Riley and I have a new favorite song, "Carry Me" by Josh Wilson. I love it because it is about God carrying us through trying times, times filled with an unclear future and anxiety. Riley loves it because it's catchy, because she likes to be carried, because I sing along so passionately as we drive along in the car and she gets a kick out of mommy's singing, or perhaps for a deeper reason...I don't know, but she requests it all the time and I am happy to oblige her...it is a song that is good for both of us right now. All that I write in this particular post is not from my own mind. I am paraphrasing some of it from our minister, Curt Spark's sermon this morning, but it just goes so perfectly with a truth I have been struck with lately that I had to share. I just love it when God takes my own life experiences and truths He is revealing to me and then reaffirms them with a Sunday morning sermon, as if to put a final explanation point at the end of the lesson.
"My grace is sufficient for you. For my strength is made perfect in weakness" 2 Corinthians 12:9. I have heard many people say of a trying time in their lives, "I didn't know how strong I was until (insert trying circumstance) happened." I have found that to be absolutely not true for me. The truth is I didn't know how weak I was until I lost 6 children to miscarriage. I didn't know how badly my heart could hurt. I didn't know I could be the type of person who would struggle to get out of bed, or cry for the better part of my day, or withdraw from my family and friends. I know it is not popular in our culture of self sufficiency where depending on someone else is viewed as weak, but the truth is I was weak and I was depending on someone else to carry me through. No, I didn't know how weak I could be...but what I learned was how strong God could be. I didn't know that in my weakness and suffering the perfect platform for God's strength was being created. If I have shown any strength at all throughout this whole ordeal, it was not my own, but God's shining through me. El-Shaddai is a name for God meaning "strong", "powerful" and at the sane time also "comforting", "nourishing" and "providing fruitfulness". I have come to intimately know God by this name. He is certainly El-Shaddai to me. When there was no way, by His strength and power He provided a way. When we thought life could never be produced between Jason and I again, He made us fruitful and created life out of the two of us. When this world told us it was impossible, God made it possible. If that isn't strength and power then I don't know what is. And when I needed to be carried, during the long, sleepless nights of worry and anxiety, during the moments of uncertain futures and crushed dreams, during the times when my arms ached for babies I never got to hold and I just begged God to let me know if my babies were boys or girls, if they were blonds or brunettes, if they were lively and energetic little people or quiet and reserved little ones, all the things I would never know about them, I asked God to let me know them somehow. The moments I doubted God and His word and His love, during those moments when I was completely weak, He was comforting me, providing for me and carrying me.
It takes a lot of faith to say all this, because it is written from the viewpoint that all has turned out OK at the end of this storm. But we don't really know that yet. I have six weeks to go before we will know what God's plan is for this pregnancy and this baby. I still fear I will lose her. Day by day I am learning to trust God more and more, but it's a process and I still struggle with this fear and anxiety. Despite that fear, I am writing in faith that El-Shaddai is going to complete this good work He has started in me and deliver this baby girl to us healthy and safe. I am writing in faith and believing in His strength and power and love and provision. The thing I am most humbled by and most thankful for is this realization that I don't have to be strong, I don't have to have it all figured out, I don't have to have all the answers. And we didn't have any of these things when we closed our eyes and jumped off the cliff. I didn't know how strong God was going to have to be for me throughout this pregnancy, I didn't know what the right option to pursue was, do we do this treatment or that one, do we trust this doctor or the other one, there was no clear answer for us and we had no idea how to move forward to have another baby. We did not have all the answers we wanted so that we could make that decision (We probably never would have. There is just too much unknown in this world of fertility and unexplained miscarriages and the new science on immune related pregnancy loss). We were so weak that our only choice was to finally, in a moment of desperate faith, throw our hands up in the air and give it to God, take the terrifying jump, not knowing exactly how we would land, but trusting that the landing place would be God's arms no matter what. We had no answers. We had no plan. We just put or faith in a miracle providing God and jumped. And we have been allowing Him to be our strength ever since. We have been depending on Him to carry us ever since. I have been asking Him to carry me and to carry my baby and to allow me to carry her safely for almost 9 months now. In retrospect I see that God equipped me to act out the lesson before I even had learned it...it is only by God's strength that that is possible.
