Late last week a friend posted the following on Facebook: Stop and take the time to be thankful in the very moment you are feeling ungrateful.
Sadly, when I read that, I was feeling ungrateful that my day wasn't going as well as I had hoped. In all honesty, I've always tried to live life this way - but have needed the reminder more often. So, I was thankful to that friend (even though she had no idea I needed to read that) for sharing that reminder.
I've been using this phrase and replacing the word ungrateful in different circumstances.
Stop and take the time to be thankful in the very moment you are feeling angry.
Stop and take the time to be thankful in the very moment you are feeling depressed.
Stop and take the time to be thankful in the very moment you are feeling impatient.
Stop and take the time to be thankful in the very moment you are feeling sad.
Stop and take the time to be thankful in the very moment you are feeling guilty.
Stop and take the time to be thankful in the very moment you are feeling weak.
The holiday season is approaching and many of my friends are preparing for "firsts" with their new babies. I would be lying if I told you that the flood of holiday photos with sweet little babies wearing Santa hats and darling dresses didn't make my heart hurt. I'd be lying if I told you that every time I "liked" one of those photos on Facebook that it was an automatic click of the thumbs up button for me. Truth be told, I often have to scroll through those statuses/photos a couple of times before I go back and like them. It's not that I don't actually like them, but envy begins to set in and I have to remind myself that the baby is really cute, the picture is really sweet and it's no one's fault that I don't have a baby of my own to post pictures of.
Stop and take the time to be thankful in the very moment you are feeling jealous.
Gulp.
My husband and I have hosted Thanksgiving for quite awhile now. It has become my favorite holiday and I love having my whole family together. Growing up, since my parents were divorced, I often had to spend my holidays traveling back and forth - from one side to the next - only getting a short amount of time at each stop. Between my parents, my grandparents, my step-parent's parents - there were so many people to visit! It truly brings me so much joy to have my whole family under one roof! It's the only holiday I get this, and I live for those moments.
I love the week preparing for Thanksgiving. I enjoy doing all the shopping for the meal, preparing the meal, watching holiday movies, starting to listen to Christmas music, getting goodies for the service project we always do and then ending the week trimming the house for Christmas. When I was pregnant I would try and imagine what this holiday season would be like with a baby.
Would I finally allow people to bring side dishes so that I wouldn't have to do as much? I was secretly excited for an excuse to sneak up to the nursery to rock the baby to sleep in the midst of the holiday hoopla. I pictured myself sitting in the rocking chair, the door closed but the holiday chatter still loud enough that I could sit back and enjoy the laughter from a silly joke that my grandpa told or hear the roar of the group when someone scored a touchdown. Then, after everyone left and the house was quiet again we'd build a fire, put on some music and watch our little one become mesmerized by the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree.
No, the holidays won't be anything like I imagined it to be this year. Being thankful can take some effort sometimes, can't it? I've struggled quite a bit these last 4 months to find things to be thankful for. Yet there are many things, right in front of my eyes - each and every day - that I have to be thankful for. It's often just remembering to "stop" long enough to reflect on them!
I am thankful for the support of so many family and friends - the constant outpouring of love is still so appreciated. I hope you all know how very much I love each and every one of you and keep you in my prayers. I am thankful for a supportive work environment - co-workers who understand that Mondays are therapy days and I'm still a work in progress. I am thankful for my amazing therapist, who I look forward to being with and feel a thousand times better after I leave her office.
I am thankful for this incredible group of mothers I found on Facebook - women who were strangers but a year ago and today have become one of my greatest support systems. Mothers who respect me, encourage me and give me hope for the future. I am thankful for my midwife - a woman who took care of Olive and I for 40 weeks and kept me calm (and still keeps me calm) in some of my most difficult moments. A woman whose door is always open to me (what other practitioner would invite you to her hospital room after SHE had surgery so that you could just come hang out and vent?).
I am thankful for the network of parents we've met through Children's Hospital, other bereaved parents that have reached out and new friends that I'm certain will become lifelong friends because of the bond we share. I'm thankful for my church family - especially our incredible pastors who remind me weekly (sometimes more) that they are continually praying for my husband and I.
I am thankful that I've got the energy and motivation back to start taking care of myself again - and for special people in my life who are helping to keep me encouraged in my physical needs. I am thankful for my sweet neighbor and her friends who have welcomed me into their bible study and keep me encouraged in my spiritual needs. I'm thankful for a God who looks past my weaknesses and the "what's in it for me" attitude I so often have - a God who loves me and reminds me that things don't have to be so complicated.
I am thankful for my husband. I am more in love with him today than I ever thought possible. He is patient, kind and forgiving. Lord knows I haven't been the easiest to live with the last 4 months (4 years?), but he understands that we grieve differently. He doesn't bat an eye when I don't know what I need, what I want or what I'm feeling. He's doesn't change my radio stations (even though I know he'd rather listen to rock than Christian rock), even if he needs something he doesn't interrupt me if he sees I'm reading my bible and he only rolls his eyes once when he comes upstairs and sees I'm watching a cheesy Hallmark holiday movie (hehe). I am thankful when he opens up about Olive or shares a song that reminds him of her. I love how many date nights we have set up in the next month and that whether we're out in public or hanging out at home we find ways to reconnect and prioritize each other. He truly is my best friend.
I am thankful for our little lovebug that made us parents. Olive was a baby who was in our hearts and on our minds long before she was even conceived. She was the perfect answer to our prayers and I am so thankful that she is our firstborn. Her life has taught me more about myself than I ever knew possible. She brought my husband and I closer and our families closer. Her life helped make friends out of strangers, and God continues to amaze me at the beautiful miracles he's allowed from both her earthly and heavenly life.
Stop and take the time to be thankful in the very moment you are feeling happy.
Stop and take the time to be thankful in the very moment you are feeling strong.
So whether I find myself sitting in my car screaming at the top of my lungs, laughing with my husband, feeling green with envy as I scroll through Facebook or feeling accomplished after a hard workout - I'm trying to stop and show gratitude in each of those moments. It doesn't happen every time - (remember when I said I was a work in progress) - but it's happening more frequently, and I really can see and feel a difference in my attitude.
Stop and take the time to be thankful in the very moment you are feeling anything.
Monday, November 24, 2014
Thursday, November 20, 2014
To Whom Would I Go?
One year ago tomorrow I found out I was going to be a mother. I awoke from the most peaceful dream that I had just delivered a healthy baby, and knew that would be the day. I had been anxiously testing for a week or so before that - but I would never get discouraged at all of those negatives, I knew that month was the month. That morning, November 21, 2013, my feelings were confirmed - I was going to be a mother.
Looking back, I wonder if I would have reacted differently if I had known that I would only get 36 precious hours with my daughter. I mean, none of us are guaranteed any specific amount of time on this earth, right? But we assume. We assume that our children will outlive us, that we will outlive our parents and that our parents will outlive our grandparents. When things happen "out of order" it throws us for a loop.
Which brings me back to my question - would I have been just as joyful knowing that God needed parents for Olive for just a short time on earth? Would I have fallen to my knees giving thanks to God that morning if I had known that my role as a mother would not be like my friends? If I had known that my days of motherhood would be filled with tears and grief and heartache - what would I have done?
I'd like to tell you that I would have been just as happy - praising God for blessing me with the honor of being chosen as her mother, regardless of the time I got with her. I'd like to tell you that I would have worshiped and praised Him for thinking me worthy to have any time at all with that sweet baby. But I can tell you that wouldn't have been true. I would have thrown up my hands, I would have wailed and bargained with Him. I would have spent more time throughout my pregnancy dreading my due date instead of enjoying the little moments, the sweet flutters, kicks and hiccups.
