Remembering Esther

My friend Shelley sent these to me when we found out. 

    Tomorrow our country will remember and pay tribute to the many people who lost their lives on September 11, 2001. Today I think of the little baby who flew away at this time of year 6 years ago. There are many things I could say, but I think I've said most of them in other posts I've written about miscarriage. My heart doesn't hurt as much as it used to, and that's okay. Esther Bihana Hope lived in me only a short while, but she was dearly loved and is missed. Sometimes I wonder what she would be like, which of my other kids she might have resembled. I wish that no mama ever had to go through the pain of losing a baby. It is a blessing when people remember with me. She is a part of our family, a baby we never got to know and hold in our arms. At this time of year, I often think of her and remember those very difficult days after her loss. I remember the numbness and the pain and being surrounded by so much love and support. At the same time I give thanks for the four healthy children I do have and the life God has given me. I've always thought that sorrow digs deep, but love fills that space, and the more we have hurt the more we can love. I pray for healing and grace for all who sorrow, and for love to fill the hurting places. 

Full

   

 It's strange how a heart can hold so many things. I read somewhere that you can only feel one emotion at a time, but I don't believe it for a minute. Today as I sat on a fallen log watching my children scramble over slippery stones and wade in cool water, my heart was filled with both joy and sorrow. What joy to hear their happy chatter and cries of delight as they played beneath a tumbling waterfall! And at the same time, my thoughts turned to things that might have been.

    On this day five years ago I lay helplessly on a hard bed in the Emergency Room of our local hospital. I'd known for nine days that the baby I'd been carrying was no longer alive, and I'd waited through each with a mixture of grief and anger and peace and the tiniest bit of hope that maybe, just maybe, there really was life still hidden away within me. I'd waited for my body to give up that little one; I'd hoped and prayed for a peaceful passing. Instead I, hemorrhaged in the night, losing a frightening amount of blood and ending up in the Emergency Room. The next weeks dragged by as I slowly regained strength and learned to live with the loss of our precious baby.

    I sat in the forest today, holding my sweet little Pearl, watching Peregrine wading and Raphael balancing on fallen logs. I spotted bright thimbleberries growing in shady places and called Poppy over to introduce her to their melt-in-your-mouth sweetness. We decided they're the food of faeries, and I think she liked them as much as I do. The kids spotted a crawdad; they all crowded around to watch it. Erik stood far off and took pictures of them playing, of the trees, of the water cascading over the rocks. He came close and played with them, helped Raphael over the slippery places, cheered Peregrine on in his quest to touch the waterfall. Peregrine decided it's the place where he'll ask "the girl" when he decides to get married. (Only he won't plunge into the water on that day. He's got it all planned.)

     I let my heart wander with my thoughts, thinking of a little one I never got to know, never held outside my womb. She would be 4 1/2 now. I wondered if she'd look like Poppy or like Pearl, or totally different. I really don't even know if she was a girl, but in our minds she is. We gave her a name. Of course we gave her a name; she is our Esther Bihana Hope. Peregrine, our perceptive boy, knew I was pregnant before I did, and he told me her name was Esther. Bihana is the Nepali word for morning. (I think of a long ago morning, an empty tomb. The Morning of mornings.) Hope is both my mom's middle name as well as what we hold on to. And when there is no strength to hold onto hope, Hope holds onto us.

    The familiar words of the Nicene Creed echo in my heart. I await the resurrection of the dead and the life of the age to come. I know someday we will be together. Our Esther is not dead; she is truly alive. She is where there is no sorrow or pain, a place where someday, God will wipe every tear from my eyes. But for today, my joy is mingled with sorrow when I look at the four children who are here with me, and think of the two I do not yet know. (We lost another baby to miscarriage several months after Esther.) Today, I remember these babies and my heart is full, but there is room for both sorrow and joy.

Memories

This is the time of year, as the days grow cooler and become golden, and the first leaves begin to flutter gently downwards, that I remember. I remember three years ago, when I had just lost a baby to miscarriage, and two years ago when I would have been giving birth to a second baby who flew away too soon. I remember long moments of waiting, watching, listening for a heartbeat that wasn't there, and long days of waiting for my body to give up the baby that I so desperately wanted to keep. I remember the horrible night I spent in the ER, as my life's blood flowed out with that tiny one, and the long weeks of recovery that followed. Then, a few month's later, learning once again that there was life within me, and waiting, hoping, praying, fearing, and then losing that baby as well.

Time goes on, and there is healing. Yes, there is still sadness for those little ones; there are still questions. I still wonder what they would have been like. I give thanks for Raphael, whose very name means "God has healed" and through whom God indeed brought healing both to my body and my heart. I give thanks for Peregrine and Alethea, my two lively, curious, and loving older children. I am glad, not for losing babies, but that God was with me through it and that I have changed, hopefully grown through the sadness and pain. I am thankful that I know those babes, Esther and Lydia, are safe and that one day we will be together. It makes me wonder more about heaven, long for my eternal home.

Little ones, Esther and Lydia, I remember you. I miss you, and am glad I got to be your mama, even if our time together here was so short. I love you, and I remember...

Remembering

It was a year ago this week that we were losing a second baby through miscarriage. At the time it seemed almost surreal, that it could be happening again within just a few months. My heart ached and my mind was flooded with questions and fears. Would I be able to have another baby? What good could come from going through this a second time? Wasn't once enough? Hope seems hardest to hold onto when we need it most.