So I fully admit my weakness in all of this, in all of life. And I praise the God who is powerful and strong and loving, the God who is my strength, my El-Shaddai. I stand in awe of the miracle He is giving us. The words of many doctors are seared into my heart, "There is nothing more we can do for you.", "We just don't know why you keep miscarrying." and of the baby I carry now a doctor said to me in the early weeks when the pregnancy was struggling along..."It is unlikely we can save this one." God looked down at us all and in our weakness He created our Vivienne and made the impossible happen. "With man it is impossible. But with God all things are possible" Matthew 19:26.
I love you always and forever and no matter what.
Sunday, September 22, 2013
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
Pink Walls
What says "welcome baby girl!" more than pink walls? This weekend we were blessed to have several good friends come over and paint our baby's room for us. I sat in the room today, the empty pink room. I looked around and just took it all in, the room, what the room means, the thought of who will soon occupy the room, the little blessing that makes this room necessary, and all the girly pinkness of it. I felt happy, relieved to check another task off my ever increasing to do list. I also was struck by the permanence of it. There they were staring me right in the face, pink walls, a permanent mark on our house that will forever shout that a baby girl was expected for this room. Sure, I can always paint over it, but the proof will be there beneath the surface never the less. Her mark on this house, proof of her existence will always be here. I feel sad and scared. Sad that I can't just paint my baby's room and feel excited about it. Scared that even now, with just 9 weeks to go, what if we don't end up needing a pretty pink room? I can't help the tears that slip past my eye lids even as I write this, a mixture of joy, disbelief and fear.
My therapist once asked me at what point in my pregnancy would I finally feel confident that everything would be OK with the baby. I answered her, "When she is born." And this is the realization I have come to, pregnancy after a loss is hard, unbelievably hard. Pregnancy after six losses is almost as hard as the losses themselves were. You feel so much pressure to enjoy it and take in every moment because you know what a blessing and gift it is. You know how many other mothers are out there hurting and longing for a baby, grieving for ones they have lost. You know their pain and you know how incredibly blessed you are so you should be thankful, you should be happy. And you are. But you are also terrified. You are stressed. Simple decisions like should I get the flu shot or not keep you awake at night, even though you know you should. But you are scared to do anything at all while you are pregnant. You lay on the couch and anxiously wait for your baby to start kicking. You become panic stricken when she doesn't and then feel silly a few hours later when she is clearly learning how to kick box in there. People ask how you are feeling all the time and you lie and say "oh good" or "I'm tired and have a lot of heartburn, but otherwise I feel pretty good" when all the while you only think about how emotionally hard it is on you and you know that is not what they meant when they asked the question and they are not prepared for the real answer to "How are you feeling?" Most of all, you just want this baby here, safe and healthy. You love that you are pregnant and carrying this little life but the emotional tole is becoming very heavy and you just want her here. You want to look at your pink walls and only feel joy, not because you are expecting a baby girl to be sleeping in there soon, but because she is and she is here and she is perfect.
Pregnancy after a loss is hard and the more losses you endure the harder the subsequent pregnancies become. It has taken me almost my whole pregnancy to learn this, something that can really be applied to many situations in life and that is this...It's OK that it's hard. It's OK that I am scared. It's OK that this is not the ideal pregnancy I hoped it would be. It's all OK. Accept it and embrace that this is the pregnancy I have, hard though it may be, it's mine and it's bringing a miracle into this world. It has taught me faith and patience. It has taught be to press into God and put trust in Him like never ever before in my life. It has taught me what it feels like to step out of the boat and know my survival depends on Jesus alone and how to cling to Him with the smallest amount of energy I have left. And it has taught me that the smallest I have is enough, enough for Him and He will fill the gaps for me. It has taught me that one child does not replace another and that is how I know they were each so precious to me, each individual baby that was lost was a baby I loved and still grieve for even though I carry this one. I know this now for sure. And strangely this mess of a pregnancy is beautiful. It is a mess of a mother who is scared and weak and weary, and hopeful and faithful and relentless in her pursuit of her dream. It is a mess of tears and stress and sleepless nights and knowing it really will be a miracle if this baby survives nine months inside this crazy lady, and it is weeping tears of joy at the very thought of finally seeing her and holding her, it is thanking God for the little princess clad three year old who talks to my tummy and tickles the baby and sings her songs, It is the awe of seeing her on ultrasounds every week, it is the sheer joy that comes every single time I feel her move. It's crying alone in a pink room, it's starring at those pink walls and slowly starting the process of tearing down walls of fear and sadness around my heart. It's a mess. It's mine. It's beautiful.
