A Year Later...

I remember it like it was yesterday. The first sight of blood. The fear. Calling the doctor. Calling my OB cousin telling him there was no movement. Drinking OJ like he suggested and still feeling nothing. Finally feeling one last kick. I prayed it was the first of many more, but it was my boy’s goodbye. Before I went to the doctor the blood increased. To this day, I shutter when I use that bathroom because I remember knowing at that point. I walked into the doctor’s office knowing he was gone. The Doppler was silent. My doctor rushed to get the ultrasound machine, but I knew. My Jumping Bean was still. My doctor kept looking, but I told him I knew he was gone. The events that followed were horrific. Henry came so fast that he literally fell onto the bed. My husband came rushing over and kept me looking into his eyes as the nurses came rushing in. I can’t tell you the pain of feeling my lifeless son fall out of me. It’s not supposed to be like that. I’m supposed to hear a loud cry. To study my son’s face. The room was silent, and I was heartbroken. But because He lives, I knew then and I know now that Henry was just a body at that point. He was singing “Glory” with the angels. He was pain free and sitting with the Holy of Holies.

I can say this with full confidence that not once did God leave me. I had a suspicion this might happen most of my pregnancy. In fact, just days before I lost Henry I found myself looking up stillbirth on the internet. I had fake conversations in my head on what I would say to God if He allowed this to happen to me. Every conversation involved my walking away from Him. From telling Him that no God would do this to a praying mama. People ask all the time how we Christians know that God exists. Henry’s death is how I know. Any question mark I had is now a period. You see, no matter how hard it got, I couldn’t shake Him. While I had questions, while I still have questions, I couldn’t imagine not hanging on to Christ through all this. I believe in a Sovereign Lord who didn’t allow this to happen, He willed it to happen. Before I was born, this was a part of His perfect plan. And as painful as it is, there is hope and glory in it. He redeems my son’s death every day. I am better because of Henry every day. A better mom. A better wife. A better child of God.

Happy Birthday, sweet baby boy. You are thought of, loved, missed, and talked about every day. I will speak of you until the day I die. Benjamin knows you. He speaks your name. Your other brother will have your name. He will hear about your short but beautiful life and, too, will speak of you. Thank you for letting me be your mama. I love you and can’t wait to hold you again.

Problems

We received some concerning news at the doctor’s office the other day. With Henry, I had an intuition for this kind of stuff but last week blind-sided me. The doctor informed us that our sweet son has not 1 but 3 markers for various chromosomal disorders. Each marker in itself is not worrisome, but the 3 separate markers combined were enough to investigate. My doctor assured us that everything would be fine. That our boy is fine, but you can imagine our fear, especially considering our recent loss. And with all due respect if everything is fine, why am I going to a high risk doctor 2 hours away? I came home and cried. Andrew cried. We prayed. Then we cried again. We were told that this could all be nothing. A bump in the road that would build our faith. But it could also be pretty significant. The internet wasn’t very reassuring, and we were scared. As a mother, I was desperate. And angry. And extremely sad. My first thought was why God would do this to me again? I begged Him to only allow me to get pregnant if my baby was healthy. I was ready to adopt, but I allowed my faith to be bigger than my fear. And now this! Why can’t God distribute hardships more evenly? I see healthy babies all over Facebook. I see healthy babies being born to irresponsible mothers. Why me…again? I was so scared to fall in love with this boy, but everyone reassured me that it would be okay. Everyone encouraged me to love the mess out of him, and I do. I am so hooked on his sweet little kicks. And he looks just like his brothers. I can’t lose this boy. I love him too much. For the days to follow, I couldn’t help but cry as he kicked my tummy because he has no idea that he could have issues. That he may not make it. And poor Benjamin. He deserves a sibling. What will his life be like with a special needs brother? Or no brother at all?

