her. We sang to her. I want to sing the song that I had sang to her all those weeks in my womb
Psalm 23 (sung by Temple and her husband in this video)
I can't get the words out though. Every time I would try, I fresh tears would come again. I am not supposed to be singing this to her while she lays dead in my arms. This song was supposed to be a blessing of sorts to sing over her while I was in labor and when she was born. The words are still true, the promise remains the same, I just didn't think that the valley of the shadow of death would be so real and relevant.
Our nurse comes in to say she is done her shift and will be leaving. She says again that she is so sorry for our loss. A new nurse is taking over now. The new nurse comes in to introduce herself and see how we are doing. We nod, words won't come. My sweet girl, my little angel...oh how I wish this could be different. The time hands keep moving on the clock, but my world is standing still and spinning around making me dizzy all at the same time. Another half hour passes and the nurse comes in to see if we are ready yet. Ready for what? Oh yes, ready to give you my baby's lifeless body so you can take it to the lab. Ugh...my stomach is turning again. We have discussed autopsy and genetic testing with the Dr. and agreed to it. It seems so wrong to allow it, but she is not in this body anymore and we felt if it could give us some answers for next time, then it was what needed to be done. That didn't make it easy.
We say no, we are not ready. Not yet. A bit more time. Not that it changes anything, but I needed one more moment to try to etch the details into my memory forever. I don't want to forget. How do these tears keep falling? So many, I thought my body would have run out long ago. Another half hour, the nurse is at the door again. Are we ready yet? It is starting to seem like they are trying to hurry us along. Maybe the room is needed. Are we ready? What does ready mean, what does it feel like? I don't have a clue.
We each took turns and held her close to our hearts one last time, whispering I love you's and saying our goodbyes. The nurse is here waiting to take her away. So incredibly hard to hold her little body out to be taken away. It is done.
It is late and now I am sent upstairs to Women's Health for the night. I am utterly and completely exhausted, yet I can't sleep. I lay in bed watching the clock hands move. I hear babies cry and mommies try to comfort. I hear nurses moving about, I hear deafening silence in my room. No baby cries, only my own sobs. A big room, by myself, but it feels like the walls close in. It is again hard to breathe. They ask if I want something to help me sleep. No, I don't, but I take it anyway, just to escape from this night if even just for a little while. I look down at my gown, traces of amniotic fluid still on the shoulder. All I have left of her. No blanket she was in, nothing else to hold, so I hug the pillow tight. Oh God, please hold me. Please make this hurting stop. He tells me He loves me and will carry me through. Then I realize, for Him to make the hurting stop, I have to not love her still. I have to erase all of being her mommy from my memory. I don't want that, so I accept that this hurt and this emptiness in my heart is forever a part of me. Because I love so deeply, I welcome it to be part of my life from now on. In the emptiness and hurt, He is there and His tears fall with mine. His tears are tears of sorrow for me, but tears of joy as He watches her dance in His presence. He watches her twirl and sing and worship. What a beautiful sight. So with that vision in my head, I sleep.
In the morning I wake early, after only a couple of hours of sleep. I get chills up my spine as I hear the cold nurse's voice at my door. She tells the Dr she has no idea about where I delivered.
I just want this to be over so I can go home and be with my family. I am released to go home. She tosses my hospital card onto the bed carelessly. I get dressed and wait for my husband and kids to come get me. I desperately want to pack the gown into my bag and take it home. It may be silly, but it took everything in me to turn and walk out of that room leaving it behind on the bed. All traces of her existence will soon be washed out. I leave empty handed and broken hearted to go home and begin a new "normal" of learning to live with loss all over again. Each time has been individual to itself.
Now it is time to face the phone calls, the people and life. We are not ready, but by His grace we can and we do.
Monday, August 6, 2012
Zoe's Song
This song was written by my husband when our little girl Zoe was born. Daddy wanted to write a song for his girl. He sang it at her memorial.
She should have joined us in mid December
Maybe played Jesus in the christmas play
She left us too soon, but we'll love her forever
'Cause she left her little footprints on our hearts
Chorus:
She left her little footprints, her tiny little footprints
She left her little footprints on our hearts
She left her little footprints, her tiny little footprints
She left her little footprints on our hearts
We wanted to hold you an tell you about Jesus
Now He can hold you and tell you about us.
Your mama's heart is breaking, so badly wanting you to hold
"Cause you left your little footprints on our hearts
Chorus:
Bridge:
Oh we'll see you soon I know
As soon as we get to Heaven
But you left your little footprints, your tiny little footprints
You left your little footprints on our hearts
Left your little footprints on our hearts.
She should have joined us in mid December
Maybe played Jesus in the christmas play
She left us too soon, but we'll love her forever
'Cause she left her little footprints on our hearts
Chorus:
She left her little footprints, her tiny little footprints
She left her little footprints on our hearts
She left her little footprints, her tiny little footprints
She left her little footprints on our hearts
We wanted to hold you an tell you about Jesus
Now He can hold you and tell you about us.
Your mama's heart is breaking, so badly wanting you to hold
"Cause you left your little footprints on our hearts
Chorus:
Bridge:
Oh we'll see you soon I know
As soon as we get to Heaven
But you left your little footprints, your tiny little footprints
You left your little footprints on our hearts
Left your little footprints on our hearts.
Friday, June 1, 2012
The Hurt & The Healer on Judah's day
This group reads my heart again and again with their music...
I'll be honest, my heart hurts today. A lot. I am smiling yes, but that smile is hiding and trying to push away my tears. Many times today I had to stop, breathe and try to refocus on something else and dry my tears, hoping that no one would notice. As badly as I wanted people to know, I knew I could not talk about without tears and tears make people uncomfortable. Today was my due date with our last baby Judah.
Right about now we should be kissing a downy, soft head. Holding a warm wriggling bundle that fits ever so perfectly in our arms, hearts and family. Smelling that sweet newborn smell as we marvel at the wonderful miracle of tiny, new life. I should be feeling my breasts filling with milk for my baby and smiling as he or she slurps and nuzzles. Instead here we sit. Celebrating the moments we did have, and trying not to concentrate on the ones we don't. It is hard to be ONLY joyful, when this empty feeling, this feeling of so much that is missing from our lives, is there.
Today I held a three day old baby that is in foster care. He fit so perfectly in my arms, his soft little cheek resting against my chest. His eyes opened and he just looked at me. I smiled at him and told him what a beautiful boy he was. I told him how sweet he was and I hoped that he felt some of the love from my heart that wells up inside. I was so sad for his mama, who maybe never even got to hold him.
I let my day fill up with lots of activity so that I wouldn't have to "go there" even though my heart was there all along. Then I came home and my sweet husband had bought a rose for our baby. He put it on our baby's grave with a little note and a spray of baby's breath.
I sat out there tonight, praying and asking God for comfort and peace...And He brings it again.
I am tired now, my eyes don't want to be open anymore. They burn from the tears that have fallen.
Friday, May 18, 2012
This is not my home...
When we have a heart's desire, and it is so close to becoming a reality that we can almost tangibly feel it, it cuts deeply when it fades away and the answer is "No."
We all have a choice in that moment. we can choose to live in bitterness and anger, full of doubts and resentment; or we can feel all those things and still find something to be thankful for. My choice? To be thankful for the moments I did have with my babies. I am their mommy forever now, and though their time was short here on earth, I am honoured to have been given that time with them. Did I feel this way right away? Did I want to make this choice? No, it took me some time to be able to do it, even though I knew it was what I needed to do. The hurt was too deep and raw...
Am I glad I chose that? Yes. Without a doubt, yes. I don't think I would be where I am today without looking for something to be thankful for. I have found joy again in little things. I find that when I specifically look for things to be thankful for, I can see sunshine again. I feel more at ease, and the weight I carry in my heart is not quite so unbearable.
I read this blog today.
Hormonal Imbalances - When God says No...
It brought back many emotions and memories of how I felt after the miscarriages we have had. After reading it, I felt God confirming in my heart that when I chose to be thankful even when it hurts, I am making the right choice. No matter what the difficult circumstances are that you are facing, no matter what your heart's desire is that has not become reality yet, there is One you can turn to when you feel hopeless. He will give you strength when you have none, hope when you are hopeless, glue when you feel like life is coming undone.
Here is a beautiful song...I love the line, "What if your blessings come through raindrops, what if your healing comes through tears."
The pain reminds me that this is not my home...