It's OK to be sad. It's OK to be happy. It's OK to just feel what I feel. It's OK that pregnancy is hard for me. It's OK because God has removed the walls that stood between us and our long awaited baby. He has removed the walls between defeat and victory. He is removing the walls between my pain and healing and He has made pretty pink walls a reality in our home. He has made this life, Vivienne, and whatever mess it makes out of me to get her here is just simply OK.
I love you always and forever and no matter what.
My therapist once asked me at what point in my pregnancy would I finally feel confident that everything would be OK with the baby. I answered her, "When she is born." And this is the realization I have come to, pregnancy after a loss is hard, unbelievably hard. Pregnancy after six losses is almost as hard as the losses themselves were. You feel so much pressure to enjoy it and take in every moment because you know what a blessing and gift it is. You know how many other mothers are out there hurting and longing for a baby, grieving for ones they have lost. You know their pain and you know how incredibly blessed you are so you should be thankful, you should be happy. And you are. But you are also terrified. You are stressed. Simple decisions like should I get the flu shot or not keep you awake at night, even though you know you should. But you are scared to do anything at all while you are pregnant. You lay on the couch and anxiously wait for your baby to start kicking. You become panic stricken when she doesn't and then feel silly a few hours later when she is clearly learning how to kick box in there. People ask how you are feeling all the time and you lie and say "oh good" or "I'm tired and have a lot of heartburn, but otherwise I feel pretty good" when all the while you only think about how emotionally hard it is on you and you know that is not what they meant when they asked the question and they are not prepared for the real answer to "How are you feeling?" Most of all, you just want this baby here, safe and healthy. You love that you are pregnant and carrying this little life but the emotional tole is becoming very heavy and you just want her here. You want to look at your pink walls and only feel joy, not because you are expecting a baby girl to be sleeping in there soon, but because she is and she is here and she is perfect.
Pregnancy after a loss is hard and the more losses you endure the harder the subsequent pregnancies become. It has taken me almost my whole pregnancy to learn this, something that can really be applied to many situations in life and that is this...It's OK that it's hard. It's OK that I am scared. It's OK that this is not the ideal pregnancy I hoped it would be. It's all OK. Accept it and embrace that this is the pregnancy I have, hard though it may be, it's mine and it's bringing a miracle into this world. It has taught me faith and patience. It has taught be to press into God and put trust in Him like never ever before in my life. It has taught me what it feels like to step out of the boat and know my survival depends on Jesus alone and how to cling to Him with the smallest amount of energy I have left. And it has taught me that the smallest I have is enough, enough for Him and He will fill the gaps for me. It has taught me that one child does not replace another and that is how I know they were each so precious to me, each individual baby that was lost was a baby I loved and still grieve for even though I carry this one. I know this now for sure. And strangely this mess of a pregnancy is beautiful. It is a mess of a mother who is scared and weak and weary, and hopeful and faithful and relentless in her pursuit of her dream. It is a mess of tears and stress and sleepless nights and knowing it really will be a miracle if this baby survives nine months inside this crazy lady, and it is weeping tears of joy at the very thought of finally seeing her and holding her, it is thanking God for the little princess clad three year old who talks to my tummy and tickles the baby and sings her songs, It is the awe of seeing her on ultrasounds every week, it is the sheer joy that comes every single time I feel her move. It's crying alone in a pink room, it's starring at those pink walls and slowly starting the process of tearing down walls of fear and sadness around my heart. It's a mess. It's mine. It's beautiful.
It's OK to be sad. It's OK to be happy. It's OK to just feel what I feel. It's OK that pregnancy is hard for me. It's OK because God has removed the walls that stood between us and our long awaited baby. He has removed the walls between defeat and victory. He is removing the walls between my pain and healing and He has made pretty pink walls a reality in our home. He has made this life, Vivienne, and whatever mess it makes out of me to get her here is just simply OK.
I love you always and forever and no matter what.
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