I called my mother and told her I felt like there was this huge wall between God and me and that I couldn’t even muster the words to pray. Her response was so simple yet so profound: “Well then Baby, lean on the wall.” How true is that! So right then and there, I told God I would have faith as long as I could. So began my pleas. I begged Him to take this cup. To use the same power He used to raise Christ from the dead to clear up all of these markers. But I also asked Him to prepare my heart for His will. If He wants me to bury another child then I He would need to give me the strength to do so. If He wants me to have a special needs child then I’d need the wisdom to be his mama. No chromosomal issue was going to change my love for my baby in the least. I wanted Henry no matter his issues and this son of mine is no different. This boy is God’s chosen child for Andrew and me. We were in deep prayer for him even before he was conceived. We have lavished prayer all over him every day, and I believe that God is going to give us the exact child He wants us to have. And I decided that I was going to love the mess out of him as long as I could. Without fear. As hard as I could. 

I left for Memphis a couple days after the bad news. I left to go to Beth Moore of all places. And while I was praying boldly and fervently for my son, a spiritual event was the last place I wanted to be. I just didn’t want to be there, praising a God who might wound me again. Unfortunately, I had also gotten to a place where I just didn’t believe in the power of prayer. I still very much believed in God’s Sovereignty and His perfect plan, but I assumed He wanted me to learn through suffering again. I also felt like the more I prayed, the more I was disappointed. After all, God took Henry while I prayed. What was the point? Hasn’t all this already been decided anyway? What’s the point of praying if He’s already made up His mind? This is dangerous thinking, my friends. Oppression straight from Satan. And I slowly got to this point. But there I was, walking around defeated, every day. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for God to wound me. Forgetting that He also blesses.

The first morning I woke in Memphis, God had me up at 4:30. I mean, I sat up wide awake. I downloaded some psalms and started reading through the Bible. I hate to admit it, but I’m not one to open The Word and just feel refreshed. I’m not intellectual, so I usually need a book or study to guide me. Not this morning. I turned to James. James 5:16 in particular. "Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective." I do believe God has a plan. And I believe everything is decided, but that morning God showed me that His Word says over and over to get together with one another and pray. Matthew 18:19-20 “Again, truly I tell you that if two of you on earth agree about anything they ask for, it will be done for them by my Father in heaven. For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them.” So I decided to take God up on His word. I emailed some of the godliest people I knew and asked them to pray the 2 prayers on my heart: 1. That God shows off His glory and that all the markers disappear. Or start to disappear. Or even that they are all isolated issues that mean nothing of significance. 2. That if this is my cup, I can handle it. That He prepares my heart for what's to come. Because I knew that in that moment, I couldn’t have dealt with it. I also asked them to fast on the day of my appointment. I called on family and prayer groups and ladies at Beth Moore to put their hands on my belly and pray boldly for my son. My mother’s friends, my cousin’s friends, they were all hitting their knees… literally. This was a pivotal moment for me, to witness the way the body came together. Some of my prayer warriors know me well, but some of these ladies and men didn’t know me at all. In fact, I happened to sit in the very seat at Beth Moore where I received a letter from the prayer leader of Beth Moore’s ministry in Memphis. I emailed her and she “happened” to have lost a son. She knew the gravity of what I was feeling with Henry, along with the fear of my third son. She had hundreds of women throughout Memphis praying for me. I was LAVISHED in prayer.

Wednesday arrived and Andrew and I drove to the doctor. I love my husband for many reasons, but one of the reasons is that he steadies me. I used to get upset that he wasn’t as emotional as me. That he doesn’t want to talk about his deep feelings and that he rarely gets worked up, but I’ve come to realize that this is the exact reason why we work. We can’t both be losing it! We talked and listened to hymns the entire 2 hours we drove to the high risk doctor. We talked about how we would love any child we receive, for as long as we had them. Most of our son’s markers pointed to Down Syndrome so we were prepared for that. We actually wanted that because that would give him a life with us.