Blessings - Laura Story
We pray for blessings
We pray for peace
Comfort for family, protection while we sleep
We pray for healing, for prosperity
We pray for Your mighty hand to ease our suffering
All the while, You hear each spoken need
Yet love us way too much to give us lesser things
'Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears
What if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You’re near
What if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise
We pray for wisdom
Your voice to hear
And we cry in anger when we cannot feel You near
We doubt Your goodness, we doubt Your love
As if every promise from Your Word is not enough
All the while, You hear each desperate plea
And long that we'd have faith to believe
'Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears
What if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You’re near
And what if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise
When friends betray us
When darkness seems to win
We know that pain reminds this heart
That this is not, this is not our home
It's not our home
'Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears
And what if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You’re near
What if my greatest disappointments
Or the aching of this life
Is the revealing of a greater thirst this world can’t satisfy
And what if trials of this life
The rain, the storms, the hardest nights Are Your mercies in disguise
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Mother's day with a new view
Can anyone really expect to recover from such tragedy, considering the value of what was lost and the consequences of that loss? Recovery is a misleading and empty expectation. We recover from broken limbs, not amputations. Catastrophic loss by definition precludes recovery. It will transform us or destroy us, but it will never leave us the same. There is no going back to the past, which is gone forever, only going ahead to the future, which has yet to be discovered. Whatever that future is, it will, and must, include the pain of the past with it. Sorrow never entirely leaves the soul of those who have suffered a severe loss. If anything, it may keep going deeper..."
~ Jerry Sittser
I Look To You - Selah
Tears fall as I hear this song tonight. When all my strength is gone...
What is my future? I have pondered this thought a lot lately. So many new adventures that excite my heart are ahead of me. For those who don't know, I took my Postpartum Doula training in fall of 2011. I just finished a Babywearing Educator course last weekend and at both of these events, I met so many amazing women! In summer I will be taking my Labour Doula training and then in fall of this year I plan to take my Baby Loss Doula training.
All three of these doula trainings will work together very nicely. I have found quite a deep passion for and am really looking forward to being a Labor doula; however my heart's cry is supporting women through baby loss. I don't know what that is going to look like in my neck of the woods, but time will tell.
In the quote above, Jerry Sittser says, "Catastrophic loss by definition precludes recovery. It will transform us or destroy us, but it will never leave us the same." So, what will I do with my "beautiful mess?" (as I have heard this life after baby loss called)
My heart is forever changed, inside and out by my children. I will never look at pregnancy and birth the same way as I did before my losses. I will never look at a newborn baby the same. I have learned not to take those moments for granted because when you have to try to fit a lifetime of love into a moment, an hour, a day, a month, a year or even 3 years, it is an impossible task. There is so much that feels as if it is left unfinished, and can never be fulfilled here on earth.
Oh what I would give for one more hug, one more kiss on her little head, one more moment of time...
I laid in bed with my four year old while tucking him in tonight and watched him fall asleep. He had been kind of wild all evening because he was so tired. It took only moments for him to go to sleep and I laid there feeling his sweet breath against my cheek, watching the fluttering of his eyelids as he drifted off.
There is almost nothing on earth like watching a sleeping child. A child who, only minutes before had been driving you crazy with his silliness, now lays before you almost angelic. His cheeks flushed and his hair tousled from a day of playing, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. I put my hand on his chest and felt the flutter of his little heart, a heart that once beat in my womb, and I am convinced still beats with mine sometimes. How peaceful he looked. I leaned in and whispered into his ear, sweet murmurings of a mother's love. I thanked him for being here. For making it. How did he do it? Why couldn't the others? Hot tears splash the pillow. How very thankful I am that my life has been made so rich by my three children with me on earth.
Now Mother's day is almost upon us again. My heart breaks for so many mommy's I know that will not be holding their baby's on that special day. I know that pain and that longing...I also know a peace and a hope that never fail.
The end of this month, May 31st, marks my due date with Judah. My heart yearns for those moments of my body straining to bring forth new life, and then when that is over, nourishing a tiny, perfect being. I literally dream of what those moments feel like. These tears are brought back afresh sometimes as ones close to me are due around that same day, and I am happy for them. To see the joy and wonder on their faces as they gaze at their newborn who smells so sweet, there is nothing else like it.
Sometimes I get angry that loss taints so many areas of life. Sometimes I wish I could say I was spiritual enough, or strong enough or even oblivious enough to not feel the pain, but it is there. I feel it and learn from it daily. This pain has value in my life, only through choice. I have chosen not to let it destroy me. I have so much to learn about this life still, but in the meantime, I will use what I know and what I have experienced to help others. I will sit and get muddy in their puddle with them and show them that there is hope. Even when we don't feel it yet, there is hope. Our babies stories have been heard and read by many and I will keep sharing about them. It is the only way that I have of being their mommy right now. I will honour them by keeping their memory alive.
So my angels, while I celebrate Mother's Day here on earth with your brothers and sister, know that my heart eagerly awaits the day when we will all be together again. I love you more than words can express Asa, April, Kane, Zoe, Ellie and Judah.
~ Jerry Sittser
I Look To You - Selah
Tears fall as I hear this song tonight. When all my strength is gone...
What is my future? I have pondered this thought a lot lately. So many new adventures that excite my heart are ahead of me. For those who don't know, I took my Postpartum Doula training in fall of 2011. I just finished a Babywearing Educator course last weekend and at both of these events, I met so many amazing women! In summer I will be taking my Labour Doula training and then in fall of this year I plan to take my Baby Loss Doula training.
All three of these doula trainings will work together very nicely. I have found quite a deep passion for and am really looking forward to being a Labor doula; however my heart's cry is supporting women through baby loss. I don't know what that is going to look like in my neck of the woods, but time will tell.
In the quote above, Jerry Sittser says, "Catastrophic loss by definition precludes recovery. It will transform us or destroy us, but it will never leave us the same." So, what will I do with my "beautiful mess?" (as I have heard this life after baby loss called)
My heart is forever changed, inside and out by my children. I will never look at pregnancy and birth the same way as I did before my losses. I will never look at a newborn baby the same. I have learned not to take those moments for granted because when you have to try to fit a lifetime of love into a moment, an hour, a day, a month, a year or even 3 years, it is an impossible task. There is so much that feels as if it is left unfinished, and can never be fulfilled here on earth.
Oh what I would give for one more hug, one more kiss on her little head, one more moment of time...
I laid in bed with my four year old while tucking him in tonight and watched him fall asleep. He had been kind of wild all evening because he was so tired. It took only moments for him to go to sleep and I laid there feeling his sweet breath against my cheek, watching the fluttering of his eyelids as he drifted off.
There is almost nothing on earth like watching a sleeping child. A child who, only minutes before had been driving you crazy with his silliness, now lays before you almost angelic. His cheeks flushed and his hair tousled from a day of playing, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. I put my hand on his chest and felt the flutter of his little heart, a heart that once beat in my womb, and I am convinced still beats with mine sometimes. How peaceful he looked. I leaned in and whispered into his ear, sweet murmurings of a mother's love. I thanked him for being here. For making it. How did he do it? Why couldn't the others? Hot tears splash the pillow. How very thankful I am that my life has been made so rich by my three children with me on earth.
Now Mother's day is almost upon us again. My heart breaks for so many mommy's I know that will not be holding their baby's on that special day. I know that pain and that longing...I also know a peace and a hope that never fail.
The end of this month, May 31st, marks my due date with Judah. My heart yearns for those moments of my body straining to bring forth new life, and then when that is over, nourishing a tiny, perfect being. I literally dream of what those moments feel like. These tears are brought back afresh sometimes as ones close to me are due around that same day, and I am happy for them. To see the joy and wonder on their faces as they gaze at their newborn who smells so sweet, there is nothing else like it.
Sometimes I get angry that loss taints so many areas of life. Sometimes I wish I could say I was spiritual enough, or strong enough or even oblivious enough to not feel the pain, but it is there. I feel it and learn from it daily. This pain has value in my life, only through choice. I have chosen not to let it destroy me. I have so much to learn about this life still, but in the meantime, I will use what I know and what I have experienced to help others. I will sit and get muddy in their puddle with them and show them that there is hope. Even when we don't feel it yet, there is hope. Our babies stories have been heard and read by many and I will keep sharing about them. It is the only way that I have of being their mommy right now. I will honour them by keeping their memory alive.
So my angels, while I celebrate Mother's Day here on earth with your brothers and sister, know that my heart eagerly awaits the day when we will all be together again. I love you more than words can express Asa, April, Kane, Zoe, Ellie and Judah.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Strong? No, not on our own...