Here we are, one year later, and we can look back and see God's faithfulness to us. The road hasn't been easy, but He has been close to us, and by His grace, we have stayed close to one another. I think of the little ones who aren't with us here; I wonder what they would have been like. I think of them in heaven and wonder if they are babies, toddlers, or if in heaven all are ageless. Is there a process of growing up there? Is that what it means to be changed "from glory to glory"? Can they "see" us? Do they know that they have a family here on earth who loves them, who misses them?

I'm blessed, so much, by others who remember with us. My sister Alyssa made us two mosaic stones for the garden, one for each of them. Shortly before Christmas she stopped by with two little angel ornaments to hang on our tree to remember them by, our sweet babies who will always be loved.

One of our very close friends recently lost a baby through miscarriage, and I was able to see a glimpse of how God can use what we've gone through to help others. Erik and I were able to go spend a day with her and her husband, and I felt like there was something special in just being with her. Not that there was anything special I could say of do, but just the fact that I've been through it, that I know, was a comfort to her. My Dad reminded me of this Scripture: "Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God. For just as the sufferings of Christ flow over into our lives, so also through Christ our comfort overflows." My hope has always been that something beautiful will rise out of the pain and sadness of our loss, and I've been blessed to see a glimpse of that. I hope that the comfort of Christ will flow through me to others.
Life goes on, and there is still sadness; we miss our babies. But there is healing too, there is choosing to go forward one step at a time. There is learning to ask the hard questions but not to hold onto them; instead, we cling to peace and joy and try to let go of fear and despair. There is a greater awareness that this earth is temporal and an increased longing to rest in our true home, where God will wipe away every tear and sorrow and sadness will be no more.
We remain so thankful for those of you who have walked this road with us, who have prayed for us, cried with us, encouraged us and remembered with us. We are more aware of what it means to be part of a Body as so many have shared this burden with us.

Remembering

These thoughts have been wandering around my mind for a good two weeks now. I've been thinking them, feeling them, holding them close, but they are the hardest ones to write down. But today has some, and today I'm going to try...
It was a year ago, on August 30, that we learned the baby I was carrying had died. I was ten weeks along, just as I was on August 30 of this year. The days that followed were filled with grief, waiting, fear, peace, anticipation, tears, and much, much love. We waited for my body to give up the one who had already flown away to Jesus. The days stretched on and I nurtured a secret hope that the ultrasound had been wrong, that really my baby was alive and still growing inside me. I resisted any intervention that would take her away.... just in case. I battled against fear, fear of the miscarriage, fear of pain, and waited. Early on the morning of September 9th my body let go of the one it could hold no more. I knew right away I was losing too much blood and my parents came over quickly. My Daddy stayed home with our sleeping children while Erik and my Mom took me to the Emergency Room. The next several hours went by as if in a strange dream; both Erik and I remember it as one of the worst days of our lives. Finally, I was allowed to come home, home to my family, home to my bed and my couch which would cradle me for the next few weeks as I slowly regained the strength that had flowed out of me. Our families set up a schedule so that someone would always be with me; friends and family brought meals. In the midst of the loss I was surrounded with incredible love and care. We named her Esther Bihana Hope. Bihana is a Nepali word for morning, and by it remember Christ's resurrection and through it the Hope He gives to us.
It took a few months for me to feel strong again. In January I learned that I was pregnant again, and it was only a week before I began to lose that little one. We were once again visited by grief and sorrow, fresh pain for the new loss, and the reliving of the first loss. Our second baby, Lydia Grace, would be due this month. How many times I've let my mind wander into a place of "if only". "She'd be this old now" or "I'd be this far along now". While those thoughts do come, I've realized how easily I can allow myself to let them take over the joy of the present, and I try not to dwell much on what is not.
Now, I am 11 weeks pregnant with yet another life, another gift from God. I realize that they are all His, on loan to us for a time, and each day we have them is a blessing. But how tightly I want to cling to them! I struggle with fear for the life of this little one; I so desperately want to hold our baby in my arms, to watch this little one grow. As I've relived these events over the last few weeks, the fear has begun to overshadow me, and once again I must do battle. By God's grace, and through your prayers, I will overcome it and embrace the joy of today.
I'm so thankful when people remember our babies. To me, they are a real part of our family, even though we don't get to know them in this life. My Dad, especially, has often remembered them in ways that mean so much to me. When counting his grandchildren, he included them, and on occasions when our family is all together he will tell me that he misses them too. They are loved and not forgotten. Thank you to those who have remembered me these past few weeks; I so appreciate your prayers and kindness. I have an appointment tomorrow afternoon and I ask once again for your prayers. I'm both excited and apprehensive about it, and will let you know how it goes.