Earlier this month I had begun experiencing emotions that I haven't felt in awhile. Month 3 brought me to my knees - literally - but again, not in the praising and worshipping sense, more like the "why me" sense. I have been angry and overwhelmed this month. I have taken on more than I can handle - trying to return to "normal" faster. Saying yes to everything, trying to fill my time with more obligations - trying to make myself feel needed and wanted. I felt, when Olive died, that I had lost my identity. Everything I thought I was supposed to be was no longer, so I attempted to return to my pre-Olive life in an attempt to make things fall back into place again. Month 3 came and I felt like I had hit rock bottom - like things were out of control again.
How did I get here?
How did this happen?
I often think of Job - a man who literally lost everything, and yet in the midst of it all, faithfully replied "Shall we accept good from God and not trouble?" Job 2:10 NIV
If I had known that my life was going to be where it is right at this exact moment I would not have been as faithful as Job. I'm still not as faithful as Job, and my problems aren't nearly as severe as his were. I am trying - really hard to be more accepting of my life -to take these burdens and bear my cross faithfully, full of hope and trusting that God will fulfill his promises to never leave me or forsake me. Even in this. I'm tired, I'm empty - but I will never stop trying to be more faithful.
Someone recently asked me how I can stay so committed to following God in all of this. It's interesting because not being committed to God was never an option for me, it's never even crossed my mind. I have doubted Him, I have questioned Him, I have believed at times that I could have done a better job than He - but I've never, not for one single second, considered a life without Him.
I'm reminded of Jesus' ministry when he was teaching and preaching - telling people things that were hard for them to understand, things that didn't seem to go along with how they thought things should be. Many people began to turn away from him, as it was easier to believe this Jesus-guy was kind of strange - talking about taking his body and blood and being the bread of life - crazy-talk, right?
At this point many of his disciples turned away and deserted him. Then Jesus turned to the twelve and asked, "Are you going to leave too?"
Simon Peter replied, "Lord, to whom would we go? You alone have the words that give eternal life. We believe them." John 6:66-69 NLT
To whom would I go?
Who else do I have as an option? Myself? My husband? My family, friends or therapist? Of course these people are great listeners, offering advice and encouraging words - but none of them can offer me the opportunity to see my daughter again. Not a one. There is only ONE way for my little family to be reunited someday - and that's through this crazy Jesus-guy who takes me down paths I don't understand and does things I don't always agree with. Paths where I think I know the way and then He makes us take a sharp left when I was trying to go right - reminding me both of His love and His control.
So - here I am on November 20, still tired, still broken and still sad - slowly allowing the empty parts of my life to be filled with the hope and promises of God. My hope is that tomorrow I'll be able to wake up remembering fondly that cool November day that I got the best news of my life. Instead of a heavy heart - I am going to have a joyful heart and praise Him just as I did that day, exactly one year ago. Praise Him for giving her life, for choosing me to be her mother and for taking good care of her until I'm able to see her again.
*The title of this post is taken from a devotion I recently read, The One Year Book of Hope by Nancie Guthrie
Looking back, I wonder if I would have reacted differently if I had known that I would only get 36 precious hours with my daughter. I mean, none of us are guaranteed any specific amount of time on this earth, right? But we assume. We assume that our children will outlive us, that we will outlive our parents and that our parents will outlive our grandparents. When things happen "out of order" it throws us for a loop.
Which brings me back to my question - would I have been just as joyful knowing that God needed parents for Olive for just a short time on earth? Would I have fallen to my knees giving thanks to God that morning if I had known that my role as a mother would not be like my friends? If I had known that my days of motherhood would be filled with tears and grief and heartache - what would I have done?
I'd like to tell you that I would have been just as happy - praising God for blessing me with the honor of being chosen as her mother, regardless of the time I got with her. I'd like to tell you that I would have worshiped and praised Him for thinking me worthy to have any time at all with that sweet baby. But I can tell you that wouldn't have been true. I would have thrown up my hands, I would have wailed and bargained with Him. I would have spent more time throughout my pregnancy dreading my due date instead of enjoying the little moments, the sweet flutters, kicks and hiccups.
Earlier this month I had begun experiencing emotions that I haven't felt in awhile. Month 3 brought me to my knees - literally - but again, not in the praising and worshipping sense, more like the "why me" sense. I have been angry and overwhelmed this month. I have taken on more than I can handle - trying to return to "normal" faster. Saying yes to everything, trying to fill my time with more obligations - trying to make myself feel needed and wanted. I felt, when Olive died, that I had lost my identity. Everything I thought I was supposed to be was no longer, so I attempted to return to my pre-Olive life in an attempt to make things fall back into place again. Month 3 came and I felt like I had hit rock bottom - like things were out of control again.
How did I get here?
How did this happen?
I often think of Job - a man who literally lost everything, and yet in the midst of it all, faithfully replied "Shall we accept good from God and not trouble?" Job 2:10 NIV
If I had known that my life was going to be where it is right at this exact moment I would not have been as faithful as Job. I'm still not as faithful as Job, and my problems aren't nearly as severe as his were. I am trying - really hard to be more accepting of my life -to take these burdens and bear my cross faithfully, full of hope and trusting that God will fulfill his promises to never leave me or forsake me. Even in this. I'm tired, I'm empty - but I will never stop trying to be more faithful.
Someone recently asked me how I can stay so committed to following God in all of this. It's interesting because not being committed to God was never an option for me, it's never even crossed my mind. I have doubted Him, I have questioned Him, I have believed at times that I could have done a better job than He - but I've never, not for one single second, considered a life without Him.
I'm reminded of Jesus' ministry when he was teaching and preaching - telling people things that were hard for them to understand, things that didn't seem to go along with how they thought things should be. Many people began to turn away from him, as it was easier to believe this Jesus-guy was kind of strange - talking about taking his body and blood and being the bread of life - crazy-talk, right?
At this point many of his disciples turned away and deserted him. Then Jesus turned to the twelve and asked, "Are you going to leave too?"
Simon Peter replied, "Lord, to whom would we go? You alone have the words that give eternal life. We believe them." John 6:66-69 NLT
To whom would I go?
Who else do I have as an option? Myself? My husband? My family, friends or therapist? Of course these people are great listeners, offering advice and encouraging words - but none of them can offer me the opportunity to see my daughter again. Not a one. There is only ONE way for my little family to be reunited someday - and that's through this crazy Jesus-guy who takes me down paths I don't understand and does things I don't always agree with. Paths where I think I know the way and then He makes us take a sharp left when I was trying to go right - reminding me both of His love and His control.
So - here I am on November 20, still tired, still broken and still sad - slowly allowing the empty parts of my life to be filled with the hope and promises of God. My hope is that tomorrow I'll be able to wake up remembering fondly that cool November day that I got the best news of my life. Instead of a heavy heart - I am going to have a joyful heart and praise Him just as I did that day, exactly one year ago. Praise Him for giving her life, for choosing me to be her mother and for taking good care of her until I'm able to see her again.
*The title of this post is taken from a devotion I recently read, The One Year Book of Hope by Nancie Guthrie
Thursday, November 13, 2014
It Could Be Worse
After three weeks it finally happened - I had my first rough day at work. Ok - not my first rough day ever, but since I've been back. It's interesting how perspective changes after losing a child, you realize normal everyday "problems" shouldn't really feel like problems at all. Yet today I found myself getting frustrated, wondering why I felt like I was the only person fixing issues and dealing with cranky clients. In the grand scheme of things, these "problems' are not really THAT big of a deal. We make them into big deals though, don't we?
I'd like to tell you that I live in a new world where I never complain and thank God for my blessings every single day. I'd like to tell you that after suffering through loss like this that I appreciate the little things at any given moment. I'd like to tell you that small things don't shake me anymore.
But I don't. And they still do.