I lost my child a while ago. No, no please Don’t look away
And change the subject or say It’s ok.
You see at first I couldn’t feel, It took so long, but now it’s real.
I hurt so much inside you see. I need to talk, Come sit with me.
You see, I was numb for so very long, And people said, “My, she is so strong.”
They did not know I couldn’t feel, My broken heart made all unreal.
But then one day, as I awoke I clutched my chest, began to choke,
Such a scream, such a wail, Broke from me..My child! My child!
The horror of reality. But everyone has moved on,
You see,everyone except for me.
Now, when I need friends most of all, Between us there now stands a wall.
My pain is more than they can bear, When I mention my child,
I see their blank stare.
“But I thought you were over it,” Their eyes seem to say--
No, no, I can’t listen to this, not today. So I smile and pretend, and say,
“Oh, I’m ok”.But inside I am crying, as I turn away.
And so my old friend, I shall paint on a smile, As I have from the start,
You never knowing all the while, All I’ve just said to you in my heart
I did not write this poem. I am not sure who did so if you know, please feel free to comment with the author's name.
Twice in the last while I have experienced this awkward silence from a friend, which made me think of this poem.
A lady we know came up to us and asked about how our children were. I said they were fine. She asked how old they were now. I rattled off their ages, Jinaea 9, Jaron 6 and Kyler 4. She said, "And how about the baby? Where is your baby?"
I cringed inside as I said, "No, our baby was stillborn last summer." Awkward silence, she looked away, both of us trying to figure out what to say next... I guess the last time she talked to us for any length of time, we were about 18 weeks pregnant with Zoe and happily awaiting our next ultrasound to find out if she was a boy or girl.
Then a friend we had not seen in a few months stopped by our house to visit. About half an hour into our visit, this friend looked at me smiling and asked, "So, how are you feeling? How is the baby doing?" I told him quietly that I had lost the baby in November. First there was shock, then embarrassment on his face as his smile left and he looked down. He quietly said he was sorry and the rest of the evening, for the most part, he avoided eye contact with me. I did not cry this time. Any other moment lately, tears seem just under the surface and can spring up at any time, but that night, I didn't.
When my father-in-law passed away, I remember hearing people criticize my mother-in-law for not crying at his funeral.
I remember others saying how incredibly strong she was and we were to hold it all together during the funeral and the days and weeks following. The truth is, she was not strong, and neither were we.
We had cried for days beforehand and we were utterly exhausted. We had no more tears left.
That is how parents are after the loss of a child too. Sometimes we just have nothing left. We have no strength on our own. The only strength or appearance of strength we show comes from our Heavenly Father. In our weakness, He is strength for us. Yes, there are even moments of peace in the midst of the pain and disbelief in reality.
I can now laugh and smile without feeling guilty most of the time. I cry less now than I did in the days surrounding the losses, but the pain is not gone. I have not "moved on" or "gotten better." It is impossible because this IS my life, my reality. It may be messy at times, but mine has become a beautiful mess. A mess of hurting hearts joined together to encourage and support and cry with each other and God is helping us to bring beauty out of pain. I have met people in the last year and a half who have become very close to my heart after just one conversation or meeting because of the common ground we share. They are precious to me.
If you are a grieving parent and your heart feels completely shattered, I would like to encourage you that joy will come again. You will feel alive again. I pray you will come to a place where you can feel peace about where your loss has brought you in life and that you will take steps to move yourself forward again. There is no moving on and leaving this mess behind. We can, however choose to look for the things we can be thankful for through the tears and keep walking. One step at a time. Somedays one step is all we can do, and that's ok! There are people out there like myself who have been there. I may not know you personally, but that doesn't matter. There is a kindredness in our hearts because of the losses we share. My heart is here to listen if you need it and my virtual hugs are always abundant.
There have been many times I have felt I had nothing to offer because I didn't even feel strong enough to stand myself. I was the one reaching out. Now I reach out my hand to you who are hurting, because in my weakness, He is strong.
A beautiful quote I read tonight:
"Only we who have been washed in the blood of the Lamb can both weep and laugh at the same time, and with hearts that are breaking in pieces scattered all over the floor say with sincerity and honesty that it is well with my soul."
~ Gary J. Oliver
And change the subject or say It’s ok.
You see at first I couldn’t feel, It took so long, but now it’s real.
I hurt so much inside you see. I need to talk, Come sit with me.
You see, I was numb for so very long, And people said, “My, she is so strong.”
They did not know I couldn’t feel, My broken heart made all unreal.
But then one day, as I awoke I clutched my chest, began to choke,
Such a scream, such a wail, Broke from me..My child! My child!
The horror of reality. But everyone has moved on,
You see,everyone except for me.
Now, when I need friends most of all, Between us there now stands a wall.
My pain is more than they can bear, When I mention my child,
I see their blank stare.
“But I thought you were over it,” Their eyes seem to say--
No, no, I can’t listen to this, not today. So I smile and pretend, and say,
“Oh, I’m ok”.But inside I am crying, as I turn away.
And so my old friend, I shall paint on a smile, As I have from the start,
You never knowing all the while, All I’ve just said to you in my heart
I did not write this poem. I am not sure who did so if you know, please feel free to comment with the author's name.
Twice in the last while I have experienced this awkward silence from a friend, which made me think of this poem.
A lady we know came up to us and asked about how our children were. I said they were fine. She asked how old they were now. I rattled off their ages, Jinaea 9, Jaron 6 and Kyler 4. She said, "And how about the baby? Where is your baby?"
I cringed inside as I said, "No, our baby was stillborn last summer." Awkward silence, she looked away, both of us trying to figure out what to say next... I guess the last time she talked to us for any length of time, we were about 18 weeks pregnant with Zoe and happily awaiting our next ultrasound to find out if she was a boy or girl.
Then a friend we had not seen in a few months stopped by our house to visit. About half an hour into our visit, this friend looked at me smiling and asked, "So, how are you feeling? How is the baby doing?" I told him quietly that I had lost the baby in November. First there was shock, then embarrassment on his face as his smile left and he looked down. He quietly said he was sorry and the rest of the evening, for the most part, he avoided eye contact with me. I did not cry this time. Any other moment lately, tears seem just under the surface and can spring up at any time, but that night, I didn't.
When my father-in-law passed away, I remember hearing people criticize my mother-in-law for not crying at his funeral.
I remember others saying how incredibly strong she was and we were to hold it all together during the funeral and the days and weeks following. The truth is, she was not strong, and neither were we.
We had cried for days beforehand and we were utterly exhausted. We had no more tears left.
That is how parents are after the loss of a child too. Sometimes we just have nothing left. We have no strength on our own. The only strength or appearance of strength we show comes from our Heavenly Father. In our weakness, He is strength for us. Yes, there are even moments of peace in the midst of the pain and disbelief in reality.
I can now laugh and smile without feeling guilty most of the time. I cry less now than I did in the days surrounding the losses, but the pain is not gone. I have not "moved on" or "gotten better." It is impossible because this IS my life, my reality. It may be messy at times, but mine has become a beautiful mess. A mess of hurting hearts joined together to encourage and support and cry with each other and God is helping us to bring beauty out of pain. I have met people in the last year and a half who have become very close to my heart after just one conversation or meeting because of the common ground we share. They are precious to me.
If you are a grieving parent and your heart feels completely shattered, I would like to encourage you that joy will come again. You will feel alive again. I pray you will come to a place where you can feel peace about where your loss has brought you in life and that you will take steps to move yourself forward again. There is no moving on and leaving this mess behind. We can, however choose to look for the things we can be thankful for through the tears and keep walking. One step at a time. Somedays one step is all we can do, and that's ok! There are people out there like myself who have been there. I may not know you personally, but that doesn't matter. There is a kindredness in our hearts because of the losses we share. My heart is here to listen if you need it and my virtual hugs are always abundant.
There have been many times I have felt I had nothing to offer because I didn't even feel strong enough to stand myself. I was the one reaching out. Now I reach out my hand to you who are hurting, because in my weakness, He is strong.
A beautiful quote I read tonight:
"Only we who have been washed in the blood of the Lamb can both weep and laugh at the same time, and with hearts that are breaking in pieces scattered all over the floor say with sincerity and honesty that it is well with my soul."
~ Gary J. Oliver
Monday, November 28, 2011
Who but You...
Take a listen to this song:
Our God by Chris Tomlin
There is no one else like Him...