Grace

This past weekend God's grace was so clearly given to me. Erik and I packed the kids, the stuff, and ourselves into the van and headed up to Washington to spend the weekend with our good friends Doug and Paula, and little baby Parker, who is now a happy, healthy four month old girl. (Many of you prayed for Paula during her difficult pregnancy, when we weren't sure Parker was going to make it into this world.) Paula and I have known each other since our high school days and shared many things over the years. This last year brought us even closer as we were both pregnant and happily comparing notes on morning sickness and due dates. Then in the late summer she nearly lost her baby and spent the rest of her pregnancy on bedrest, praying for a miracle. In September, and again in January, Erik and I went through the pain and loss of miscarriage. When I was weak and unable to be up and around, we talked on the phone nearly every day, praying, crying, laughing, sharing one another's burdens. We joked that if only we weren't two hours apart we could be lying around together.
As the months went by things looked more hopeful for Paula, and the weekend of her baby shower God helped me get through it with nothing but joy for her. In January, just a week after we knew we had lost another baby, little Parker was born, and again God helped me as I went to visit and hold this little miracle, only days old. As this weekend approached I wondered how it would be; sometimes seeing a pregnant woman in the grocery store is enough to cause me to run out to my van in tears. Seeing other Moms with new babies in church causes the sadness of loss to well up within me more often than not.
But God's grace was abundant. Throughout the weekend I experienced His peace in my heart, and was full of joy for the beautiful gift He's given to Doug and Paula. I was able to hold little Parker, play with her, and snuggle her without pain for the loss of our own little ones. I was able to look at her and think of my babies, one who would be two months old now, and not be overwhelmed by grief. Of course there was sadness; I wonder what she would be like and would love to hold her in my arms. But I know she is held in arms much stronger and more loving than mine, and I feel genuine peace. I know the journey of grief and healing is not yet over, but I'm so thankful that God is with me, upholding me with His love. I give Him glory for carrying me through this difficult season, and I trust that He will carry me still.

Stormy

March is always a month of great contrasts. There's the old saying that it comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb, but here in the Pacific Northwest it seems the lion and lamb fight it out almost daily. We've had clear sunny skies and warm breezes followed by ominous clouds, pelting rain, and hail. We've awoken to frost on the ground, and other days we've opened our windows to let the fresh sweet air fill our winter weary home. It seems the weather is most fickle at this time of year, but we know Spring will win; she always does.
I feel not a little like the weather. I am taking great joy in my sweet family. Peregrine seems to have turned a corner and is obeying more cheerfully, and both Erik and I are finding him to be much more happy and pleasant. We're looking forward to Alethea's second birthday in a few weeks. She is blossoming before our eyes and is full of energy and sweetness and a bit of mischief. Together my little ones keep my days filled with laughter, work, surprises and challenges. We're happy to get outside more and have been working in the yard, cleaning out the flower beds, preparing garden plots, and planting seeds. There has been a trip to the coast, walks by the river, and visits to local parks. My family and the activities that surround them are my sunshine.
But there are storms too. This is the month, and we are approaching the day, that our baby Esther Bihana Hope would have been due. I dreamed a few weeks ago that I was pregnant and the time to deliver my baby was very soon. I realized, with a devastating shock, that my belly hadn't grown, that something had gone wrong and I was only then noticing it. In real life I seem to be surrounded with friends who have just given birth, are about to, or who have just learned they're expecting. And while I rejoice with them, I feel keenly the loss of our own babes. It seems to well up within me and spill out often these days. I feel the sadness of what might have been; my arms ache to hold my unknown-to-me little ones in my arms, not just in my heart. I was reminded of the words that follow the George MacDonald quote I have in the header. "There are winds that blow up huge storms inside the hearts of men and women, and blow till the great clouds full of tears rain down from the eyes." These storms seem to be battling with my sunshine these days, and I know that it's the nature of things, and that in grieving our losses we receive healing too. In this life there will always be sorrows mingled with the joys. I look forward to the day when God will wipe away every tear from my eyes, and when the Lord Jesus Himself will be my Light. But sometimes that feels a long way off.
I appreciate your prayers for me during these days when I seem to be all sunshine one moment and stormy the next. I recently finished reading a book I've heard Elisabeth Elliot mention on occasion, Stepping Heavenward, by Elizabeth Prentiss. (You can read it online here.) Written in the 1800s, it begins as the journal of a young woman who is impetuous and ruled by her temper, but longing for transformation. Reading through her journal of many years we watch as she grows up, marries, has children, and bears many trials. Through it all, and with much struggle, she is slowly changed to become more like Christ. She comes to value her sufferings as precious, since through them she has been drawn closer to her Saviour. This book spoke much to me, and encouraged me to press on, to not just endure my trials, but to seek the good that God has promised to bring through them. I will close with words I wrote some time ago: "The disciples marveled that "even the winds obeyed" Jesus. This, to me, is an assurance that when the gentle breezes turn to howling storms, our Master is still in command. We have no control over the winds that blow, but if we know the One who controls them, then we can rest knowing that He carries us still."