When we arrived, the tech did an in-depth ultrasound, along with an echo of his heart and various other tests. Having been Lois Lane and researched the mess out of any issue they may find, I was able to read some of her notes for the doctor. The measurements looked good, as before, but I couldn’t tell if there were more markers. A really neat thing did show up on ultrasound. When she went to look at his hands, she couldn’t get him to unclasp them. They were in prayer position. She had to poke and prod them loose! The doctor arrived, he came in and looked at each organ. The three markers my son had 12 days ago were a choroid plexus cyst (on his brain), an EIF (which is basically a calcium deposit on the heart), and a pleural effusion (fluid around the heart). In all my readings, these markers are benign in themselves but the more you have, the more this indicates a trisomy diagnosis. I also read that if they go away, it’s in the 3^rd trimester so I was prepared to see them. My hope was that they would find no more markers or that they had shrunk in size. I won’t go into the details of his exam because what happened next is too good to hold any longer. ALL 3 MARKERS HAD DISAPPEARED! In just 12 days! That, my friends, is a medical miracle. The doctor tried to explain this away with science, saying ultrasounds are radio waves and often mistakes are seen, but I interrupted him by saying, “Or this was a miracle from God!” I even called my cardiologist brother who says that you don’t see that many mistakes and have all of them go away like that. You just don’t! We got to the parking lot and I screamed. I was just so shocked! God didn’t just give me good news, He showed off in that exam room. And I promised God that I was going to shout His glory from the rooftops and that’s what I intend to do.

This entire ordeal reveled so much ugly junk in my life. Here I was thinking I had it together, but inside I was a hot mess. First it showed me my extreme lack of belief. And what little value I placed on prayer. Since losing Henry, my prayer life and unbelief have been horrible. I’ve felt it to be pointless, despite all the Scripture stating otherwise. I reasoned that if God heard my prayers, He would have never taken Henry. Of course this isn’t true. No one prayed more earnestly in the garden than Jesus. And His Father said no. But He asked, and He believed. I also learned what a brat I am. I recently read a great analogy. When you prick your finger, blood flows. Well this writer asked the challenging question: what flows when God pricks you? She used the story of Job as an example. Job had the perfect life, yet he was pricked and still remained faithful. Worship is actually what overflowed from his heart. I wish I could say the same for myself. When God pricked me with the loss of Henry, anger and unbelief began to flow. I’ve been struggling with these emotions ever since. Eight months later, he pricked me again and out flowed entitlement. God took Henry so I was entitled to a healthy child. In fact, I felt entitled to little hardship for the rest of my life. How bratty is that? And the thing is, God answered this request of mine knowing what an ugly heart I have. What kind of Savior is that who would love someone and bless someone so unlovely? This entire event has been life changing for me. It has shown me that we have to be bold about prayer. We have got to get together with each other and pray boldly for one another. One of the problems is that no one likes to share their weaknesses. Me included! God had to get me to such a desperate place that I had to share with others. How sad to think that anyone is carrying a heavy burden alone. Unbelieving every step of the way. That’s pride. That’s Satan. And it’s got to stop! God says no. He does for reasons beyond our comprehension. I know that more than anybody. But I can't not ask Him for a miracle because I fear He won't come through for me. He performs miracles. And He blesses beyond measure! He does, He does, He does, and I am the least deserving of anyone to be on the receiving end of His many blessings. But you have to ask. Not because He won't do it anyway, but because that's what Jesus taught us . God is good. God was good when He chose me. He was good when He took Henry. He was good when He removed all my boy's markers. And He would have been good had He not. God is good all the time. 

Pressing On

When I found out I was having another boy, I got in the car and cried. I wasn't crying because I wanted a girl. I LOVE boys, but I cried because a boy feels like I a replacement brother for Benjamin. I know that losing him was never my choice. That had it been, I would have chosen differently. But it feels weird to talk to Benjamin about his little brother....again. What if he loses another brother? What if I look down at this boy and see Henry's sweet face? I also cried because I feel like I'm not giving this one a chance. It's not his fault he lost his brother. And does loving this little guy so much mean that I'm glad Henry died so I could have him?