When you have a promise in your heart , a promise put there by your Abba Father , how long do you hang on to it? Do you easily let it slip away or do you hang onto it with fierce determination no matter what obstacles get in your way? It could be your marriage, a job, a wayward child coming home, a baby in your arms, a husband, a wife. There is no person on earth that can seal a promise into your heart the way God can. What is your promise?
One of my promises is a baby to hold in my arms again for longer than it takes to say goodbye. I believe it with my whole heart. Does it hurt to lose them? Yes! Do I give up? Absolutely not!
Our most recent loss has brought people to ask, "Don't you think it is time to stop?" or some have commented:
"Maybe God is trying to tell you something here."
"How much more of this are you going to put yourself through?"
"You have three already, maybe you should just focus on enjoying them."
"You are getting older you know."
All those statements speak one single thing to me. Give up!
I can't give up, the promise beats with my heart. It is alive. Does the loss hurt? For sure it does, but love hurts sometimes and is worth the greatest sacrifice.
The promise of children has been sung in my heart since I was a very small child. I cannot give it up. Not yet.
In talking with a friend a short time ago she asked me, "So, do you have a perspective on this?"
At first I did not know how to answer. What is my perspective? I had not thought that through enough to put it into words. As we talked, it came out without me even realizing it.
The only thing that hurts me worse than a miscarriage, is giving up and ending my childbearing years with a loss. My family feels incomplete still. I do not feel His peace about stopping here. To stop here would only be me giving up because I do not want to take the risk of hurting again. To give up now would be a betrayal of my heart. It would be doubting His faithfulness. It would be giving up hope. Something I have stood so strongly against. The words "never lose hope" have left my lips many times when encouraging a friend. Should I not believe the same still for myself. If I did not, I would be a hypocrite in this. So, I press in for the completion of that sacred promise that I feel so deep in my heart.
We will stop when His peace floods our hearts with the knowledge that our family is complete. When that will be, I don't know. Until then we press on, one foot in front of the other, hanging onto hope with thankfulness to the One who loves us so.
Who But You by Mark Hall and Megan Garrett
This song washed over my spirit tonight, thank you Juanita. <3
Our God by Chris Tomlin
There is no one else like Him...
When you have a promise in your heart , a promise put there by your Abba Father , how long do you hang on to it? Do you easily let it slip away or do you hang onto it with fierce determination no matter what obstacles get in your way? It could be your marriage, a job, a wayward child coming home, a baby in your arms, a husband, a wife. There is no person on earth that can seal a promise into your heart the way God can. What is your promise?
One of my promises is a baby to hold in my arms again for longer than it takes to say goodbye. I believe it with my whole heart. Does it hurt to lose them? Yes! Do I give up? Absolutely not!
Our most recent loss has brought people to ask, "Don't you think it is time to stop?" or some have commented:
"Maybe God is trying to tell you something here."
"How much more of this are you going to put yourself through?"
"You have three already, maybe you should just focus on enjoying them."
"You are getting older you know."
All those statements speak one single thing to me. Give up!
I can't give up, the promise beats with my heart. It is alive. Does the loss hurt? For sure it does, but love hurts sometimes and is worth the greatest sacrifice.
The promise of children has been sung in my heart since I was a very small child. I cannot give it up. Not yet.
In talking with a friend a short time ago she asked me, "So, do you have a perspective on this?"
At first I did not know how to answer. What is my perspective? I had not thought that through enough to put it into words. As we talked, it came out without me even realizing it.
The only thing that hurts me worse than a miscarriage, is giving up and ending my childbearing years with a loss. My family feels incomplete still. I do not feel His peace about stopping here. To stop here would only be me giving up because I do not want to take the risk of hurting again. To give up now would be a betrayal of my heart. It would be doubting His faithfulness. It would be giving up hope. Something I have stood so strongly against. The words "never lose hope" have left my lips many times when encouraging a friend. Should I not believe the same still for myself. If I did not, I would be a hypocrite in this. So, I press in for the completion of that sacred promise that I feel so deep in my heart.
We will stop when His peace floods our hearts with the knowledge that our family is complete. When that will be, I don't know. Until then we press on, one foot in front of the other, hanging onto hope with thankfulness to the One who loves us so.
Who But You by Mark Hall and Megan Garrett
This song washed over my spirit tonight, thank you Juanita. <3
Sunday, November 13, 2011
I Gotta Keep Singing
Tonight is a night my heart hurts so much it is hard to breathe. This is raw. The tears show no mercy. We buried our baby this week. I don't understand this at all. Lots of people talk to me about God's plan for all this, I don't want to hear it tonight.
The smile that is on my face, you think it is for real. Is it really?
These days I pretend life goes on. I smile through the days when I am sad. When night falls and I am alone, the tears come. At times so many tears have fallen, I can't even cry right. I was sitting here tonight trying to figure out where I am in all of this. I am frustrated, angry, blessed and thankful, hurt and broken hearted, loved and lost sometimes too. Some have a hard time understanding that, most of the time I can't understand it myself, so I smile.
Music, it brings a different level of depth to my tears. It speaks straight to my heart.
MercyMe has beautiful music that has spoken to my heart many times in the past.
The latest song of theirs that touches my heart is I Gotta Keep Singing
I know this heavy pain will not last forever, I have felt it and walked THROUGH it before.
This miscarriage is different than all the others. Harder, more painful to my heart in some ways. I will be honest, I am angry with my body this time. It failed me and it failed our baby. With all the other miscarriages, our babies died before they entered this world. This time was different. I saw fragile little life move, fight for life and then be still in my hand. I did not want to share this detail with many, but the weight of this "secret" is crushing my heart to keep it inside. Maybe I felt it should be a secret because I am ashamed that my body would betray our baby like this. I don't know.
What I do know is that like the song says, He is the One that keeps my heart beating and the only way I find healing is praising His name. I gotta keep singing. Jesus please sing over me, You are everything I need.
The smile that is on my face, you think it is for real. Is it really?
These days I pretend life goes on. I smile through the days when I am sad. When night falls and I am alone, the tears come. At times so many tears have fallen, I can't even cry right. I was sitting here tonight trying to figure out where I am in all of this. I am frustrated, angry, blessed and thankful, hurt and broken hearted, loved and lost sometimes too. Some have a hard time understanding that, most of the time I can't understand it myself, so I smile.
Music, it brings a different level of depth to my tears. It speaks straight to my heart.
MercyMe has beautiful music that has spoken to my heart many times in the past.
The latest song of theirs that touches my heart is I Gotta Keep Singing
I know this heavy pain will not last forever, I have felt it and walked THROUGH it before.
This miscarriage is different than all the others. Harder, more painful to my heart in some ways. I will be honest, I am angry with my body this time. It failed me and it failed our baby. With all the other miscarriages, our babies died before they entered this world. This time was different. I saw fragile little life move, fight for life and then be still in my hand. I did not want to share this detail with many, but the weight of this "secret" is crushing my heart to keep it inside. Maybe I felt it should be a secret because I am ashamed that my body would betray our baby like this. I don't know.
What I do know is that like the song says, He is the One that keeps my heart beating and the only way I find healing is praising His name. I gotta keep singing. Jesus please sing over me, You are everything I need.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Ultrasound Report
Yesterday was the big day! The Dr. thought (based on LMP only) that I should be 12 weeks. I knew there was no way I could be that far along because I know the signs of ovulation came much later. I thought I was maybe 8 to 10 weeks along. Measurements are hard to get on a miracle so tiny! The radiologist's recommendation is a follow up ultrasound in the next week or two in order to tell if this baby is "viable." The radiologist pointed out and I saw a tiny flutter on the screen when he looked for a heartbeat so I know this baby is living right now.
And now, time for my soapbox. My Dr wants to set up an ultrasound for 10 days from now. I do not want it. To me it makes no sense to expose my baby to even more ultrasound waves in order to determine if the baby is "viable." It makes no difference whether they determine that by ultrasound or not. If it is not, I will let my body continue doing what it needs to do, if it is, I will let my body continue doing what it needs to do. For me, it does not matter whether the baby is "imperfect" or not. It is my baby and I love it no matter what. I choose to not have the ultrasound. I believe God knows more than any machine anyway ;o)
There are many, many articles and postings about the effect of ultrasounds on babies in utero, many of them listed here: Doppler Danger
Here is another article on ultrasounds that is really good . It is by Sarah Buckley.