Buried Treasure

I was called outside the the other day by a small boy who came to the door in great excitement, insisting that I "come and see" what he had found. And no, he couldn't tell me what it was, I had to "come and see!" I was led through the damp yard to a patch of earth, and there, poking bravely up through the dirt, was the single bloom of a crocus. To me, the crocus is the first real sign of spring. Sure, the daffodils send up their verdant shoots earlier, but the crocus always beat them to the bloom. Peregrine, apparently, has inherited my love for this humble flower, and we made our way around the yard, finding more clumps of them here and there: purple, white, gold, and violet, each seen eagerly through our winter weary eyes.
In our crocus search I also pointed out several other varieties of bulbs to Peregrine. "See there, the thin shoots of the daffodil? And the curly wide ones are tulips. Those clumps will soon be bursting forth with spanish bluebells! And over there, those are iris!" I explained to him how the bulbs lie buried in the ground, like hidden treasure, all but forgotten for many months. And then one day, you see them pushing through the cold wet earth, willing to lie dormant no more, eager to see the sun, ready to burst forth in delicate beauty and fragrance and riots of color.
We made our way through the yard, my boy and I. We exclaimed over the signs of new life that are becoming evident everywhere we looked. I showed him the swollen buds of the blueberry and raspberry bushes, the rhododendron, the lilac, and the tiny red leaves on the rose bushes. As we found one thing after another I heard his voice ring out loud and clear in the crisp morning "Praise the Lord!"
My heart leapt within me; these signs of Spring, of new life bursting through where none could be seen before, made me want to rejoice and cry and shout "Praise the Lord" all at the same time. I am ready for Spring, not just for the flowers and birdsong and sunshine, but for Spring in my own life. The last several months have been a Winter like I've never known. We have lost two babies through miscarriage and walked through the pain and coldness of grieving. I have battled fear and despair, anger and lies, and have wondered what higher purpose can be accomplished by our going through this not once, but twice.
And there in my garden, I was reminded that in the Kingdom of heaven death comes before life. Unless a seed falls into the ground and dies, it cannot produce flower or fruit or more seeds! Through these months that have been like Winter to me I've nearly forgotten that Spring must come next; it always does. Those trials I've been allowed to walk through seem to me like seeds, like bulbs planted deep in the soil of my heart. By God's grace they will grow into something beautiful, something life giving and sweet. By God's grace we will walk in the sunshine again; we will experience not the cold rain of our tears, but the warm spring rain that calls forth life from death.
We will remember our little ones, Esther Bihana Hope and Lydia Grace, as flowers who have bloomed in God's garden, as Shining Ones who live in the radiance of the Face of Jesus. We will continue to watch here as winter gives way to Spring, as the clouds are chased away by the brilliant sunshine, as flowers bloom in defiance of the gray skies above. By God's grace our hearts will be good soil where something beautiful can grow. From the seeds of sadness buried in our hearts we look to Him alone to bring forth treasure. And, with Peregrine, may His praises be on our lips as we see what He will do.


Crocus picture from art.com.

Loss Revisited

This week has difficult. After going through a very hard miscarriage in September I was happy to find out I was pregnant again. It was exciting and a little scary too, hoping, praying, trying not to give in to fear, to believe, or at least to hope, that it would be fine this time. Just a week after learning I was pregnant I started having some bleeding and, having known of lots of people who've had that, hoped it would pass. But it continued to get heavier and blood tests have confirmed very low hormone levels. We have loved and said goodbye to another baby.
I have so many questions, mostly why? Why me? Why again? I'm healthy and strong, and even getting pregnant earlier than I had planned was long enough according to "them". (And obviously long enough according to God!) This baby was a gift from Him, even though I only got to hold it in my womb for such a short time. It's so hard to walk through this again, but I'm not given a choice in that. My choice is in how I respond- will I become bitter and angry that life isn't fair, that life is so full of pain? By God's grace and mercy, I will not. I pray that this will make me a little more like my precious Savior, a little more loving, a little more humble, a little more compassionate and aware of the suffering of others.
In the last few days my Bible reading has brought me to Matthew 11:28-30 where Jesus says "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light." I am weary and burdened and these words are for me. I have cried out to Him that this doesn't feel like an easy yoke; I have begged Him to be gentle with me. And I have to trust that He is, even when my burden feels too heavy to bear. I have to remember, in faith, that He is walking alongside me, sharing in my pain and ministering strength and healing to me both through His Spirit and through His people, or family and friends. And as we walk this road together I hope I become more like the One who shares this yoke, gentle and humble in heart. I am just now reminded that the meaning of my name, Rebeca, is "yoked with God".
My mind scurries a hundred places- to the not-so-distant past and the memory of losing Esther. To my two babies now together in heaven in the presence of Jesus and all the saints who've gone before us, and the angels. I am comforted that they are Home, that they are spared the pain and sadness of this earth. But there are arms aching to hold them here. I think of the two I have here on earth, the ones I've been given to hold and care for; how precious is each moment with them. Looking to the future, I wonder if I will be able to have any more. What if something is wrong with my body? My first two pregnancies were so healthy; has something changed? How can this possibly be used for good? What is God's purpose in allowing this to happen again? Could I have prevented it? Is there anything I can do to keep it from happening again? How many times can a person go through this before they just give up?
I cling to hope; I cling to God Himself. He has not left or forsaken me, though at times I feel desolate.
Thanks to all who are praying for us during this time. God hears and is a very present help in this time of our trouble.