Since becoming pregnant, the grief of losing Henry has been unbearable. I put on a good face, but every time I talk about it, I feel guilt. And sadness. Don't get me wrong. I prayed fervently for a child after I lost Henry. I prayed for the gender. I prayed for every aspect of his being, and I love this little boy with my whole heart. But the fact remains that he is in my belly because Henry died. 

Sometimes, when things get overwhelming, I'm tempted to throw in the towel to this whole faith thing. I realize I can't not be a Christian anymore, but sometimes I'm tempted to put God at a distance and just go about life without Him. But when I think this through I just can't. I can't because if I were to write God out of Henry's story all it will have been is a tragedy. A sad tale. Another bad thing that happened to a good person. And Henry is worth so much more than that. I may have days where I'm angry with God. Or sad. Or confused. Or unsure about His hand in all this, but when I'm seeking Him through my pain, it gives Henry's life and death meaning. It may not give me a full explanation, but it gives me hope. And without God there is no hope or redemption in all of this. Just sadness. 

I'm definitely not a stoic Paul. Or a sweet prayer warrior like Hannah. Or even remotely like Jesus. In fact, some days I hang on selfishly because I want God to redeem all this. But I do know that there is meaning to all the madness. And to give up now would have made none of this worth it. So...I press on (hesitantly) toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus. 

Phil 3:14

A dear friend of my mother's who lost her child was told by God that her son's face is the second she will see when she meets Jesus. Oh I can't even imagine the joy of that day. But until then, I press on. 

Scared Preggo Girl

I miss being naive. I miss being pregnant and having no clue what can go wrong. When I was pregnant with Benjamin I didn't have a clue what a miracle it truly was that he and I were safe. When I was carrying Henry, I started googling more stuff because I had a small intuition that something was wrong. By his pregnancy, bad things had happened to people I knew. I knew a sister of a friend who had a stillborn daughter. I knew of a former employee of my father who hemorrhaged and died. I girl at my church had a stroke. Never ever ever in my wildest dreams did I think I would be someone's friend of a friend. My dad is a doctor. I'm healthy. This is America! I slept more this pregnancy. I ate better. I wasn't working. But sure enough, it was no longer a friend of a friend. It was me. It was real. It's still real. And fresh. So very fresh. I hear my sweet son's name everywhere. I see him in things all day everyday. He is still so real and near to me.

God has blessed me with a third precious baby, and I'm more scared than ever. So scared, in fact, that many days I'm too afraid to even pray for my child. I do it, but not with expectation. I've yet to start a baby journal. I'm so very scared to connect. I also feel guilty. I feel guilty because I long for Henry, but I have another child in my womb that I know is here because Henry isn't. I also feel guilty that I'm not on my face begging God for this child. But how can I? He took Henry. Who's to say He won't take this one. And if I love this one as much as I loved Henry I may not survive another loss. Or another no from God.

I find myself googling all the things that could go wrong. This time, I tell myself, I'm gonna be prepared. Nothing is gonna blindside me. And the more I do that, the more room I give Satan authority over me. I know all these things, but my heart just won't act on them. I had some bleeding early on in this pregnancy. So many people tried to tell me it would be okay. That God is going to take care of the baby. But those words mocked me. I know God is in control. I know He is good, but with all due respect He took my last child. Who's to say He won't take this one? I'm not so shallow in my faith to miss the point that He does all things for my good. I believe that with all my heart, but when you hold your lifeless child in your arms, those words offer little comfort. And while I know God can move mountains, it's hard to get fired up about that when He can but didn't move mine.