Being back at work allows my brain a break from the grief, but work has it's own stresses. After a stressful day at work I get to come home and pick up where I left off grieving. I came home today to do just that, but I turned on the news and that all changed. I've suffered an unimaginable loss - but I still need to put things into perspective too. It could be worse.
It can always be worse.
I had a bad day today and my daughter died 3 months ago, but today, today there are others suffering too. I read a story today of a young father who not only lost his wife shortly after childbirth, but he also lost his premature son at 4 days old. Today I read about a local baby that passed away in the NICU right next to a sweet friend's son - that baby was 20 days old. This week people are burying spouses, siblings and friends.
There are people wondering where they are going to go to escape the harsh bitter night, mothers wondering how they are going to feed their children, people being persecuted and dying because others don't believe in the same things they do. There are families who have never drank clean water, and parents who live in other countries to work and provide for families they see once every two years.
People are suffering.
And I had a bad day.
Let's be honest - most of my days still stink, but I have a good-paying job that welcomed me back with open arms. I have a car that runs and is paid off. I have a warm home and clothes on my back. I have food that is going bad in my refrigerator because I decided I'd rather eat out than eat leftovers.
I had a bad day today so I'm drinking a glass of wine, flipping through Facebook and I'll probably complain to my husband when he gets home. I might start a fire or take a warm bath to relieve my stress. When I'm done, I'll snuggle up with my dogs until it's time to climb into my warm bed and drift off to a peaceful sleep - a sleep that won't be interrupted by a grumbling stomach, bullets flying overhead or dropping temperatures.
Don't get me wrong - I'm not making light of my problems or yours. We've all been given our burdens and crosses to bear in this lifetime. If you're having a bad day like I am, you're entitled to your feelings and shouldn't feel bad or guilty for them. Maybe, just maybe (if you're anything like me), you need a little perspective.
Tonight - if you're inclined - just stop for a moment....and pray. Say a prayer for all those that are hurting or are suffering great loss. Pray for the sick, the needy, the hungry and the persecuted. Remember others who are living lives that we can't even imagine -lives that don't include the beauty and joy that we have taken for granted. After you've prayed for those people - don't forget to give thanks for what you do have. Give thanks for this day that you've been blessed with - and join me in trying again tomorrow.
I'd like to tell you that I live in a new world where I never complain and thank God for my blessings every single day. I'd like to tell you that after suffering through loss like this that I appreciate the little things at any given moment. I'd like to tell you that small things don't shake me anymore.
But I don't. And they still do.
Being back at work allows my brain a break from the grief, but work has it's own stresses. After a stressful day at work I get to come home and pick up where I left off grieving. I came home today to do just that, but I turned on the news and that all changed. I've suffered an unimaginable loss - but I still need to put things into perspective too. It could be worse.
It can always be worse.
I had a bad day today and my daughter died 3 months ago, but today, today there are others suffering too. I read a story today of a young father who not only lost his wife shortly after childbirth, but he also lost his premature son at 4 days old. Today I read about a local baby that passed away in the NICU right next to a sweet friend's son - that baby was 20 days old. This week people are burying spouses, siblings and friends.
There are people wondering where they are going to go to escape the harsh bitter night, mothers wondering how they are going to feed their children, people being persecuted and dying because others don't believe in the same things they do. There are families who have never drank clean water, and parents who live in other countries to work and provide for families they see once every two years.
People are suffering.
And I had a bad day.
Let's be honest - most of my days still stink, but I have a good-paying job that welcomed me back with open arms. I have a car that runs and is paid off. I have a warm home and clothes on my back. I have food that is going bad in my refrigerator because I decided I'd rather eat out than eat leftovers.
I had a bad day today so I'm drinking a glass of wine, flipping through Facebook and I'll probably complain to my husband when he gets home. I might start a fire or take a warm bath to relieve my stress. When I'm done, I'll snuggle up with my dogs until it's time to climb into my warm bed and drift off to a peaceful sleep - a sleep that won't be interrupted by a grumbling stomach, bullets flying overhead or dropping temperatures.
Don't get me wrong - I'm not making light of my problems or yours. We've all been given our burdens and crosses to bear in this lifetime. If you're having a bad day like I am, you're entitled to your feelings and shouldn't feel bad or guilty for them. Maybe, just maybe (if you're anything like me), you need a little perspective.
Tonight - if you're inclined - just stop for a moment....and pray. Say a prayer for all those that are hurting or are suffering great loss. Pray for the sick, the needy, the hungry and the persecuted. Remember others who are living lives that we can't even imagine -lives that don't include the beauty and joy that we have taken for granted. After you've prayed for those people - don't forget to give thanks for what you do have. Give thanks for this day that you've been blessed with - and join me in trying again tomorrow.
Wednesday, November 5, 2014
Not Your Ordinary Monday
I've been back to work for two weeks now, and life feels to be falling back into some sort of routine again. I actually enjoy waking up in the morning and making my way into the office. I thought I would want more time at home - but I'm finding that there is a good balance of being around people again and having some down time to just work at home in peace. To an outsider I look like any other employee of the company - I go to work with my coffee mug, check emails, sit in on some conference calls, meet with clients and go home. I've even caught myself believing that I'm just a normal employee back at my normal job living a normal life. And then I have days like Monday.
While the rest of the work world was going about their emails and conference calls I was just leaving therapy to go pick up my daughter's autopsy report. If that's not a snap back to one's reality, I don't know what is.
For three months I had been preparing myself for that day. For three months I have been convincing myself that this happened days before I delivered, as some of the doctors had mentioned in passing at one point. Like any other grieving parent that hadn't slept, I took those comments and I held on to them - I told myself that must have been what happened. I told myself that because this had happened days prior - that someday, should I become pregnant again, we'd be able to see this distress or "catch it" before it got this bad and save our next baby.
You see, there will be no normal pregnancy for me again. God willing, if I'm able to have another baby, I know that those 40 weeks will be filled with anxiety and uncertainty. There will be no naivete with another pregnancy - once infant death has rocked your world, there is no rest. I now live with the reality that I am not exempt from another loss just because I suffered one already. There will be no rest until I have a healthy crying baby in my arms. That's my reality - that is something my husband and I have to mentally and emotionally prepare for. But, knowing that any other pregnancy I may have will be monitored more closely than this one had been, I found comfort believing that we'd be able to "catch" this if it had indeed happened leading up to Olive's birth.
What I learned on Monday is that I had a perfectly healthy baby. A baby with organs that were healthy and the right size for her. A baby whose body was structurally perfect, a perfectly plump and healthy baby. What I learned on Monday is that there were two sections of the umbilical cord that had bruising and looked as though they had been compromised "shortly before birth". Two spots where blood flow and oxygen were cut off from my perfectly healthy baby. Two spots that, at some point during my labor, began the slow process of killing my child.
What I read, sitting in my car in front of Children's Hospital, was this:
Healthy Baby.
Damaged cord.
Cord that was attached to my placenta, which was attached to my uterus, which is a part of my body, which was her lifeline....failed.
My body failed.
This reality hit me like a ton of bricks. I couldn't help it - how did I not know this happened? What kind of mother can't tell that her baby is in distress? I replayed that day in my head over and over again. Was it a position I labored in? Should I have listened to my midwife and walked more instead of sitting all scrunched up in a chair or on the toilet? If I had walked more maybe the lip of my cervix wouldn't have been stuck on her head. I should have done those lunges they told me to do. Who doesn't listen to their midwife? Me.
Me.
Me.
Me.
That night I went to church. I didn't want to go anywhere, but I knew I couldn't stay at home. If I stayed at home that night I would beat myself up and I needed mercy. I needed grace. I needed truth. I knew it wasn't my fault, I did - but I didn't have an answer to my own question. If it wasn't my fault what really happened?