Someday

I've been thinking recently about how many of my hopes are hung on some elusive day in the future.... The day I can breathe a sigh of relief that my children have turned out "okay", the day I become the perfect wife, the day self-discipline comes as naturally as breathing, the day I'm able to maintain my home and responsibilities with ease and balance, the day there is justice in our land, etcetera. (My list goes on and on.) Even as a small child I always was looking forward to some event; my birthday, school being out, Christmas, a trip. These are the sort of things that come and then are gone, unlike my list of ideals as an adult. Most of those are worthy things to work towards, but really are unattainable.
Listening to the way people talk, the way the media feeds the idea that if only we had certain things we would then be happy, makes me think this is innate to our humanity. It's the waiting for your proverbial ship to come in.... someday. It's graduating from school, getting married, settling down or seeking adventure, having children, getting a promotion, retiring. It's always some time down the line, this elusive contentment we seek.
As humans we're filled with longings, some of them base and selfish, but many of them noble and good. On a natural, survival level we long to love and be loved, to be comfortable and happy in this life. And, I believe, because we are made in God's image, we long for peace and beauty and justice. So the thought that struck me as I was pondering these things, is that inborn in us is the longing for heaven. For there our hope will be fulfilled, for love and peace, for joy, and ultimately for perfection. If the chief end of man is to glorify God and enjoy Him forever then on some level we're longing for the fulfillment of what we were created for. Why is it far easier to let the cares of this earth weigh us down, to let our affections and hopes rest on things that will never ultimately satisfy us, for the very reason that they aren't meant to!
I remember thinking as a child that heaven sounded pretty boring. Granted, it sounded a whole lot better than hell, but I thought it would be... well, boring. The more I "grow up" though, the better it sounds. I have had, and do have, a wonderful life. I have a great family, amazing husband, precious children. I'm living the life I've always wanted to, being a wife and mama. There is a feeling though, of anticipation, of still longing for that "some day". The best way I can describe it is by remembering how I was so eager to be married during my late teens and first half of my twenties. Over time I did learn to be content, but I felt strongly that my "calling" was to be a wife and mama and that there was part of me that would be unfulfilled until that happened. And I was right- I love being married to Erik and caring for Peregrine and Alethea and wouldn't trade it for the world. But I'm realizing that nothing in this life will ever fully satisfy, that it's not supposed to, and that seeking perfection here will only disappoint. We're made for heaven, made for glory; all of the happiness we seek here is but a shadow of the real thing.
Losing Esther has been one thing that's made me think more about heaven. Ultimately she is where I want all of my children to be. Amidst the pain and the sorrow there is a sigh of relief, knowing that she is safe, that she is Home. I've always had "wanderlust". I never feel fully at home, and I'm starting to realize that it's because I'm not. I am a pilgrim here. As long as I am here there will be pain and sorrow, there will be, on some level, discontent. I need to be reminded- often- to think on things that are eternal, because I'm just so earthbound. I need to remember that we are just "camping" here, and it's nice in many ways, but that most of it is not nearly as important as it seems.
Someday..... we will be Home. I will be reunited with my precious daughter. The pain I've caused others and the hurt I've known will matter no more. We will fall at the feet of Jesus, we will join the saints around the throne singing "Holy, Holy, Holy"!
Even so, come Lord Jesus!

Fear

As a child I was plagued by fear. There was a period of time where I wouldn't even answer "yes" or "no" because I was afraid I might be lying. I saw people walking up the stairs in our house and had dreams about horrible things. I was afraid the Nazis would come and persecute us for being Christians and I slept in my brother's room so as not to be alone. In Sunday school I wouldn't sing "I Love the Bible" because I wasn't sure I really loved it and was afraid I'd be lying if I did sing. (I'd mouth the words though, so I wouldn't have to explain to the teacher why I wasn't singing.) I don't know why, but I was unusually fearful. At some point God delivered me from living in fear and I grew into a confident adult, one who did "dangerous" things like climbed mountains and traveled alone and snowboarded and galavanted around the world. I truly felt like God had lifted the spirit of fear and given me instead "power and love and a sound mind." (2 Timothy 1:7)
And then I became a mama. And the fear began to creep in again. Not all at once, but a little at a time. From the moment I learned I was pregnant with Peregrine the worrisome thoughts began, the what-ifs. The slightest crampy feeling and I wondered if I was going to miscarry. An hour or two without any movement and the fear would rise up. The numerous times I would lay my hand on his little sleeping chest and stand, silently, to feel that reassuring rise and fall that meant life. And as he's grown and Alethea has joined our family I've continued in this; everywhere I look I see potential accidents, I envision injuries and car crashes and disease and rabid dogs around the corner. I've thought about it occasionally, how I've allowed myself to give in to fear, and I try to turn my imaginations into prayer for my children. But too often, I just worry, allowing the small thoughts to turn into full-blown scenarios of things that could happen to Peregrine or Alethea or Erik.
The last few weeks, since losing our unborn baby, I've been struggling with fear more than I have since I was a child. I feel like I want to keep my kids, and Erik for that matter, in my sight at all times, as if my presence will somehow protect them. Of course, since I was physically unable to do much more than lay on the couch for the first two weeks, I had to let my kids be cared for by others. Not just any others, but our parents and sisters who are capable and trustworthy. But still, the fear rises up. My Dad took the kids for a walk on the river path one morning. Their destination was the duck pond, our usual walk. I began to worry; what if one of the kids falls off the bridge, or drowns in the pond, or gets run over by a cyclist? This is my Dad, who raised five kids in the wilds of British Columbia and Alberta, who always guarded and protected us and does the same for his grandchildren. I know he will watch my kids like his own, and yet, I begin to worry.
This increasing fear has gotten me thinking. As a child, I was nearly paralyzed by my fear. And now, fear comes in again, threatening to overshadow the joy that comes with having a family. I have a choice though; I don't have to let that happen. I don't have to allow the fearful thoughts to settle in; I don't have to serve them tea and cookies. They're not welcome guests, and I need to tell them to go. And they're not just harmless thoughts; they're sin, and as God's child I am not to wallow in worry. Fear is not what God has given me; He offers peace. He doesn't promise that nothing bad will ever happen to my children, but I can trust Him, because they are His children, and because He will never leave us. My Mom read me the words of Isaiah 43:1-4 over and over again as a frightened little girl. She read them again to me as I lay in the ER a few weeks ago, weak and pale, unable to stand, and full of sorrow that our baby had died. These words have comforted me through my life; they are written on my heart. They are true, and the fear is not.
"But now, this is what the LORD says—he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: "Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze. For I am the LORD, your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior; I give Egypt for your ransom, Cush and Seba in your stead. Since you are precious and honored in my sight, and because I love you, I will give men in exchange for you, and people in exchange for your life." Isaiah 43:1-4