Yesterday, during the ultrasound and throughout the day today, I have felt God speak to my heart to just trust Him. To stand and wait. I have felt quite strongly with this pregnancy that I am to have the least amount of interventions and procedures done. I am going to hold to the Holy Spirit's leading on this one! Pray for me as I have not been one to stand up to people much in the past. I need your prayers for wisdom when I talk to my Dr. and for strength and confidence as well. Well, it is off to finish school with the kids now. We are doing candy science experiments today!!! I will put up pictures on my next post about it. The kids are so excited!
And now, time for my soapbox. My Dr wants to set up an ultrasound for 10 days from now. I do not want it. To me it makes no sense to expose my baby to even more ultrasound waves in order to determine if the baby is "viable." It makes no difference whether they determine that by ultrasound or not. If it is not, I will let my body continue doing what it needs to do, if it is, I will let my body continue doing what it needs to do. For me, it does not matter whether the baby is "imperfect" or not. It is my baby and I love it no matter what. I choose to not have the ultrasound. I believe God knows more than any machine anyway ;o)
There are many, many articles and postings about the effect of ultrasounds on babies in utero, many of them listed here: Doppler Danger
Here is another article on ultrasounds that is really good . It is by Sarah Buckley.
Yesterday, during the ultrasound and throughout the day today, I have felt God speak to my heart to just trust Him. To stand and wait. I have felt quite strongly with this pregnancy that I am to have the least amount of interventions and procedures done. I am going to hold to the Holy Spirit's leading on this one! Pray for me as I have not been one to stand up to people much in the past. I need your prayers for wisdom when I talk to my Dr. and for strength and confidence as well. Well, it is off to finish school with the kids now. We are doing candy science experiments today!!! I will put up pictures on my next post about it. The kids are so excited!
Monday, October 17, 2011
Remembrance Walk
October 15th is designated Infant and Pregnancy Loss Awareness day. Here is Moose Jaw and in many other places as well people come together to do a walk of remembrance. We do it for the little ones who were part of our lives for what felt like much too short of a time. Then at 7 p.m. around the world, people light a candle for them.
This year was a little different for me than last year. Last year it was so hard to even write Zoe's name on the memorial card because it was yet another reminder that she was gone. This year, it was more of a celebration of her being part of our lives, as short a time as it was. Don't get me wrong, my heart still hurts that she is not here, but I find joy in closing my eyes and remembering holding her little hands, wrapping her tiny fingers over mine. The night she was born was not only filled with pain. There was a sense of awe and wonder at this amazing little creature. Just like with all my other kids, we did all the things mommies do, marveling at the uniqueness and intricacies that a newborn baby is. Tears did fall yesterday, but they were not tears of desperation and agony. They were tears of understanding for all the other parents gathered there, who hurt over their babies too. There was even a lady there who, 55 years ago to the day, she had a still born son. She came to honor him. This year Jaron was our audio tour guide as he read all of the posters to us as we walked the path. It was easy to see he felt honored to be able to do that for us. We blew some bubbles and took some time to reflect. Greg was asked to share my blog entry and the poem in it at the service. Jaron kept reaching over to squeeze my hand or rub my leg whenever he noticed a tear. Kyler gave me hugs and Jinaea smiled a smile at me through her own tears. This year Della chose the hummingbird as our symbol instead of the butterfly. She chose it because of the beauty and wonder that these tiny creatures bring to our world. Unfortunately I did not get a picture of all the hummingbirds before parents came to collect them. There were many more...
At the walk here in Moose Jaw, we do a ceremonial bird release every year as well. A beautiful white dove flutters up into the air, flying beyond the trees and circles back over top of us and then flies home. If you close your eyes and just listen to the sound of it's wings beating, it is almost like your spirit soars too.
At 7p.m. I lit 5 candles in honor of Asa, April, Kane, Zoe and Ellie. I love the candle holders I bought. I found them just before Christmas last year and knew I had to have them. They speak perfectly to the atmosphere that God brought in the middle of the storm. Love, Joy, Cherish, Peace and Hope.
We could not have asked for a more beautiful day at the park for the walk. Even the fountain was still flowing. There was a slight breeze and lots of sun. The leaves rustled ever so gently as we walked. What a beautiful day it was indeed. This scripture verse holds very true:
Psalm 30:11-12
11 You have turned for me my mourning into dancing;
You have put off my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness,
12 To the end that my soul shall sing praise unto You and not be silent.
O LORD my God, I will give thanks to You forever.
Now for those of you who are curious as to how things are going with baby #9, we are doing well. So far everything seems great. I am thanking God every day and praying over this beautiful little love that God has blessed us with. I have an ultrasound on the 31st and then a Dr appt on the 14th of Nov. The ultrasound will tell us "for sure" how far along we are. Please keep your prayers coming. I am forever thankful for every single one of them!
This year was a little different for me than last year. Last year it was so hard to even write Zoe's name on the memorial card because it was yet another reminder that she was gone. This year, it was more of a celebration of her being part of our lives, as short a time as it was. Don't get me wrong, my heart still hurts that she is not here, but I find joy in closing my eyes and remembering holding her little hands, wrapping her tiny fingers over mine. The night she was born was not only filled with pain. There was a sense of awe and wonder at this amazing little creature. Just like with all my other kids, we did all the things mommies do, marveling at the uniqueness and intricacies that a newborn baby is. Tears did fall yesterday, but they were not tears of desperation and agony. They were tears of understanding for all the other parents gathered there, who hurt over their babies too. There was even a lady there who, 55 years ago to the day, she had a still born son. She came to honor him. This year Jaron was our audio tour guide as he read all of the posters to us as we walked the path. It was easy to see he felt honored to be able to do that for us. We blew some bubbles and took some time to reflect. Greg was asked to share my blog entry and the poem in it at the service. Jaron kept reaching over to squeeze my hand or rub my leg whenever he noticed a tear. Kyler gave me hugs and Jinaea smiled a smile at me through her own tears. This year Della chose the hummingbird as our symbol instead of the butterfly. She chose it because of the beauty and wonder that these tiny creatures bring to our world. Unfortunately I did not get a picture of all the hummingbirds before parents came to collect them. There were many more...
At the walk here in Moose Jaw, we do a ceremonial bird release every year as well. A beautiful white dove flutters up into the air, flying beyond the trees and circles back over top of us and then flies home. If you close your eyes and just listen to the sound of it's wings beating, it is almost like your spirit soars too.
At 7p.m. I lit 5 candles in honor of Asa, April, Kane, Zoe and Ellie. I love the candle holders I bought. I found them just before Christmas last year and knew I had to have them. They speak perfectly to the atmosphere that God brought in the middle of the storm. Love, Joy, Cherish, Peace and Hope.
We could not have asked for a more beautiful day at the park for the walk. Even the fountain was still flowing. There was a slight breeze and lots of sun. The leaves rustled ever so gently as we walked. What a beautiful day it was indeed. This scripture verse holds very true:
Psalm 30:11-12
11 You have turned for me my mourning into dancing;
You have put off my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness,
12 To the end that my soul shall sing praise unto You and not be silent.
O LORD my God, I will give thanks to You forever.
Now for those of you who are curious as to how things are going with baby #9, we are doing well. So far everything seems great. I am thanking God every day and praying over this beautiful little love that God has blessed us with. I have an ultrasound on the 31st and then a Dr appt on the 14th of Nov. The ultrasound will tell us "for sure" how far along we are. Please keep your prayers coming. I am forever thankful for every single one of them!
Thursday, October 13, 2011
When doubt speaks, do I listen?
I would like to say that I am always strong. I would like to say I never doubt or even for a moment have a fearful thought about this pregnancy. I cannot say that. I was having a really hard time lately with the emotions of this pregnancy. I love this baby already. From the bottom of my heart. One thing I learned from being pregnant with Zoe and Ellie was that I didn't want to waste even a moment of time not appreciating the gift that they are. Still, I find myself thinking I should not to get too excited about this pregnancy just yet. My heart doesn't listen. I want to love this baby FULLY with no doubt that I will hold it in my arms and bring it home with me. I want to TRUST....completely. Don't get me wrong, I still believe and know that God IS faithful, He WILL be my peace and strength, He BLESSES me all the time, He LOVES me beyond what I could ever imagine and He does all these things NO MATTER WHAT. I just have these thoughts and "what if's" running through my head. I know exactly where they come from too. So why is it so hard to disregard them?
Sometimes all it takes is a little refocusing. Some time spent with God, some praying, some listening and the encouragement comes. Sometimes it is a good friend pointing out what God's truth is, what His promises in the Bible are. Sometimes it may take a whack upside the head to say get it together. Today as I was praying for strength and peace, God spoke some scripture verses to me. They spoke straight to the doubt and fear and started to minister peace to me.