I was a blubbering mess in church, but I left there feeling a little better. I still didn't have many answers, but I felt a little better - until I got home. When I returned home I found my husband standing in the kitchen reading the report. What would he say when he realized I failed her? Failed us?
Instead of telling me that he never wanted to have babies with me again (which is what I felt like he should say to me because the doubt started to creep back into my head and clearly I can't be trusted to birth a baby) he told me he was happy there was nothing wrong with me. He told me that he was so relieved that there was nothing genetic that we have to worry about. He told me that he believed in me and in my body - and that yes, we will be cautious and anxious and worrisome when we/if we become pregnant again - he told me that this was not my fault.
We went to bed that night like any other Monday night, like the "normal" couple we still are, taking the last 20 minutes of our day to read before calling it a night. I opened my devotion book to the next page - which was focusing on God revealing himself to us through the Holy Spirit.
His Spirit searches out everything and shows us even God's deep secrets. No one can know what anyone else is really thinking except that person alone, and no one can know God's thoughts except God's own Spirit. And God has actually given us his spirit (not the world's spirit) so we can know the wonderful things God has freely given us. 1 Corinthians 2:10-12 NLT
"Significant suffering leaves us with significant questions. Before the hurt invaded our lives, perhaps we were content for our understanding of God's sovereignty and his way of working in the world to be fuzzy. But now the issues are not theoretical. They're very real, and we want real answers. We want the truth, not just clichés or religious-sounding pat answers. This is when we need the Holy Spirit like no other time, when we're facing an uncertain future and trying to make sense of it all."
It hit me.
If I say I trust in God and remind myself daily, Dear Lord, help me to believe and trust your perfect will in your perfect way, then I need to believe this was bigger than an accident, this wasn't just the odds being against us. If this was just the odds then what was the point? If this was an accident then God wasn't in control, and since I believe he has been in control this whole time, then there had to be more. I do not believe I will EVER know the real reason this happened, but I do believe this happened for a reason. I believe every life has a reason and a purpose. Some of us get 75 years for that purpose, some 36 hours. Olive is not the first person on this earth to die and she won't be the last. There was a plan for her life, and I had a role. My job was to create her, grow her and birth her. My job was to bring her into this world for the 36 hours she had to make her mark. My body did it's job.
Is that the perfect answer? No - not for my human mind, anyway - and it's certainly not as easy to believe, trust and live God's truth - but I'm a work in progress. Her 36 hours somehow fit into God's perfect will in HIS perfect way. I know the only way I can continue to move forward is with and through Him.
"Questions about the suffering in the world send so many on a search for truth. They study world religions, travel to sacred places, seek out secular saviors. But the truth - God's wisdom and an understanding of the big picture - is not something that can be discovered with our minds. It is something that can be revealed to us only by the Holy Spirit. And the Spirit does not reveal the truth to those who are on a mere intellectual exercise without their hearts or wills engaged. God reveals himself to those who earnestly seek him. As he dwells within us and as he illumines our understanding of his Word, he helps us understand the "wonderful things God has freely given us."
I pray God continues to open my heart and mind to his truth.
*Direct quotes from "The One Year Book of Hope" by Nancy Guthrie
While the rest of the work world was going about their emails and conference calls I was just leaving therapy to go pick up my daughter's autopsy report. If that's not a snap back to one's reality, I don't know what is.
For three months I had been preparing myself for that day. For three months I have been convincing myself that this happened days before I delivered, as some of the doctors had mentioned in passing at one point. Like any other grieving parent that hadn't slept, I took those comments and I held on to them - I told myself that must have been what happened. I told myself that because this had happened days prior - that someday, should I become pregnant again, we'd be able to see this distress or "catch it" before it got this bad and save our next baby.
You see, there will be no normal pregnancy for me again. God willing, if I'm able to have another baby, I know that those 40 weeks will be filled with anxiety and uncertainty. There will be no naivete with another pregnancy - once infant death has rocked your world, there is no rest. I now live with the reality that I am not exempt from another loss just because I suffered one already. There will be no rest until I have a healthy crying baby in my arms. That's my reality - that is something my husband and I have to mentally and emotionally prepare for. But, knowing that any other pregnancy I may have will be monitored more closely than this one had been, I found comfort believing that we'd be able to "catch" this if it had indeed happened leading up to Olive's birth.
What I learned on Monday is that I had a perfectly healthy baby. A baby with organs that were healthy and the right size for her. A baby whose body was structurally perfect, a perfectly plump and healthy baby. What I learned on Monday is that there were two sections of the umbilical cord that had bruising and looked as though they had been compromised "shortly before birth". Two spots where blood flow and oxygen were cut off from my perfectly healthy baby. Two spots that, at some point during my labor, began the slow process of killing my child.
What I read, sitting in my car in front of Children's Hospital, was this:
Healthy Baby.
Damaged cord.
Cord that was attached to my placenta, which was attached to my uterus, which is a part of my body, which was her lifeline....failed.
My body failed.
This reality hit me like a ton of bricks. I couldn't help it - how did I not know this happened? What kind of mother can't tell that her baby is in distress? I replayed that day in my head over and over again. Was it a position I labored in? Should I have listened to my midwife and walked more instead of sitting all scrunched up in a chair or on the toilet? If I had walked more maybe the lip of my cervix wouldn't have been stuck on her head. I should have done those lunges they told me to do. Who doesn't listen to their midwife? Me.
Me.
Me.
Me.
That night I went to church. I didn't want to go anywhere, but I knew I couldn't stay at home. If I stayed at home that night I would beat myself up and I needed mercy. I needed grace. I needed truth. I knew it wasn't my fault, I did - but I didn't have an answer to my own question. If it wasn't my fault what really happened?
I was a blubbering mess in church, but I left there feeling a little better. I still didn't have many answers, but I felt a little better - until I got home. When I returned home I found my husband standing in the kitchen reading the report. What would he say when he realized I failed her? Failed us?
Instead of telling me that he never wanted to have babies with me again (which is what I felt like he should say to me because the doubt started to creep back into my head and clearly I can't be trusted to birth a baby) he told me he was happy there was nothing wrong with me. He told me that he was so relieved that there was nothing genetic that we have to worry about. He told me that he believed in me and in my body - and that yes, we will be cautious and anxious and worrisome when we/if we become pregnant again - he told me that this was not my fault.
We went to bed that night like any other Monday night, like the "normal" couple we still are, taking the last 20 minutes of our day to read before calling it a night. I opened my devotion book to the next page - which was focusing on God revealing himself to us through the Holy Spirit.
His Spirit searches out everything and shows us even God's deep secrets. No one can know what anyone else is really thinking except that person alone, and no one can know God's thoughts except God's own Spirit. And God has actually given us his spirit (not the world's spirit) so we can know the wonderful things God has freely given us. 1 Corinthians 2:10-12 NLT
"Significant suffering leaves us with significant questions. Before the hurt invaded our lives, perhaps we were content for our understanding of God's sovereignty and his way of working in the world to be fuzzy. But now the issues are not theoretical. They're very real, and we want real answers. We want the truth, not just clichés or religious-sounding pat answers. This is when we need the Holy Spirit like no other time, when we're facing an uncertain future and trying to make sense of it all."
It hit me.
If I say I trust in God and remind myself daily, Dear Lord, help me to believe and trust your perfect will in your perfect way, then I need to believe this was bigger than an accident, this wasn't just the odds being against us. If this was just the odds then what was the point? If this was an accident then God wasn't in control, and since I believe he has been in control this whole time, then there had to be more. I do not believe I will EVER know the real reason this happened, but I do believe this happened for a reason. I believe every life has a reason and a purpose. Some of us get 75 years for that purpose, some 36 hours. Olive is not the first person on this earth to die and she won't be the last. There was a plan for her life, and I had a role. My job was to create her, grow her and birth her. My job was to bring her into this world for the 36 hours she had to make her mark. My body did it's job.