I'm not trying to sound like an entitled, selfish, unbelieving baby. I'm trying to be authentic with my heart. Apart from a few close people, I'm a private struggler. I'm prideful. I want to have it all together because that's what a faith-filled child of Christ is, right? Someone who has it all together. Someone who believes God will save their child, cure their cancer, repair their marriage. But maybe not. Maybe the faith is in the struggle. Maybe I have dishonored God with my laissez faire attitude, but maybe He is being honored by my questions. Before I lost Henry I would be the first person to bust out scripture and tell someone God is good. And while I believe that, people who tell me to have faith after having lost a child make me wanna puke. It's callous. It's ignorant. Of course I want to have more faith, but when you're invested in something, I mean heart all in, and He takes it away, it's heart wrenching. It's almost more of a let down than that which you lost. I mean look at Jesus in the garden. He didn't lack faith, yet He begged God to take this cup. He was scared and anxious. And guess what? Peter didn't tell Him to have more faith. John didn't tell Him that God can do anything. Nope. He cried. He struggled. He begged, then He submitted.

Every time I go to the doctor I expect my baby to have no heartbeat. Every time I go to the bathroom I expect to see blood. People talk about my Christmas baby, but in the back of my head I don't even believe I'll bring this one home. Are these thoughts normal? Probably. Are they healthy? Maybe not. Are they from Satan? For sure. But I don't think they're wrong. They're real. I just need to take these thoughts to the right place.

I love that people have faith for me when I lack it. I love that I have people that honestly tell me they can't promise that everything will be okay. Because no one can make that promise. And that's ok. That's the faith journey. The sanctification process. And I'm okay with that. When someone at work tells me their dad has terminal cancer, I get it now. When a friend has a miscarriage, I can feel it with her. And as much as I want to change God's plan with Henry, I can't. I will never hold my child on this earth. Ever. And every day I'm sad about that.

I obviously have a lot of growing to do. I'm so fragile. And entitled. I feel like the most faithless, undeserving, scared little girl. But I believe God will use this journey and my weakness. I believe there are others that struggle the way I am. And I believe that eventually I will see what God sees, a beautiful, beautiful story.

I love you dear Henry.

My Isaac

I love the story of Abraham offering Isaac up to God. I love that the Bible paints a beautiful picture of how beloved Isaac was to Abraham. I love that Abraham shakily laid his precious son on an alter as a sacrifice to God. I love that he was willing. He was crying. He was scared... But he was willing.

I have had a huge prayer request laying on my heart for the past few months. I have been praying, of course, but I've also done some humanizing. I've wondered what I'd do if God said no. You see, I held this request so dear to my heart that I even rehearsed what I'd say if He said no. The longer I prayed for this one thing, the more I felt Him tell me to lay it down. But it's too precious to lay down, I kept thinking.  I wrestled with Him about it for awhile, but I eventually did what He asked. I had my moments where I freaked out, but I kept trying to lay it down. Day by day. Again and again. Then one day, He answered my prayer....And with the a "yes!" And as beautiful as the "yes" was, it paled in comparison to the journey to that "yes."

I realize not every prayer is answered this way. Believe me, I know what it's like to have a door slammed in my face. But I've learned a few things over the years, especially as I've asked for things so dear to my soul. I truly believe that God cares about the heart of our desire more than the desire of our heart. I also think God wants to bless us. Truly bless us with things that have us singing and dancing. I also think He wants to bless us with things that will break our hearts. I have had great joy and great loss in my life, and I can say this with certainty: never ever ever do I want to get to a point where I care more about the gifts than The Giver. Where one "no" will thwart me into rebellion. I want to always pray for the things dearest to my heart. I want to boldly ask for the things I desire. But I also want to trust The Lord as I shakily and nervously lay them down.

My "yes" made me dance. It made me smile. It made sing. But the coolest thing it did was show me that God heard my pleas. He was always going to do what He planned to do, but through my desire He was working on me. He was waiting for me to hand over my "Isaac" so He could hand it right on back. What a beautiful Savior!