Joshua 1:9 NIV
"Be strong and courageous...for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go."
Isaiah 43:1-4 MSG
Don't be afraid, I've redeemed you. I've called your name. You're mine. When you're in over your head, I'll be there with you. When you're in rough waters, you will not go down. When you're between a rock and a hard place, it won't be a dead end.--because I am God....I paid a huge price for you.... That's how much you mean to me! That's how much I love you!
Psalm 30:5 MSG
....The nights of crying your eyes out give way to days of laughter.
James 1:4 AMP
Let endurance and steadfastness and patience have full play and do a thorough work, so that you may be...perfectly and fully developed...
Hebrews 12:2 AMP
Looking away [from all that will distract] to Jesus, Who is the Leader and the Source of our faith...and is also its Finisher [bringing it to maturity and perfection]...
I am imperfect, but what matters here is that I fight the good fight of faith (1 Timothy 6:12).
God said in Jeremiah 29:11 that He knows the plans He has for me, that He wants to give me hope. I do have hope and normally a stubborn faith that has gotten me through many things. I going to find those socks again, pull them on, I'm in for the ride.
Sometimes all it takes is a little refocusing. Some time spent with God, some praying, some listening and the encouragement comes. Sometimes it is a good friend pointing out what God's truth is, what His promises in the Bible are. Sometimes it may take a whack upside the head to say get it together. Today as I was praying for strength and peace, God spoke some scripture verses to me. They spoke straight to the doubt and fear and started to minister peace to me.
Joshua 1:9 NIV
"Be strong and courageous...for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go."
Isaiah 43:1-4 MSG
Don't be afraid, I've redeemed you. I've called your name. You're mine. When you're in over your head, I'll be there with you. When you're in rough waters, you will not go down. When you're between a rock and a hard place, it won't be a dead end.--because I am God....I paid a huge price for you.... That's how much you mean to me! That's how much I love you!
Psalm 30:5 MSG
....The nights of crying your eyes out give way to days of laughter.
James 1:4 AMP
Let endurance and steadfastness and patience have full play and do a thorough work, so that you may be...perfectly and fully developed...
Hebrews 12:2 AMP
Looking away [from all that will distract] to Jesus, Who is the Leader and the Source of our faith...and is also its Finisher [bringing it to maturity and perfection]...
I am imperfect, but what matters here is that I fight the good fight of faith (1 Timothy 6:12).
God said in Jeremiah 29:11 that He knows the plans He has for me, that He wants to give me hope. I do have hope and normally a stubborn faith that has gotten me through many things. I going to find those socks again, pull them on, I'm in for the ride.
I Hold, I Am Held
This is a testimony/sermon that my dad wrote about me when I was little. As I was reading it today, I was prompted by the Holy Spirit to post it on my blog. I don't know who I was to do this for, but if it is for you, please leave me a comment and let me know how it encouraged you.
There I was driving down the highway, crying out to God with spoken words, crying out to God, it seemed from the very basement of my soul; "Please give my little girl back to me."
In a world where confusion and turmoil are the daily course from which little if any reprieve is often found, we are moved to ask the question: "Does God Really Care?" However, because this confusion and turmoil is often continents away from us living in North America, we find this to be at best, a passing though.
Dorothy Sayers writes: "For whatever reason God chose to make man as He is-limited and suffering and subject to sorrows and death - He had the honesty and courage to take His own medicine. Whatever plan He has with His creation, He has kept His own rules and played fair. He can exact nothing from man that He has not exacted from Himself. He has Himself gone through the whole of human experience, from the trivial irritations of family life and the cramping restrictions of hard work and lack of money to the worst horrors of pain and humiliation, defeat, despair, and death. When He was a man, He played the man. He was born in poverty and died in disgrace and thought it well worthwhile."
Knowing this doesn't provide a pat answer or automatic relief when we find ourselves in the midst of personal turmoil, but it does provide the perspective that God the Father did not play the part of an idle observer as we go through our pain. I get excited when I think of Jesus and how He dealt with the pain He was confronted with. Jesus wept when His friend, Lazarus, died. He identities with the pain and suffering of our lives and we should never be of the opinion that He enjoys seeing His children suffer.
I think of the Garden of Gethsemane when Jesus faced His suffering and He reacted much like any of us would. At first He cried out to His Father, "If there be another way let this cup pass from Me." Yet, knowing there was no other way, Jesus experienced -- perhaps for the first time -- that most human sense of abandonment evidenced by His cry from the cross, "My God, My God why have you forsaken Me?
The writer of Hebrews states in chapter 4 verse 15, "For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are-yet was without sin."
The time came for us to leave and she seemed settled so we left for home. When we walked in the house, the phone was ringing. It was the physician from the hospital. He told us that our daughter had taken a turn for the worse and he was sending her by ambulance to a larger center -- Regina - to be cared for by a specialist.
I so wanted to turn around and go back as fast as I could, so I would be with her in the ambulance but the doctor said, "Just get in your car and head to Regina as fast as you can." These were not comforting words to say the least. In the car we got, mom and dad whose faith was being stretched by this turmoil, and a small boy who was oblivious to the whole matter.
I was praying with my words and with words of the Holy Spirit that seemed very guttural. These words came from so deep inside that I could not recognize the depth from which they came. My wife was in the passenger seat of the car praying and my boy was in the back, sleeping. I looked at my watch and it was around 10 pm. All of a sudden, I was enveloped in some kind of warmth and I heard a voice in my spirit or mind's ear say, "Why are you asking me for your daughter in bodily form? Do you not know that the body without the spirit is dead? Ask me for her spirit and I will return her to you."
My mind went back in time to Lazarus, Jesus' friend who had been dead for some days, to the point that his sister told Jesus, "He stinks." Yet, Jesus cried out: "Lazarus, come forth" and it wasn't long until others were crying, "He's alive, he's alive."
So, in obedience to the voice of the Lord, I asked for the spirit of my daughter. It seemed an eternity had passed before we reached Regina and the hospital. When we finally arrived, I was probably as amazed as the people standing around the grave of Lazarus when Jesus said: "Loose him and let him go." My daughter looked so well that if the specialist had told me I could take her home that night, I would have. It was a total transformation from just hours before.
When we find ourselves appalled at the overwhelming things happening in our lives we cannot always determine the source. It may be the world, it may be consequences of the choices we made, it may be opposition from our spiritual enemy, or it may be the very forces of nature in some disaster. We can wrestle over the probable or possible, as we seek to answer the heart wrenching, "Why?" Yet we cannot understand God nor can we always determine the answer to the "why?" even though we desperately want to. The only hope we have in times of pain and agonizing grief is the knowledge that God does care and He will help us through.
Because, my daughter was so de-hydrated, she was having difficulty finding a vein to get the IV re-started and felt my daughter was going to die, if she couldn't get the IV going. She had just about given up, when suddenly, and blindly, she found a vein, evidence by what is called flashback (blood showing in the IV initiation tubing). The IV started to run and over the next 45 minutes she was surprised at how my daughter seemed to improve when earlier, even with the IV, she wasn't doing so.
Is it coincidence that at the same time the IV came out, the Lord impressed me to begin to pray for the return of the spirit of my daughter to her body? Well, you can think what you will! All I know is that night Jesus cried out in the heavens: "loose her and let her go" and I received back into my arms a daughter -- just like Mary and Martha received their brother.
I never have understood all the twists and turns of my path as I journey toward heaven, but I know the One who has been my anchor through the storms of life and He longs to be your anchor also if you will allow it. He doesn't promise our lives will be free of trouble, yet He does promise to hold us close through it all. This was one of those times for me when I felt too weak to hang on any longer and then He reached out and held me.
I hold, until I am too weak to do so and then I am held by Him. This has been my experience time and time again and I wanted you to know it is as real as real can be. Never doubt God's love and care, or that He hurts when you hurt, reach out to Him because He is reaching out to you.
Written by Merv Tippe April 12, 2007
There I was driving down the highway, crying out to God with spoken words, crying out to God, it seemed from the very basement of my soul; "Please give my little girl back to me."
In a world where confusion and turmoil are the daily course from which little if any reprieve is often found, we are moved to ask the question: "Does God Really Care?" However, because this confusion and turmoil is often continents away from us living in North America, we find this to be at best, a passing though.
Does God care?