Is that the perfect answer? No - not for my human mind, anyway - and it's certainly not as easy to believe, trust and live God's truth - but I'm a work in progress. Her 36 hours somehow fit into God's perfect will in HIS perfect way. I know the only way I can continue to move forward is with and through Him.
"Questions about the suffering in the world send so many on a search for truth. They study world religions, travel to sacred places, seek out secular saviors. But the truth - God's wisdom and an understanding of the big picture - is not something that can be discovered with our minds. It is something that can be revealed to us only by the Holy Spirit. And the Spirit does not reveal the truth to those who are on a mere intellectual exercise without their hearts or wills engaged. God reveals himself to those who earnestly seek him. As he dwells within us and as he illumines our understanding of his Word, he helps us understand the "wonderful things God has freely given us."
I pray God continues to open my heart and mind to his truth.
*Direct quotes from "The One Year Book of Hope" by Nancy Guthrie
Wednesday, October 29, 2014
Feeling is Healing - Part 2
Shortly after I started this blog I did a similar post to this one where I shared some of the constant feelings that are a daily part of my life as a bereaved mother. Each month brings something new - new feelings, new thoughts, new fears - I keep praying for a new reality, but we all know that isn't going to happen. My reality is this: I am still mad, still sad, still confused, still hopeful and still thankful.
Today marks three months since Olive came into our lives. Sometimes these three months seem like eternity, and other days I can breathe in her smell and feel like it was just yesterday.
I'm mad.
I'm mad at the random driver on the street who doesn't use his blinker, the person who doesn't hold the door open for me as I'm walking into a building, the cashier for being so cheery.
I'm mad that there are already "Baby's 1st Christmas" ornaments flooding the aisles of stores I shop at.
I'm mad that I don't get to dress Olive up as a little green olive for Halloween this year (complete with a pimento hat!)
I'm mad at myself for being so critical of my postpartum body.
I'm mad at myself that I continue to live in this postpartum body and don't do anything to change what I don't like.
I'm mad that I had 12 weeks at home and only in the past 3, when it was finally time to return to work, my mind and body decided to boycott sleep.
I'm mad that my exhaustion is due to the same lingering thoughts that continue to wage war in my head instead of newborn sleep regression.
I'm sad.
I'm sad that I don't have my baby.
I'm sad when I see pictures of babies Olive's age, knowing that she'd be reaching some of those same milestones now: smiling, cooing, holding her head up better.
I'm sad that the heartache of losing her feels like it's being replaced with self-pity.
It makes me sad when I meet my friend's babies, and realize that the play dates I dreamed of, the friendships I anticipated our children having and the new bonds we would form as mothers will never happen - at least not with Olive.
I'm sad that I'm missing out on more than just motherhood, but a new sisterhood that is only shared with mother's of earthly children.
I'm sad that I haven't experienced a sleepless night pacing the floors, rocking a baby.
I'm sad that I don't get to experience breastfeeding or blowout diapers.
I'm sad that I'll never know if she likes baths, despises tummy time or gets the hiccups because she eats too fast.
I'm sad that I can't feel her little fingers around mine, hear her noises as she sleeps or wipe a tear from her eye.
I'm confused.
I'm still confused about what to do with the nursery. It's now half packed (which I never should have done alone), and as much as I thought that was the right thing to do, now I'm not so sure.
I'm confused about what I need from my family and friends.
I'm confused about what I need from my husband.
I'm confused about what my husband needs from me.
I'm confused about what to do for the holidays - how do I properly acknowledge our daughter in our holiday card, preparations and celebrations?
I'm confused as to when we should have more children.
I'm still very much confused by the realm of heaven.
I'm fearful.
I'm fearful that the fact we still don't have autopsy results means that something is wrong with me.
I'm fearful that the months without her are becoming harder - time is not healing this wound, it often feels like it's making it worse.
I'm fearful that I'm becoming more angry, bitter and judgmental towards people or situations rather than forgiving and understanding.
I'm fearful that God is losing his patience with me because I am trying so hard to stay close to him, yet I still struggle at times with trusting him. (I know God isn't actually losing his patience with me, but I feel that way sometimes because I know I'm losing my patience with me! - see what I'm thankful for below)
I'm hopeful.
I'm hopeful that God's plan is unveiling itself even if I don't completely understand it.
I'm hopeful that reading my bible and spending time with God throughout the day will continue to strengthen me and give me the wisdom and patience I need to accept that plan in it's own perfect way, in it's own perfect timing.
I'm hopeful every time I leave church.
I'm thankful.
I'm so incredibly thankful for each and every one of you.
I'm thankful for the stories you share with me - stories of sadness, pain and hope.
I'm thankful that I'm not alone on this journey.
I'm thankful for new friends I've met - even if we've only "met" through Facebook or email.
I'm thankful that my husband is patient with me - it's not easy living with a hormonal rollercoaster for a wife.
I'm thankful for our sweet dog, Layla, who seems to know exactly when mama needs someone to cuddle with.
I'm thankful for the cards, notes and messages letting me know that 3 months later you are still thinking and praying for us.
I'm thankful that Olive's life and death has made it's way into your dinnertime conversations, your daily interactions, your bedtime prayers.
I'm thankful for a best friend who makes sure there is something in my mailbox every month on the 29th - reminding me that Olive is having the best birthday ever!
I'm thankful that even though I don't understand heaven, have a faith that is tested and a soul that is weary - I have a savior that is forgiving and gracious.
You see why I refer to it as a rollercoaster - these are DAILY thoughts. Daily joys. Daily pains. Daily struggles.
One minute at a time turns into one hour at a time which turns into one day at a time.
Try to sleep.
Wake Up.
Repeat.
I know that this past month has been emotionally exhausting - I returned to work, we welcomed my nephew into the family and are preparing to welcome a niece soon. Friends and family members are having major surgeries, the medical bills finally stopped and the holidays are fast approaching. My mind is racing, my heart is heavy and my body is tired - I've been thrashing about in the wound instead of sitting still in it.
I don't like feeling this way, but I also recognize that it's a part of the process. The goal is to grow from it - even the ugly parts. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for continuing on this journey with me. XoXo
Today marks three months since Olive came into our lives. Sometimes these three months seem like eternity, and other days I can breathe in her smell and feel like it was just yesterday.
I'm mad.
I'm mad at the random driver on the street who doesn't use his blinker, the person who doesn't hold the door open for me as I'm walking into a building, the cashier for being so cheery.
I'm mad that there are already "Baby's 1st Christmas" ornaments flooding the aisles of stores I shop at.
I'm mad that I don't get to dress Olive up as a little green olive for Halloween this year (complete with a pimento hat!)
I'm mad at myself for being so critical of my postpartum body.
I'm mad at myself that I continue to live in this postpartum body and don't do anything to change what I don't like.
I'm mad that I had 12 weeks at home and only in the past 3, when it was finally time to return to work, my mind and body decided to boycott sleep.
I'm mad that my exhaustion is due to the same lingering thoughts that continue to wage war in my head instead of newborn sleep regression.
I'm sad.
I'm sad that I don't have my baby.
I'm sad when I see pictures of babies Olive's age, knowing that she'd be reaching some of those same milestones now: smiling, cooing, holding her head up better.
I'm sad that the heartache of losing her feels like it's being replaced with self-pity.
It makes me sad when I meet my friend's babies, and realize that the play dates I dreamed of, the friendships I anticipated our children having and the new bonds we would form as mothers will never happen - at least not with Olive.
I'm sad that I'm missing out on more than just motherhood, but a new sisterhood that is only shared with mother's of earthly children.