Flexible

When I was in India with the Prodigal Project our team had it's very own beatitude. It was "Blessed are the flexible, for they shall not be broken." We often said it jokingly, but it was a good motto, for one of the few things you can count on there is that nothing will go as planned. Seriously, a train ride that should take 8 hours might take 19, the electricity might go out just as you're finishing up a long email, getting your visa renewed might take the better part of 6 days, and trying to find a bank that can help you in a city of two million people could prove futile. But, if you plan to live in such a place for any amount of time you learn to flow with it; either that, or you spend your days in a state of extreme frustration.
When I was single it was a lot easier for me to "flow with it", but now that I have a home and family to care for I find myself clinging more tightly to "my" plans and being less flexible than I used to. A lot of this is for practical reasons; my kids do better when they have their meals and naps and bedtime at roughly the same time each day and I save time and energy by planning and shopping for meals in advance. While we're not strictly scheduled in our days, we do have somewhat of a rhythm and all do better when we don't get too "off-beat". There was a time, many years ago, when God was teaching me to submit my plans to Him and I was more aware- and more welcoming- of the interruptions that inevitably happened. Instead of getting annoyed when unexpected things popped up I was learning to see God's hand in them and more joyfully cooperated with His schedule for my days.
The events of the last few months have shown me that I've forgotten that important lesson God taught me then and when I was in India- I need to be more flexible or else I'm going to break. Back in July I was so excited as I was finally tackling some big organizing projects and working on menu planning, etc. I felt like I was getting on top of things in an attempt to run my household more efficiently and peaceably. Then I had a month of morning sickness. There went any extra energy- it was all I could do to barely stay on top of things, let alone get anything extra done! Just as I was feeling better and thought I could get back to my plans we learned that our baby had died. I was floored and understood that old saying "I felt like the carpet was ripped out from under me." After a week-and-a-half of waiting the miscarriage happened and I hemorrhaged, leaving me weak and couch-bound for at least a week. Well, on Saturday my week was up and I was feeling a lot better- not normal by any means, but like I could be up and around a bit. By yesterday my heart was pounding anytime I got up and my chest was tight. I talked with my friend Paula, a nurse, who's on strict bed-rest right now for complications with her first pregnancy. I told her how I was feeling and she gave me a long lecture, as only a best friend/nurse can do! She said, like the doctor had told me, that if my heart is pounding when I stand up I'm overdoing it and need to stop. She also said that if I don't then it will take me twice as long to recover and I'm not doing anyone a favor by trying do more than I should right now. And so on and so forth, et-cetera, et-cetera, et-cetera!
So it's back to the couch for me. (And the computer chair!) But, for now, no more getting up to get things, getting the kids dressed, loading the dishwasher, etc. I need to rest! Which means that on top of just the normal everyday things I can't do, I have to lay my other plans aside for now, and probably for a good while. I've been thinking a lot about Proverbs 16:9 which says "A man's heart plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps." It's okay for me to make plans and schedules for myself and my household, but they need to be submitted to the Lord, and I need to acknowledge His right to direct us differently. Then I need to keep my eyes and heart open to see what He has for me when things just don't go the way I thought they should.
His ways are so much higher than ours. I thought it would be good for me to try to get my home in better order and my kids into more of a routine; He thought it would be better for me to lay on the couch and be cared for by others. I thought it would be great when I was really on top of things; He wanted to bring me to a place of being unable to do anything. Could He be trying to show me how much I need Him and His strength by causing me for a time to be completely dependent on others? Wouldn't it be better for my kids if their Mama was the one to clothe and bathe and feed and play with them? I would think so, but maybe through this their Mama will learn something more valuable, something that will make me more like Jesus, and therefore a better, more loving Mama to them. There's something going on that's so much bigger than my plans and ideas, and I need to have my heart open to what that is. It's a hard lesson to learn, but I hope that God's purposes for us right now will be accomplished. And I hope that in the future I will remember this and remain a lot more flexible.

Just Laying Around

Could this outfit be Erik's subtle way of letting me know that things just don't get done quite the same way when I'm out of commision?

As a busy Mama of two small children, a day of lying around sounds like quite a luxury. When it's forced though, and when it's a lot longer than a day, it's not quite as nice as it sounds. It's been almost a week since my trip to the ER, and the doctor's strict orders were for at least a week of no activity. I've been allowed to sit at the computer the last few days, and have been sitting at the table for meals, and those things are pretty exciting! I feel like "my" life is being lived by someone else, having everything I normally do being done by others, or not done at all. I lie on the couch and tell people where to find things and ask for whatever little thing I need. Everyone is doing a great job and I'm incredibly thankful for all the wonderful help we've had, but I'm really looking forward to carrying my kids and playing with them, cooking our meals, and knowing what's in my own refrigerator. At this point I'm even looking forward to doing our dishes, sweeping our floors, and (I can hardly believe this one) cleaning our bathroom! Strength to do my work is a gift, not something to be taken for granted.
I'm getting stronger each day, and I thank you all for your prayers. I've been getting up a lot more, still not being active, but getting myself a drink or finding something I need. I think from this point the challenge is going to be not overdoing it and finding myself back on the couch. I anticipate some difficult days with the kids as we get back into our routine and reestablish some boundaries. Peregrine, especially, has been having a hard time with attitudes and obedience, and I know that it's going to take a lot of consistency and time spent together to work on those things. He's gotten to do lots of special things with other family members over the last week, but I think what he needs is for life to get back to normal, to have some days without people in and out all day, to know what to expect again. Alethea is feeling it too, but she's just acting more clingy, crying when she goes to bed, etc. Erik stayed home from work today and it was nice to have him around; I'm looking forward to being together this weekend. He took Peregrine to see a movie and out for ice cream this afternoon while my sister stayed with me.
I've realized that there's lots to be done though, even while lying around, so I've compiled a list of things for days when I may find myself wanting some "couch time" again:

1. Read books. And magazines, junk mail, catalogues, cards, etc.
2. Watch movies together. (This is nice, as usually when I let the kids watch a movie it's so that I can get some work done.)
3. Play a game or do a puzzle with Peregrine.
4. Have extra "milky" time with the little one who still nurses.
5. Read LOTS of board books to Alethea. She figures out pretty quickly that she can bring book after book to whoever will keep reading.
6. Clip the kids' nails. (I'll admit this sometimes gets neglected in "real" life!)
7. Work on quilting or other handwork projects.
8. Sing songs with the kids.
9. Eat. Drink. Snack. (Thanks to everyone who is bringing us wonderful food!)
10. Read"chapter books" to Peregrine.
11. Play Patty Cake and other little hand games with Alethea.
12. Talk on the phone to my friend Paula who's on bedrest. We get a kick out of asking what the other is doing!
13. Read. Did I mention that already?

Questions

I told myself shortly after we found out our baby had died that I would allow myself to feel whatever I felt and work through whatever thoughts and feelings come in the process of loss and grief and acceptance and healing. I'm glad I gave myself "permission" to do this, as I think it's important to deal with whatever surfaces. On the other hand, there are some thoughts that I try not to entertain too much. Many of these are the questions that arise, many of them along the lines of "why me?" and "what if?" These thoughts do come, and they are the ones with no answers, the ones that could torment a person if they were allowed to. A few of the prominent ones that keep popping up in my mind are: I'm healthy, I eat well, I love my children, why me? Why are there meth heads and crack mamas who give birth to healthy babies and yet mine died? Thousands of women don't want their babies, but I wanted mine. What if I would have done something differently? Would it still have happened? Why did God allow the miscarriage to be so traumatic when we specifically prayed that I wouldn't lose too much blood, wouldn't end up in the hospital, wouldn't have a D&C, etc? Why am I forced now to lie on the couch all day, unable to care for my family in the way that I think I should? Why should my children have to go through this? Why, why, why? (Waaa, waa, waa!)
Yes, these thoughts come, these and many more. There are no answers, and really, I'm not looking for answers. I know that life isn't fair. Just because I eat well and love my babies doesn't guarantee anything. Something in me screams for what I perceive as fair, screams that I don't deserve this. In my heart though, I know that life isn't fair. That the rain falls and the sun shines on the just and the unjust. Many women take the lives of their unwanted babies, and many other Mamas mourn and grieve that they will never know their babies who die before they're born. Yes, I live a healthy lifestyle and am careful to eat well, but that doesn't mean that I will never get sick or bleed too much or know sorrow and pain.
These are some of the thoughts that come, and these are the ones that I try to let go of quickly. I have to let God give me, instead of tormenting thoughts, His peace. Peace that is beyond understanding. It's an enigma, that even when there are no answers, nothing to wrap our minds around, God offers us peace. It's one of the things about God's kingdom that just doesn't make sense. But I'll take it. And I'll cling to it. The peace is there; He is there, gently wrapping me in His strong arms, not giving me answers, but giving me peace. Not taking the pain away, but sharing it with me, and sending many others who are willing to share it too. It's a beautiful thing really, when I'm willing to accept it.

On the Other Side

We are on the other side of the miscarriage. It was, in many senses, everything I hoped it wouldn't be. I awoke around 3:30 on Saturday morning and started bleeding heavily. We saw right away there was way too much blood and went to the emergency room, where we spent the next 8 hours. God was merciful in that I experienced very little pain, but the blood loss was significant. They were going to release me after about an hour and a half, but I passed out when I got off the bed. When I came to, it took me a minute to figure out where I was as there were people all around, someone was taking my shirt off, I had an oxygen tube in my nose, sensors stuck on my chest, an IV in my arm, etc. They sent an OB doctor in and he felt that most everything had passed but it was necessary to do a D&C to ensure everything was cleared out so I would stop losing blood. I was thankful that my cervix was already dilated, so they didn't have to do that part, and there was very little left in my uterus. It only took a few minutes and sure enough, the bleeding slowed greatly after that. The doctor was really good and took the time to explain why he felt this was necessary, and that he didn't just routinely do this on everyone. It was a few more hours before my blood pressure was stable enough for me to go home. The doctor said I had lost enough blood that I was right on the line for needing a transfusion, but that if I promised to rest for a week I should be able to gain strength and build up my blood supply on my own. Thank God for that! He said all I'm allowed to do, for the most part, is go to the bathroom. So, I'm camped out on the couch, being waited on by our family and treated like a queen! I ahve a whole arsenal of vitamins and supplements and high-iron snacks and foods. Different people are bringing meals this week and next. I'm very weak, and feel tired out after my bathroom trips, but other than that feeling fine. Erik bought a shower attatchment thing today so that I can sit and rinse off and I'm really looking forward to being able to do that.
I'm grateful that this is over, and that I was able to get the help I needed and am okay. It was scary, but God was with us and giving His peace and strength. Everything I didn't want to happen happened. But, God is still good, and He is in control, and even though I don't understand this, I'm thankful for so many things- we were able to have good care, I had very little pain, we have lots of help, I'm okay, etc. I'm so thankful for Peregrine and Alethea and our families and friends. I'm also thankful that I had over a week to work through some of the grief before having to go through the physical trauma. I can't imagine going through the shock of realizing our baby had died at the same time as the physical miscarriage happening. Emotionally, God has really held me up the last few days. I know the grief is not over, but His grace is sufficient, and He is with us. I'm very, very aware of my weakness right now, and very aware of His strength. There are many Scriptures that have comforted us during this time.
Thank you for your prayers for our family during this time. The kids are definitely feeling it, but they don't really understand what's going on. Peregrine has been difficult, and of course neither one of them understand why their Mama is lying on the couch all day, unable to play and do all the things I normally do for them. Erik went back to work today, which I think it probably more restful in a way for him than trying to do everything around the house. Our families have made a schedule of who will be here with us this week, and we all well taken care of.
Held up by Him,
Rebeca