An Unlikely Gift

My son isn't coming home. I have imagined this day since I got pregnant. He was gonna be an April baby. I dreamed about taking his picture in the blue bonnets. Easter Sunday. The beach this summer. Those dreams are gone. Henry's not here. And I'll never see him again on this earth. I will never hear his laugh. I'll never rock him or nurse him. I'll never wipe the tears from his face or kiss his boo boos. I am so sad. And mad. And frustrated that I can't turn back time. Or change what happened. Yes, I have the hope of heaven. Yes, God will use this. Yes, there is good in it. He is good, but I'm a mother! A mother who delivered her lifeless child. There are no words in the world that can comfort my heart. It's my worst nightmare. It's something I never dreamed would happen to me. When I was pregnant with Benjamin I had no clue to be afraid of this. We live in a world with cutting edge medicine. Babies don't die in your womb. Or so I thought. Yet here I am. On the eve of Henry's due date. Flat bellied, empty armed and heavy hearted. I actually don't know why Henry's due date is so hard for me. I probably wouldn't have even had him on April 12th. I guess it's the end of a chapter. It feels so final.

I've said this before, but I believe God took Henry from my womb. I don't think He allowed it or the nature of sin caused it to happen. God knew Henry would die before I was born. He knew when I became a Christian. He knew every time I lifted my hands in worship. He knew the day before it happened...when I was praying for my son's salvation. But He, too, was praying, only it was for me as he watched Henry take his last breath on earth. I thought something might be wrong, but I felt a kick Sunday night that gave me hope. I had no idea it would be his last. I was probably sleeping when Henry passed away, but God wasn't. He was up all night, praying fervently for me. When I woke the next morning with a lifeless child in my womb, I had no clue that Jesus was holding Henry in His arms. He was praying for me as I drove to the doctor's office. He was holding my son as I was told there's no heartbeat. He was holding Henry as I held his lifeless body.

While I believe God took Henry, I don't think this makes Him a cruel God. His ways are higher than my ways. That's a written truth that I'm clinging to. Of course this does nothing for my mother's heart. My human heart is shattered, and I think God knows that. God can handle my angry days. He can handle my sadness, and He can handle my confusion. But make no mistake. This won't be the wall that ends my faith. Where I quit. This won't be the moment I claim atheism or agnosticism or rebel against God. That would make Henry's life a waste. And it wasn't. His short life and untimely death has blessed me and taught me more than anything in this world.

Losing my child just about killed me. At times, it seems like a sick joke, but I can't deny that it was a gift. A gift I was forced to embrace. It has changed me in ways I can't even explain. It has taken me from a mere Christian who relied on her parents, her husband, modern medicine, and the securities of this world to a woman who knows that Christ drives everything. Everything else is a false sense of security. He is and was and will be and that's all that matters. And if I truly truly believe that this life is about nothing else than serving God, why wouldn't I embrace suffering? Why wouldn't I thank God for this gift? After all, didn't He give me the ultimate gift, a gift He wouldn't return if given the chance?

Not a lot of people know this, but Henry probably saved my life. While the doctor is unsure of the exact cause of his death, we found out 2 things. 1. He had hydrocephalus. 2. I had a huge clot in my placenta that was causing an abruption that would have been life threatening to both of us. Had Henry not died, they likely wouldn't have seen it, and I would have hemorrhaged internally. I may have survived, but the treatment usually involves a hysterectomy, making more children impossible.

It was an absolute honor to carry my son. I don't regret a moment of it, even knowing the outcome. I am so proud to be his mother. To have carried him his whole life. It's one of my proudest accomplishments. Hearing his name is the sweetest sound on earth. I love to talk about him. I may no longer carry him in my womb, but I will carry that child for the rest of my life. I obviously don't want to leave Benjamin, but if I were to die tomorrow I would be so happy to see my second born. I crave heaven for that reason.