I'm sad that I haven't experienced a sleepless night pacing the floors, rocking a baby.
I'm sad that I don't get to experience breastfeeding or blowout diapers.
I'm sad that I'll never know if she likes baths, despises tummy time or gets the hiccups because she eats too fast.
I'm sad that I can't feel her little fingers around mine, hear her noises as she sleeps or wipe a tear from her eye.
I'm confused.
I'm still confused about what to do with the nursery. It's now half packed (which I never should have done alone), and as much as I thought that was the right thing to do, now I'm not so sure.
I'm confused about what I need from my family and friends.
I'm confused about what I need from my husband.
I'm confused about what my husband needs from me.
I'm confused about what to do for the holidays - how do I properly acknowledge our daughter in our holiday card, preparations and celebrations?
I'm confused as to when we should have more children.
I'm still very much confused by the realm of heaven.
I'm fearful.
I'm fearful that the fact we still don't have autopsy results means that something is wrong with me.
I'm fearful that the months without her are becoming harder - time is not healing this wound, it often feels like it's making it worse.
I'm fearful that I'm becoming more angry, bitter and judgmental towards people or situations rather than forgiving and understanding.
I'm fearful that God is losing his patience with me because I am trying so hard to stay close to him, yet I still struggle at times with trusting him. (I know God isn't actually losing his patience with me, but I feel that way sometimes because I know I'm losing my patience with me! - see what I'm thankful for below)
I'm hopeful.
I'm hopeful that God's plan is unveiling itself even if I don't completely understand it.
I'm hopeful that reading my bible and spending time with God throughout the day will continue to strengthen me and give me the wisdom and patience I need to accept that plan in it's own perfect way, in it's own perfect timing.
I'm hopeful every time I leave church.
I'm thankful.
I'm so incredibly thankful for each and every one of you.
I'm thankful for the stories you share with me - stories of sadness, pain and hope.
I'm thankful that I'm not alone on this journey.
I'm thankful for new friends I've met - even if we've only "met" through Facebook or email.
I'm thankful that my husband is patient with me - it's not easy living with a hormonal rollercoaster for a wife.
I'm thankful for our sweet dog, Layla, who seems to know exactly when mama needs someone to cuddle with.
I'm thankful for the cards, notes and messages letting me know that 3 months later you are still thinking and praying for us.
I'm thankful that Olive's life and death has made it's way into your dinnertime conversations, your daily interactions, your bedtime prayers.
I'm thankful for a best friend who makes sure there is something in my mailbox every month on the 29th - reminding me that Olive is having the best birthday ever!
I'm thankful that even though I don't understand heaven, have a faith that is tested and a soul that is weary - I have a savior that is forgiving and gracious.
You see why I refer to it as a rollercoaster - these are DAILY thoughts. Daily joys. Daily pains. Daily struggles.
One minute at a time turns into one hour at a time which turns into one day at a time.
Try to sleep.
Wake Up.
Repeat.
I know that this past month has been emotionally exhausting - I returned to work, we welcomed my nephew into the family and are preparing to welcome a niece soon. Friends and family members are having major surgeries, the medical bills finally stopped and the holidays are fast approaching. My mind is racing, my heart is heavy and my body is tired - I've been thrashing about in the wound instead of sitting still in it.
I don't like feeling this way, but I also recognize that it's a part of the process. The goal is to grow from it - even the ugly parts. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for continuing on this journey with me. XoXo
Monday, October 20, 2014
Twelve Weeks Later, I am a different Nicole
Usually I find myself writing to you from a sad place or moment that triggered something deeper, something that leads me to need healing. I can find that here, this is where I lay it all out and hold myself accountable to those feelings. It's easy, most days, to want to dig a big hole in my heart - one that's bigger than the hole already there - and bury these feelings deep down. I know, as well as you do, that burying them doesn't do any good. Eventually they'll make their way back to the surface, and at that time, it might be too late.
I've noticed that about myself through these past 12 weeks. I've never been someone to hide my feelings but when it comes to loss like this, there were times I felt that hiding them would be easier. Easier than facing my fears, easier than having to explain myself, easier than crying every single day. If I could just shove those feelings down, choke back all of those tears and put on my happy face maybe I would believe it myself. For some people that may work - for a while, at least. Not me.
I'm returning to work tomorrow. Months ago I would have told you that the thought of returning to work made me want to throw up. Today I find myself looking forward to it. Don't get me wrong, I'm still very anxious and uncertain of the unknown, but isn't that how we are with any new situation? I may be returning to the same workplace with the same co-workers, but I'm not the same Nicole. And it took these 12 weeks for me to see that. It took these 12 weeks for me to really be honest with myself and allow myself to grieve properly, to come to peace with all of this.
I've had some really low days. I had days that I needed to lay in bed until 11am, force myself into the shower where I would just sit and let the water wash over me. Who needed soap? I wasn't going anywhere. I just needed the shower water - to wake me, to wash me, to refresh me. The shower became my hiding place - where I could cry, wail and collapse. A place where I could feel sorry for myself. The first few weeks after Olive's death I would sometimes take multiple showers, just so I could escape. Those were the weeks I couldn't bring myself to talk to God - we were beyond talking - all I could do was yell at Him.
Man, did I yell.
Twelve weeks. Twelve weeks ago my life turned upside down. And I'm still standing. I'm still here, still broken, but still here. But HERE looks a lot different than it did twelve weeks ago.
Today showers serve their normal purpose. Today I don't lay in bed as long or cry as often. Today I can find joy in the every day. Today I'm on speaking terms with God. Lucky for me, He's a forgiving guy.
He pierced my heart with arrows from his quiver. I remember my affliction and my wandering, the bitterness and the gall. I well remember them, and my soul is downcast within me. Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning, great is your faithfulness. Lamentations 3:13-19-22
It's so very easy to get caught up in the sadness and grief. I still find that there are days where I feel awful, but those days are also different than they were 12 weeks ago. Back in early August those awful days were driven by heartache, now they seem to be driven by self-pity - the "woe-is-me" attitude. It's so easy to deceive yourself into thinking the world is against you - that every Facebook picture is meant as a dagger to your heart, that every "unfair" circumstance is a punishment from God. I have allowed the devil to tell me so many lies, you wouldn't believe the things I have contemplated believing! Yes, every day is still a battlefield. A battle of wills - but I'm stronger now than I was 12 weeks ago.
I am a different Nicole.
My soul is weary with sorrow; strengthen me according to your word. Keep me from deceitful ways; be gracious to me and teach me your law. I have chosen the way of faithfulness; I have set my heart on your laws. Psalm 119:28-30
God and I have a new relationship. We've always had a relationship, but it's different now - which is why I'm different. It's a relationship that is a work in progress, a relationship I've learned isn't secure if I only pay attention on Sunday mornings. A relationship that can't survive if I only spend a couple minutes each night talking to God as I fall in and out of sleep.
Could you imagine what your marriage would be like if you only talked to your spouse one hour a week?
What if you only had a 5 minute conversation with your client or customer each day? And during that 5 minute duration you were only half paying attention?
It's hard to have a relationship with someone if you don't feel like they are paying attention, or you don't feel like the love is reciprocated. I have chosen, the last 6 weeks or so, to see "the hand of God in everything" - and what a difference that makes! He's in the changing color of the leaves, the vastness of the skies, the rain that falls and the wind that chills. Even though my human brain can't fully comprehend everything He controls, I know it's still controlled. This world, this life, my life - He's in control when everything feels out of control.
I've learned that my relationship with God is one that I have to work at like I do any other relationship in my life. In the past it's been a relationship of give and take - He gives, I take. And after I took, I gave him none of the credit. I have a wonderful marriage, supportive family and friends, good health, a beautiful home, money in my bank account - all things I thought I controlled. Sure, I would praise God every once and awhile for those blessings - but I took them for granted, foolishly assuming that the marriage was there because I worked at it, the money was there because my husband and I hadn't foolishly spent it, I was healthy because I worked out and ate right. Don't get me wrong, those things are important - and I certainly have a role to play in all of them, but I don't have ultimate control.