Waiting

As we wait for the miscarriage to happen there are so many thoughts and feelings racing through me. I feel like a small child in the ocean, sometimes able to stand up, and then suddenly knocked over by a cold and powerful wave, held under by the swirling water, and then, what seems like an age later, blinking in the sunlight, trying to regain my balance before the next wave comes. I go on for a while doing "okay", feeling the dull ache of sadness and then a word or a thought taps into my emotions and once again I find myself in tears, feeling the pain and loss more intensely. I guess this is normal. In my "okay" moments sometimes I feel guilty that I'm not having a harder time. Is that normal too? And then in a sense I welcome the tears as they assure me that I do feel, that I do love and feel loss.
Peregrine and Alethea are such a sweet comfort to me right now. Their lives go on as normal, which means they need their Mama to go on too. And that's so good for me, to have to read them books and play with them, change diapers, make snacks, discipline, kiss owies and play games. I can't just lie around all days, brooding; they need me to be their Mama just like they needed me a week ago and they will need me next week. I look at them and am overwhelmed with gratefulness for my two healthy, wonderful children. And for Erik, who is amazingly caring and tender toward me, even as he deals with the pain of loss himself. Our families, too are so kind, so helpful, bringing meals, picking up groceries, taking the kids for a while, just being there for us. Yes, there is pain, but it makes the blessings all the sweeter, makes me realize how much we've been given as there are so many who are walking through this trial with us.
I think my biggest struggle right now is fear about the miscarriage. I've been trying to read and be as prepared as possible, both with knowledge and with the supplies we may need to have on hand. Talking to friends who have been through this has been immensely helpful as well, even though it happens differently for each one. I'm glad I chose not to have a D&C even though the time of waiting is hard. We are praying that God will allow it to happen soon; partly so that the time of anticipation will be ended, and partly because there is a risk of infection. There are some herbs that can be taken to help bring about the contractions, but I'm balking at taking them, partly because of the fear. I wrote out some Scripture and a prayer on some cards and am reading them, trying to fill my mind with the truth and with God's promises. I shouldn't be surprised at how our enemy comes in when we're vulnerable; I lived in great fear as a child and haven't struggled with it like this in many years. Please pray that I will be able to take my thoughts captive and dwell on things that are true right now. It's a battle.
We have decided to call our baby Esther Hope. Peregrine, who knew I was pregnant even before it was possible to know, had been calling the baby Esther for a while. I'm so comforted by the fact that she's safe in the arms of Jesus, spared from all the pain and sadness of this life. Having her there has made me think so much more about the hope we have and about our true home, and that's why we chose Hope. It's also my Mom's middle name.

Loss

A few days ago my life was different. And then, in an unexpected moment, everything changed. I was carrying within me a brand new life and we were full of expectations and hopes and excitement at the thought of meeting our new baby next March. On Thursday I went to see my midwife and we were unable to hear the heartbeat. She said that sometimes at this stage it's still is hard to hear, but just to make sure things were okay she sent me for an ultrasound. Erik left work and came over to be with me, and the ultrasound confirmed that our little baby had stopped growing a few weeks ago and was no longer alive.
The rest of the day was kind of a blur of tears and grief. We went back to see our midwife, who talked with us about what choices we had and what to expect. We were on and off the phone with our Moms and a few close friends. We returned home where my Mom, who had stayed with the kids, ran out to meet us with hugs and tears. My Daddy was here too, and we held each other and cried. Erik's Mom and Dad brought dinner over and when Erik ended his prayer with "and please hold our baby close tonight" we all let the tears flow again, sad that we will never hold this little one but comforted that she is safe in the arms of the One who made her and loves her perfectly. That night I layed in bed with Peregrine and we talked about heaven and what it will be like there and how his little sister is there already. He said to me "She will crawl on the streets of gold."
And now we wait. Wait for my body to give birth to this tiny one whose spirit has gone on to Jesus already. I've chosen not to go in and have a D&C, which would end the waiting, but the thought of that procedure makes me shudder. I'm fearful of the actual miscarriage, fearful of the unknown, of the pain, of bleeding too much. (I lost a lot of blood with Alethea, and I'm concerned about this.) I really want to be able to go through this at home, and not have to deal with doctors and hospitals right now.
Please pray for us during this time. We feel God's presence and His peace and comfort, but we also feel the great loss of our baby and mourn that we will never know her on this side of glory. We are more thankful than ever for Peregrine and Alethea and for each other. Our families and friends are being a wonderful source of help to us, bringing food and helping with the kids. Please pray that the miscarriage will be able to happen naturally and that God will give me peace and strength as I wait and as I go through it. I will write more as I feel able. I have so many thoughts and feelings churning around inside of me, and I don't want to forget this time.