Don't get me wrong, I still have my moments. I heard a baby cry at Old Navy the other day and it knocked the breath out of me. Pregnant bellies, baby showers, newborn clothes, they are like pouring salt on a bad cut. Sometimes, even today, I wonder why me and not someone else. Why does she get 3 healthy babies? Why do things come easier for her? Why didn't God ask her to walk this path? While these questions will forever turn in my mind, I don't think they're the right ones to ask. I'm actually the blessed one. God chose me to walk with Him in a way others will never know. And worship is somehow so much sweeter. All the things I cherish on this earth, even babies and loved ones, are second to fellowshipping with the King. I think my mother's heart will always want to give the gift back if given the choice. I don't know if that makes me a bad person or just human, but I'm so thankful for a God that is sovereign and sees past today. Who sees the final picture. Who understands that all this is light and momentary in comparison yet is patient enough to provide me with comfort as I wrestle with His perfect will. A God who makes beauty from ashes. And above all, a God who sent His Son to die so that I will see mine again.

Questioning God

I would have delivered Henry this week. I know that's hard to predict but bring a control freak, I would have induced. Control. That's a laughable word to me these days. My husband has always told me that control is an illusion. He's right. We think we have it, but we don't. I was so upset about Henry the other day that I got in my car and screamed at the top of my lungs. I've never done that before. It actually felt pretty good. I also had it out with God. Some people may call that irreverent, but I can't help my feelings. My heart is broken. No. It's been ripped from my chest. I cried and asked God how He could do this. I asked Him what kind of Father rips a baby from a mother's womb? I know all the Christian answers, but this does little to soothe my heart.

I see Facebook posts of God's blessings over so many women's wombs. I understand people have struggles I don't know about, but reading about healthy 3rd and 4th babies makes me wonder why God took my son. I know all the church answers, but some days I don't feel like hearing them. Especially not this week. There is not one thing any human being can say to make me hurt less. To be honest, screaming in my car and being honest with God has been the most helpful. I know others are where I am. Maybe not with babies and pregnancy but in other pressing circumstances. Others know the pain of seeing people flourish in God's blessings while they're putting on a brave face, smiling through heart ache. Through unanswered prayers. Through waiting rooms. Through anger and disappointment.

I don't think God allowed Henry to die. The whole, God needed my baby in heaven is hogwash. The whole, He allowed it because we live in a fallen world is also a load. I believe God took Henry. The same way God took Job's family. He took him for a purpose, of course. Just like He took His Only Son for a great great purpose. But I can't help but wonder why He didn't teach me another way. Or been glorified another way. Why was my sweet Henry a sacrificial lamb to some greater cause? Why not another way? Why do some people get their prayer request or their miracle and others don't?

I know losing Henry means there's a great purpose I know nothing of. God never allows pain without purpose. In the midst of my pain, I truly truly believe that. But some days this doesn't bring me comfort. Some days I hit a wall and wanna quit. But what a long life of losing faith if I camp here. If I throw in the towel and shut God out for the rest of my life. What uselessness Henry's life would have been if I let this be where my faith and hope die.

I believe it's more than okay to cry and grieve. I don't think there's anything sinful about questioning God. I think we all grieve differently, and my authenticity before Him is therapeutic and necessary. I have always envied people who can suffer silently, stay the course and believe God is a faithful God without any question. People who can accept what happens and though they hurt still look up without uttering a harsh word. But that's not me. That's not how I cope, and God understands that. He also knows there are days where I'm angry and have to let it out. He can take my questions. He's not surprised. After all, didn't He wire me?

I've been reading Genesis and have fallen in love with the story of Jacob wrestling God. I feel like this is what I've been doing the last few months. Jacob wrestled God and wouldn't let go until God blessed him. I'm doing the same. Only Jacob never gave up. He wrestled so long and so hard that he forever had a limp. A reminder. I want that, too.