You learn that when your marriage is rocked to the core and you have to depend on your spouse more than ever. You recognize that when what should have been a simple birth that you budgeted accordingly for now triples in cost, draining much more out of your bank account than you had planned for. You learn that when the very creation you lovingly created is taken from you in a moment's notice.
Dependence on God isn't a sign of weakness, but rather the strength I need to get through another day. So, while I'm uncertain of what tomorrow, next month and next year will bring - I know that God's hand is in all of it. In church on Wednesday this song was sung - the message came at just the right time, as it often does.
The perfect wisdom of our God
Revealed in all the universe.
All things created by his hand
And held together at his command.
He knows the mysteries of the seas;
The secrets of the stars are his.
He guides the planets on their way
And turns the earth through another day.
The perfect timing of his ways
Along the path of righteousness.
His Word a lamp unto my feet;
His Spirit teaching and guiding me.
And, Oh, the wisdom of the cross
To save the helpless and the lost-
He chose the fool to shame the wise
That all the glory might go to Christ.
Twelve weeks ago this would have just been another hymn - today it's my prayer. I hope it becomes yours too.
O grant me wisdom from above
To pray for peace and cling to love,
And teach me humbly to receive
The sun and rain of your sovereignty.
Each strand of sorrow has its place
Within this tapestry of grace.
So through the trials I'll choose to say:
"Your perfect will in your perfect way."
*"The Perfect Wisdom of our God" 2010 Gettymusic
I've noticed that about myself through these past 12 weeks. I've never been someone to hide my feelings but when it comes to loss like this, there were times I felt that hiding them would be easier. Easier than facing my fears, easier than having to explain myself, easier than crying every single day. If I could just shove those feelings down, choke back all of those tears and put on my happy face maybe I would believe it myself. For some people that may work - for a while, at least. Not me.
I'm returning to work tomorrow. Months ago I would have told you that the thought of returning to work made me want to throw up. Today I find myself looking forward to it. Don't get me wrong, I'm still very anxious and uncertain of the unknown, but isn't that how we are with any new situation? I may be returning to the same workplace with the same co-workers, but I'm not the same Nicole. And it took these 12 weeks for me to see that. It took these 12 weeks for me to really be honest with myself and allow myself to grieve properly, to come to peace with all of this.
I've had some really low days. I had days that I needed to lay in bed until 11am, force myself into the shower where I would just sit and let the water wash over me. Who needed soap? I wasn't going anywhere. I just needed the shower water - to wake me, to wash me, to refresh me. The shower became my hiding place - where I could cry, wail and collapse. A place where I could feel sorry for myself. The first few weeks after Olive's death I would sometimes take multiple showers, just so I could escape. Those were the weeks I couldn't bring myself to talk to God - we were beyond talking - all I could do was yell at Him.
Man, did I yell.
Twelve weeks. Twelve weeks ago my life turned upside down. And I'm still standing. I'm still here, still broken, but still here. But HERE looks a lot different than it did twelve weeks ago.
Today showers serve their normal purpose. Today I don't lay in bed as long or cry as often. Today I can find joy in the every day. Today I'm on speaking terms with God. Lucky for me, He's a forgiving guy.
He pierced my heart with arrows from his quiver. I remember my affliction and my wandering, the bitterness and the gall. I well remember them, and my soul is downcast within me. Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning, great is your faithfulness. Lamentations 3:13-19-22
It's so very easy to get caught up in the sadness and grief. I still find that there are days where I feel awful, but those days are also different than they were 12 weeks ago. Back in early August those awful days were driven by heartache, now they seem to be driven by self-pity - the "woe-is-me" attitude. It's so easy to deceive yourself into thinking the world is against you - that every Facebook picture is meant as a dagger to your heart, that every "unfair" circumstance is a punishment from God. I have allowed the devil to tell me so many lies, you wouldn't believe the things I have contemplated believing! Yes, every day is still a battlefield. A battle of wills - but I'm stronger now than I was 12 weeks ago.
I am a different Nicole.
My soul is weary with sorrow; strengthen me according to your word. Keep me from deceitful ways; be gracious to me and teach me your law. I have chosen the way of faithfulness; I have set my heart on your laws. Psalm 119:28-30
God and I have a new relationship. We've always had a relationship, but it's different now - which is why I'm different. It's a relationship that is a work in progress, a relationship I've learned isn't secure if I only pay attention on Sunday mornings. A relationship that can't survive if I only spend a couple minutes each night talking to God as I fall in and out of sleep.
Could you imagine what your marriage would be like if you only talked to your spouse one hour a week?
What if you only had a 5 minute conversation with your client or customer each day? And during that 5 minute duration you were only half paying attention?
It's hard to have a relationship with someone if you don't feel like they are paying attention, or you don't feel like the love is reciprocated. I have chosen, the last 6 weeks or so, to see "the hand of God in everything" - and what a difference that makes! He's in the changing color of the leaves, the vastness of the skies, the rain that falls and the wind that chills. Even though my human brain can't fully comprehend everything He controls, I know it's still controlled. This world, this life, my life - He's in control when everything feels out of control.
I've learned that my relationship with God is one that I have to work at like I do any other relationship in my life. In the past it's been a relationship of give and take - He gives, I take. And after I took, I gave him none of the credit. I have a wonderful marriage, supportive family and friends, good health, a beautiful home, money in my bank account - all things I thought I controlled. Sure, I would praise God every once and awhile for those blessings - but I took them for granted, foolishly assuming that the marriage was there because I worked at it, the money was there because my husband and I hadn't foolishly spent it, I was healthy because I worked out and ate right. Don't get me wrong, those things are important - and I certainly have a role to play in all of them, but I don't have ultimate control.
You learn that when your marriage is rocked to the core and you have to depend on your spouse more than ever. You recognize that when what should have been a simple birth that you budgeted accordingly for now triples in cost, draining much more out of your bank account than you had planned for. You learn that when the very creation you lovingly created is taken from you in a moment's notice.
Dependence on God isn't a sign of weakness, but rather the strength I need to get through another day. So, while I'm uncertain of what tomorrow, next month and next year will bring - I know that God's hand is in all of it. In church on Wednesday this song was sung - the message came at just the right time, as it often does.
The perfect wisdom of our God
Revealed in all the universe.
All things created by his hand
And held together at his command.
He knows the mysteries of the seas;
The secrets of the stars are his.
He guides the planets on their way
And turns the earth through another day.
The perfect timing of his ways
Along the path of righteousness.
His Word a lamp unto my feet;
His Spirit teaching and guiding me.
And, Oh, the wisdom of the cross
To save the helpless and the lost-
He chose the fool to shame the wise
That all the glory might go to Christ.
Twelve weeks ago this would have just been another hymn - today it's my prayer. I hope it becomes yours too.
O grant me wisdom from above
To pray for peace and cling to love,
And teach me humbly to receive
The sun and rain of your sovereignty.
Each strand of sorrow has its place
Within this tapestry of grace.
So through the trials I'll choose to say:
"Your perfect will in your perfect way."
*"The Perfect Wisdom of our God" 2010 Gettymusic
Tuesday, October 14, 2014
Auntie Nicole
To my sweet nephew and unborn niece:
It wasn't too long ago that your mommies shared the good news that you were coming! What an exciting time for our families - new babies to love on, cousins that would grow up together to become lifelong friends. My heart rejoiced that our lives were taking us all down this path together and that I'd be able to share stories and swap ideas with both of your mommies. It made me so happy that I wasn't going to go through this alone.