Every religion in the world at one point has to answer the question of pain. What sets Christianity apart from Buddhism, Hinduism, Muslimism, and Secular Humanism or other religions of the world? Is there something about the Christian faith that can make a difference when other religions can't? This is the challenge we have as Christians when we face the pain or share the pain of others in the Body of Christ.Dorothy Sayers writes: "For whatever reason God chose to make man as He is-limited and suffering and subject to sorrows and death - He had the honesty and courage to take His own medicine. Whatever plan He has with His creation, He has kept His own rules and played fair. He can exact nothing from man that He has not exacted from Himself. He has Himself gone through the whole of human experience, from the trivial irritations of family life and the cramping restrictions of hard work and lack of money to the worst horrors of pain and humiliation, defeat, despair, and death. When He was a man, He played the man. He was born in poverty and died in disgrace and thought it well worthwhile."
Knowing this doesn't provide a pat answer or automatic relief when we find ourselves in the midst of personal turmoil, but it does provide the perspective that God the Father did not play the part of an idle observer as we go through our pain. I get excited when I think of Jesus and how He dealt with the pain He was confronted with. Jesus wept when His friend, Lazarus, died. He identities with the pain and suffering of our lives and we should never be of the opinion that He enjoys seeing His children suffer.
I think of the Garden of Gethsemane when Jesus faced His suffering and He reacted much like any of us would. At first He cried out to His Father, "If there be another way let this cup pass from Me." Yet, knowing there was no other way, Jesus experienced -- perhaps for the first time -- that most human sense of abandonment evidenced by His cry from the cross, "My God, My God why have you forsaken Me?
The writer of Hebrews states in chapter 4 verse 15, "For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are-yet was without sin."
On the edge of death
My little girl had been very sick and in the hospital for some days. We lived about 35 miles away from our community hospital and our jobs didn't allow us to be there for hours on end, everyday. When we did get in to visit, she looked absolutely terrible. She had been unable to hold anything in, as fluids and foods just seemed to pass straight through without stopping. We would try and hold her, and she was so restless that she would writhe and fuss. Through the day, she settled and began to hold some small amounts of nourishment.The time came for us to leave and she seemed settled so we left for home. When we walked in the house, the phone was ringing. It was the physician from the hospital. He told us that our daughter had taken a turn for the worse and he was sending her by ambulance to a larger center -- Regina - to be cared for by a specialist.
I so wanted to turn around and go back as fast as I could, so I would be with her in the ambulance but the doctor said, "Just get in your car and head to Regina as fast as you can." These were not comforting words to say the least. In the car we got, mom and dad whose faith was being stretched by this turmoil, and a small boy who was oblivious to the whole matter.
I was praying with my words and with words of the Holy Spirit that seemed very guttural. These words came from so deep inside that I could not recognize the depth from which they came. My wife was in the passenger seat of the car praying and my boy was in the back, sleeping. I looked at my watch and it was around 10 pm. All of a sudden, I was enveloped in some kind of warmth and I heard a voice in my spirit or mind's ear say, "Why are you asking me for your daughter in bodily form? Do you not know that the body without the spirit is dead? Ask me for her spirit and I will return her to you."
My mind went back in time to Lazarus, Jesus' friend who had been dead for some days, to the point that his sister told Jesus, "He stinks." Yet, Jesus cried out: "Lazarus, come forth" and it wasn't long until others were crying, "He's alive, he's alive."
So, in obedience to the voice of the Lord, I asked for the spirit of my daughter. It seemed an eternity had passed before we reached Regina and the hospital. When we finally arrived, I was probably as amazed as the people standing around the grave of Lazarus when Jesus said: "Loose him and let him go." My daughter looked so well that if the specialist had told me I could take her home that night, I would have. It was a total transformation from just hours before.
When we find ourselves appalled at the overwhelming things happening in our lives we cannot always determine the source. It may be the world, it may be consequences of the choices we made, it may be opposition from our spiritual enemy, or it may be the very forces of nature in some disaster. We can wrestle over the probable or possible, as we seek to answer the heart wrenching, "Why?" Yet we cannot understand God nor can we always determine the answer to the "why?" even though we desperately want to. The only hope we have in times of pain and agonizing grief is the knowledge that God does care and He will help us through.
The rest of the story
So now, in closing, I want to tell you as Paul Harvey says: "The rest of the story." Some weeks later, I was speaking with the nurse that attended my daughter in the ambulance to Regina. She advised that around 10 pm, the intravenous that was putting fluid into my daughter to re-hydrate her had come out.Because, my daughter was so de-hydrated, she was having difficulty finding a vein to get the IV re-started and felt my daughter was going to die, if she couldn't get the IV going. She had just about given up, when suddenly, and blindly, she found a vein, evidence by what is called flashback (blood showing in the IV initiation tubing). The IV started to run and over the next 45 minutes she was surprised at how my daughter seemed to improve when earlier, even with the IV, she wasn't doing so.
Is it coincidence that at the same time the IV came out, the Lord impressed me to begin to pray for the return of the spirit of my daughter to her body? Well, you can think what you will! All I know is that night Jesus cried out in the heavens: "loose her and let her go" and I received back into my arms a daughter -- just like Mary and Martha received their brother.
I never have understood all the twists and turns of my path as I journey toward heaven, but I know the One who has been my anchor through the storms of life and He longs to be your anchor also if you will allow it. He doesn't promise our lives will be free of trouble, yet He does promise to hold us close through it all. This was one of those times for me when I felt too weak to hang on any longer and then He reached out and held me.
I hold, until I am too weak to do so and then I am held by Him. This has been my experience time and time again and I wanted you to know it is as real as real can be. Never doubt God's love and care, or that He hurts when you hurt, reach out to Him because He is reaching out to you.
Written by Merv Tippe April 12, 2007
Monday, October 10, 2011
Thankfulness
What does thankful look like to you? People use the word for such a huge range of things. Being truly thankful everyday is something I am working on. I remind myself everyday, even through the difficult moments of child rearing, being a wife, and even just being me.
Our thanksgiving could easily have looked MUCH different this year. If it had, would I still have been able to say I am thankful for this day? I would hope that I could. I would hope that my choice would have been to say, just as my blog name does, even still. God, even still I choose to be thankful. Thankfulness is a choice....
Rewind to Friday. Greg took the kids to swimming lessons so that I could stay home and pack up to go to my mom's. We were to be heading out at 4:30 and I did not want to have to rush. Kyler has started swimming lessons this year. He has always wanted to go to "fwimming lessons" but I have always had to say, you are not big enough yet." When I told him he was in lessons this year he said, "I am finally big enough? EEEEEE I am so escited!!!" He is loving it!!
Greg phoned me on the way home from swimming lessons (on speaker phone of course ;o) ), with tears in his voice and said, "We could have lost him today." After swimming lessons the kids are done, the children usually have about 15 minutes of free time. For the preschool group (about ages three and four) this usually means they can go on the little slide, play with the rings that sink or sometimes the teacher takes them to the hot tub. Generally they have to stay sitting on the steps of the hot tub, just into the water and the lifeguard stays very close. On Friday, she did not. The kids were sitting on the steps of the hot tub and she was across the pool. Greg was watching from the area where parents are allowed to view the lessons and saw Kyler stand up. Kyler took a step or two forward and stepped right off the ledge/bench into the deeper part of the hot tub. The teacher did not see, or if she did, she did not go to him. Maybe she thought he was playing, I don't know. Greg said he started to walk towards the hot tub which is quite a distance from the viewing area and all he could see was Kyler's hands just above the water splashing. His head or face could not be seen. He started running because the life guard still was not making her way to him. Greg was almost all the way to the hot tub when one of the older boys from our homeschool group reached down into the water and pulled Kyler out. I don't know exactly how many seconds he was under, but long enough that the outcome may not have been good. I thank God for guardian angels that watch over my children. Even a few seconds longer and, well I don't even want to go there. The lifeguard came and apologized saying she just thought he was playing, she didn't realize he was in danger.
I have spent this weekend watching him and my other children play, listening to their laughter as they ride bikes down the driveway and soaking it all in. I love them so very much!! Friday's incident has reminded me once again, to appreciate every moment. Sometimes we get frustrated, sometimes we make mistakes as parents, sometimes we forget that these little souls have been entrusted to us, to bless us. I am guilty.
I am guilty of not being patient, of grumbling, of speaking words that I regret, of wasting precious moments, of not taking time out of my "busy" day to read a story or go see the exciting discovery they just made. I am not perfect, but I am learning.