It's been 11 weeks since your sweet cousin Olive went to be with Jesus. Your mommies came and showed us love and support, but deep down I wondered what her short life and death meant for them as well. I wondered how I would be able to show them the same love and support when it came/comes time for you to be born.
The truth is, this has been hard.
I struggle daily with how to show them support without seeming like I'm over-doing it or making anyone think I'm doing it because I feel like I have to. I struggle with how I'll get through the first holidays or watch babies so close in age to my Olive grow up in our family. I struggle with how to be the cool, fun aunt and still be Olive's mommy at the same time. I battle thoughts in my head that Olive will be replaced or overlooked because she is no longer here. As Olive's mommy, my only job left is to protect her memory. So my promise to you is that I will share her with you. I will tell you of your cousin Olive and how much fun you would have had together!
I want you to know that you are loved. I've loved you from the moment I found out about you, but it may take some time for me to show you love the way I want to - the way you deserve.
Baby E - I want so much to wrap my arms around you and snuggle you and take in your beautiful smell. Sweet boy, I'll get there - I promise. Being in the NICU with you brings back too many difficult memories, after all, you're in the room right next to where your baby cousin was. The beeping of the machines, passing the hallway where she was carried home to heaven - it's all so overwhelming right now. Your uncle got to hold you last night, he held you for the both of us. He later said to me, "how can anyone be sad holding a baby?" My heart breaks that I've not felt the weight of you in my arms yet - but I am sad and scared. Let me assure you that the thought of holding you isn't what makes me sad. I didn't get to hold my own baby for very long and that makes me sad. I'm scared that holding you will somehow erase the weight of her in my arms. I know that is so silly, but it's how I feel right now. I know that I'll come around - I just ask that you be patient with me. And know that when I do finally hold you, I probably won't ever want to put you down!
Baby girl - when I found out that Olive would have had a little girl cousin to grow up with my heart broke. It broke for her, it broke for you and selfishly, it broke for me. We didn't know that Olive was a girl before she was born, but I knew that Olive's other cousin was a boy and that eventually we'd find out what you were too. I had hoped, that whatever you were that you were the same as Olive -so when we found out that you were indeed a girl my heart was heavy for what could have been. I secretly hoped Olive was a girl before she was born and I would daydream about buying you both all kinds of fun, girly things. I dreamed of family vacations visiting one or the other, where the two of you would play all day and then fall asleep giggling at the thought of something so silly just like I did with one of my cousins. I imagined when we would find out what you were that I would go to the store and send you a package from your cousin and I - letting you know that we were patiently (or impatiently) awaiting your arrival. The truth is, I can't walk into a store without covering my eyes as I pass the baby section. I can't bring myself to buy you a dress or cute tights with ruffles on the butt - not even a pink toy. But I'll get there, I promise. And after I'm able to practice holding Baby E for awhile - my hope is that my arms will long for you too.
I know you're little now, and won't even know or remember that I didn't hold you right away or send you a frilly dress at the announcement of your gender, but I know and it makes me sad. It makes me sad that a part of our family will always be missing, sad that you'll never know your cousin Olive, sad that none of us will get to see all of you grow up together the way we had hoped. But I'm also very excited- excited to see the joy you will add to our family, excited to watch you grow into extraordinary people, excited for the love and healing you will bring to me and your uncle.
Be patient with me. There will most likely be a day, maybe months or years from now, when I'm stopped in my tracks at something you do or say. I may find myself watching you do something that will bring tears to my eyes, or hear you call out to your mamas and wonder what my life would have been like if Olive were still here. I'm sure that I'll hear her in your laughs and squeals, and that I'll feel her in your hugs and kisses.
And it will make my love for both of you grow deeper and deeper still.
XoXo-
Auntie Nicole
It wasn't too long ago that your mommies shared the good news that you were coming! What an exciting time for our families - new babies to love on, cousins that would grow up together to become lifelong friends. My heart rejoiced that our lives were taking us all down this path together and that I'd be able to share stories and swap ideas with both of your mommies. It made me so happy that I wasn't going to go through this alone.
It's been 11 weeks since your sweet cousin Olive went to be with Jesus. Your mommies came and showed us love and support, but deep down I wondered what her short life and death meant for them as well. I wondered how I would be able to show them the same love and support when it came/comes time for you to be born.
The truth is, this has been hard.
I struggle daily with how to show them support without seeming like I'm over-doing it or making anyone think I'm doing it because I feel like I have to. I struggle with how I'll get through the first holidays or watch babies so close in age to my Olive grow up in our family. I struggle with how to be the cool, fun aunt and still be Olive's mommy at the same time. I battle thoughts in my head that Olive will be replaced or overlooked because she is no longer here. As Olive's mommy, my only job left is to protect her memory. So my promise to you is that I will share her with you. I will tell you of your cousin Olive and how much fun you would have had together!
I want you to know that you are loved. I've loved you from the moment I found out about you, but it may take some time for me to show you love the way I want to - the way you deserve.
Baby E - I want so much to wrap my arms around you and snuggle you and take in your beautiful smell. Sweet boy, I'll get there - I promise. Being in the NICU with you brings back too many difficult memories, after all, you're in the room right next to where your baby cousin was. The beeping of the machines, passing the hallway where she was carried home to heaven - it's all so overwhelming right now. Your uncle got to hold you last night, he held you for the both of us. He later said to me, "how can anyone be sad holding a baby?" My heart breaks that I've not felt the weight of you in my arms yet - but I am sad and scared. Let me assure you that the thought of holding you isn't what makes me sad. I didn't get to hold my own baby for very long and that makes me sad. I'm scared that holding you will somehow erase the weight of her in my arms. I know that is so silly, but it's how I feel right now. I know that I'll come around - I just ask that you be patient with me. And know that when I do finally hold you, I probably won't ever want to put you down!
Baby girl - when I found out that Olive would have had a little girl cousin to grow up with my heart broke. It broke for her, it broke for you and selfishly, it broke for me. We didn't know that Olive was a girl before she was born, but I knew that Olive's other cousin was a boy and that eventually we'd find out what you were too. I had hoped, that whatever you were that you were the same as Olive -so when we found out that you were indeed a girl my heart was heavy for what could have been. I secretly hoped Olive was a girl before she was born and I would daydream about buying you both all kinds of fun, girly things. I dreamed of family vacations visiting one or the other, where the two of you would play all day and then fall asleep giggling at the thought of something so silly just like I did with one of my cousins. I imagined when we would find out what you were that I would go to the store and send you a package from your cousin and I - letting you know that we were patiently (or impatiently) awaiting your arrival. The truth is, I can't walk into a store without covering my eyes as I pass the baby section. I can't bring myself to buy you a dress or cute tights with ruffles on the butt - not even a pink toy. But I'll get there, I promise. And after I'm able to practice holding Baby E for awhile - my hope is that my arms will long for you too.
I know you're little now, and won't even know or remember that I didn't hold you right away or send you a frilly dress at the announcement of your gender, but I know and it makes me sad. It makes me sad that a part of our family will always be missing, sad that you'll never know your cousin Olive, sad that none of us will get to see all of you grow up together the way we had hoped. But I'm also very excited- excited to see the joy you will add to our family, excited to watch you grow into extraordinary people, excited for the love and healing you will bring to me and your uncle.
Be patient with me. There will most likely be a day, maybe months or years from now, when I'm stopped in my tracks at something you do or say. I may find myself watching you do something that will bring tears to my eyes, or hear you call out to your mamas and wonder what my life would have been like if Olive were still here. I'm sure that I'll hear her in your laughs and squeals, and that I'll feel her in your hugs and kisses.
And it will make my love for both of you grow deeper and deeper still.
XoXo-
Auntie Nicole
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