I don't want to look back on my life and regret the choices I made through the years my children were little. I want to discover butterflies, go on nature hikes, pet fuzzy caterpillars (okay, I will encourage them to do the petting as I don't REALLY want to touch them ;o) ) make glitter from shiny rocks, look for earthworms in the dirt, read stories, hug wiggly boys, dance around the living room with no inhibitions because my kids need a partner, and spend precious time with a girl who is growing up so fast. I want them to remember above all, that their dreams and ambitions, loves and hopes, wants and needs were important to their mommy. No matter how small a thing, that I believe in them, that I am thankful for them even on the days where it is hard to remain a calm, patient mommy. I want them to know of God's unconditional love for them and that comes through us as parent's. It is our job to tell them and be a good example to them of how He cherishes them.
My list could go on and on, but here is a small list of things I am thankful for (in no particular order):
1. I am thankful for Kyler's warm breath as it left his lips when I kissed him goodnight. For the rise and fall of his chest and every beat of his heart when I tuck the blankets around his chin.
2. I am thankful for Jinaea's smile today as she curled up in my lap, for the way she blushes and wiggles when we tell her how beautiful she is.
3. I am thankful for Jaron's bright blue eyes that twinkle when he smiles and for the songs he sings throughout the day.
4. I am thankful for my husband who loves me unconditionally, who takes his marriage vows very seriously. He stands by my side through good times and bad, through sickness and health, and I believe he will until death do us part.
5. I am so very thankful for every single second we got to hold Zoe. For each of her tiny fingers and toes, for the kicks she delivered while in my tummy.
6. I am thankful for all my angel babies and the things they have taught me, for the changes their presence in my life has produced.
7. I am thankful for new friends and old.
8. I am thankful for opportunities to step out and show love to a hurting world around me.
9. I am thankful for the chance be a post partum doula and to share in people's lives as they learn the new dance of parenthood with these precious little ones.
10. I am thankful for God's saving grace on my life, for His mercy, peace, hope and love.
11. I am thankful that right now there is new life growing in my womb once again. Yes that is right, in case you didn't catch my last blog entry (or didn't understand what we meant), we are pregnant again.
12. I am thankful that God always provides our needs, always.
13. I am thankful for my warm cozy bed to curl up in at night.
14. I am thankful for the pain and difficulties in my life. Yes, you read that right. I am thankful even for those. Without them, I would not be the person/wife/mother that I am today.
15. I am thankful for praying parents.
16. I am thankful for baby smiles and snuggles that I got this weekend.
17. I am thankful that I know where I will spend eternity.
18. I am thankful for the spiritual wisdom and insights of others, shared with me through blogs, books, conversations and prayers.
19. I am thankful that each and every day is a new day. A day to start over. A day to walk in grace.
20. I am thankful for Kiara. We have been through so much and God gives me love for her over and over. She will be making us grandparents in November, a new and exciting part of life begins.
21. I am thankful for guardian angels.
There is so much more, but it is 12:38 a.m. and I need some sleep. Good night to all, sweet dreams.
Our thanksgiving could easily have looked MUCH different this year. If it had, would I still have been able to say I am thankful for this day? I would hope that I could. I would hope that my choice would have been to say, just as my blog name does, even still. God, even still I choose to be thankful. Thankfulness is a choice....
Rewind to Friday. Greg took the kids to swimming lessons so that I could stay home and pack up to go to my mom's. We were to be heading out at 4:30 and I did not want to have to rush. Kyler has started swimming lessons this year. He has always wanted to go to "fwimming lessons" but I have always had to say, you are not big enough yet." When I told him he was in lessons this year he said, "I am finally big enough? EEEEEE I am so escited!!!" He is loving it!!
Greg phoned me on the way home from swimming lessons (on speaker phone of course ;o) ), with tears in his voice and said, "We could have lost him today." After swimming lessons the kids are done, the children usually have about 15 minutes of free time. For the preschool group (about ages three and four) this usually means they can go on the little slide, play with the rings that sink or sometimes the teacher takes them to the hot tub. Generally they have to stay sitting on the steps of the hot tub, just into the water and the lifeguard stays very close. On Friday, she did not. The kids were sitting on the steps of the hot tub and she was across the pool. Greg was watching from the area where parents are allowed to view the lessons and saw Kyler stand up. Kyler took a step or two forward and stepped right off the ledge/bench into the deeper part of the hot tub. The teacher did not see, or if she did, she did not go to him. Maybe she thought he was playing, I don't know. Greg said he started to walk towards the hot tub which is quite a distance from the viewing area and all he could see was Kyler's hands just above the water splashing. His head or face could not be seen. He started running because the life guard still was not making her way to him. Greg was almost all the way to the hot tub when one of the older boys from our homeschool group reached down into the water and pulled Kyler out. I don't know exactly how many seconds he was under, but long enough that the outcome may not have been good. I thank God for guardian angels that watch over my children. Even a few seconds longer and, well I don't even want to go there. The lifeguard came and apologized saying she just thought he was playing, she didn't realize he was in danger.
I have spent this weekend watching him and my other children play, listening to their laughter as they ride bikes down the driveway and soaking it all in. I love them so very much!! Friday's incident has reminded me once again, to appreciate every moment. Sometimes we get frustrated, sometimes we make mistakes as parents, sometimes we forget that these little souls have been entrusted to us, to bless us. I am guilty.
I am guilty of not being patient, of grumbling, of speaking words that I regret, of wasting precious moments, of not taking time out of my "busy" day to read a story or go see the exciting discovery they just made. I am not perfect, but I am learning.
I don't want to look back on my life and regret the choices I made through the years my children were little. I want to discover butterflies, go on nature hikes, pet fuzzy caterpillars (okay, I will encourage them to do the petting as I don't REALLY want to touch them ;o) ) make glitter from shiny rocks, look for earthworms in the dirt, read stories, hug wiggly boys, dance around the living room with no inhibitions because my kids need a partner, and spend precious time with a girl who is growing up so fast. I want them to remember above all, that their dreams and ambitions, loves and hopes, wants and needs were important to their mommy. No matter how small a thing, that I believe in them, that I am thankful for them even on the days where it is hard to remain a calm, patient mommy. I want them to know of God's unconditional love for them and that comes through us as parent's. It is our job to tell them and be a good example to them of how He cherishes them.
My list could go on and on, but here is a small list of things I am thankful for (in no particular order):
1. I am thankful for Kyler's warm breath as it left his lips when I kissed him goodnight. For the rise and fall of his chest and every beat of his heart when I tuck the blankets around his chin.
2. I am thankful for Jinaea's smile today as she curled up in my lap, for the way she blushes and wiggles when we tell her how beautiful she is.
3. I am thankful for Jaron's bright blue eyes that twinkle when he smiles and for the songs he sings throughout the day.
4. I am thankful for my husband who loves me unconditionally, who takes his marriage vows very seriously. He stands by my side through good times and bad, through sickness and health, and I believe he will until death do us part.
5. I am so very thankful for every single second we got to hold Zoe. For each of her tiny fingers and toes, for the kicks she delivered while in my tummy.
6. I am thankful for all my angel babies and the things they have taught me, for the changes their presence in my life has produced.
7. I am thankful for new friends and old.
8. I am thankful for opportunities to step out and show love to a hurting world around me.
9. I am thankful for the chance be a post partum doula and to share in people's lives as they learn the new dance of parenthood with these precious little ones.
10. I am thankful for God's saving grace on my life, for His mercy, peace, hope and love.
11. I am thankful that right now there is new life growing in my womb once again. Yes that is right, in case you didn't catch my last blog entry (or didn't understand what we meant), we are pregnant again.
12. I am thankful that God always provides our needs, always.
13. I am thankful for my warm cozy bed to curl up in at night.
14. I am thankful for the pain and difficulties in my life. Yes, you read that right. I am thankful even for those. Without them, I would not be the person/wife/mother that I am today.
15. I am thankful for praying parents.
16. I am thankful for baby smiles and snuggles that I got this weekend.
17. I am thankful that I know where I will spend eternity.
18. I am thankful for the spiritual wisdom and insights of others, shared with me through blogs, books, conversations and prayers.
19. I am thankful that each and every day is a new day. A day to start over. A day to walk in grace.
20. I am thankful for Kiara. We have been through so much and God gives me love for her over and over. She will be making us grandparents in November, a new and exciting part of life begins.
21. I am thankful for guardian angels.
There is so much more, but it is 12:38 a.m. and I need some sleep. Good night to all, sweet dreams.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
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