The next couple weeks are gonna be brutal. Every day I imagine this could have been the happiest day of my life. I think about and long to know what Henry looks like with life in his eyes. I want nothing more on this earth then to turn back time and have him safely in my womb. Knowing the growth I've had in my walk, the people who have told me they are being ministered to....I'd take it all back to have my second born safely in my arms. I'd trade almost anything to have him here. But I wasn't given that choice. God knew the plans for him before he was conceived. God knew the purpose in his death before I was even born. And God has loved me my whole life, even knowing the questions I would later ask.

God, The Perfect Parent

God recently told me no to something I wanted so badly. It was shortly after I lost Henry so you can imagine my devastation. My very first thought after He closed the door was, "God hates me." I've never thought that before. Sure I've thought He was being extra hard on me or withholding a blessing, but I've never truly believed He hated me. It was a hard place.

I've learned so much since becoming a parent. One of those things is the deep deep love I have for my child. It's so deep I can't even explain it. As a mom, there's not much that would hurt me more than my son truly believing that I hate him. Especially since I love him more than my own life.

After throwing a temper tantrum for a few days, I examined my heart. And what I found wasn't so pretty. In the back of my mind, I believed that God owed me my request because He took Henry.

Part of being a good mother is telling my son no. Even when he's so convinced that what he asks is a good idea. What I asked God looked perfect on paper. I was so convinced it was His will for me. When He said no it felt like a punch in the face.

I can't even begin to know the heart and thoughts of God, but I do know we have this in common..We will protect our children at all costs. But God is so much better at it than I. He truly knows what's best. He doesn't make mistakes. He so willingly takes the brunt of our anger because He is so loving. I believe it hurts His heart when He stands His ground because He knows our pain. I also believe He gets excited about the day when we willingly submit to His plan because He know it's gonna be good. It's gonna be so much better than that which He may have said no to. I have to admit that I have had a few weak moments where I give in to my son's demands for whatever reason. Maybe I'm tired or feel guilty, but this is what makes God a perfect parent. He doesn't have weak moments. He doesn't get tired or feel guilty. He stands firm in His answer. I'm so thankful for a God who is so stubbornly in love with me that my pity parties can't sway Him.

Hallelujah, He is Good!

I remain confident of this: I will see the goodness of The Lord in the land of the living. Wait for The Lord, be strong and take heart and wait for The Lord.                                                  Psalm 27:13-14

As Henry's due date approaches, my heart aches more and more. I would probably be done with his nursery by now. I'd probably be FAT and oh so excited! But I'm not. I'm sad. And envious every time I see a round belly. I just want to run up to every pregnant person I see and scream, "Do you know how blessed you are!"

When I was playing with Benjamin the other day, I couldn't shake the feeling that I failed him. I so badly wanted him to have a little brother, but my body failed. When I lost Henry, a sweet friend who lost her husband told me that even now, decades later, she walks around feeling different than everyone else. I couldn't agree more. There's a loneliness in grief that makes you so different from everyone else. Only others who have lost can relate in theory, but not directly to your loss.

My mother reminded me that God would not allow pain unless He has great purpose in it. I want to believe that and I do most days, but some days I just feel cheated. Some days I wonder how the God of All Creation, my God who I've walked with for years, would take that which I hold dearest to my heart. I know all the church answers. I know this is light and momentary. I know Henry's in heaven. But that does nothing for my heart. My pain. I still find myself comparing my life to others. I'll tell God that it's not fair that this person has everything while that person has nothing. I still find myself wondering what I did wrong. Did God take Henry because I gossiped too much or turned to food instead of Him? Or maybe because I love my kids too much? Maybe he took Henry because he would have been a false idol. I know none of this is true, but it does enter my mind. Every day I fight the battle of these thoughts.

People have asked me if I'm a little thankful that God took Henry because he may have suffered or been handicapped. My answer: absolutely not. Besides, He could have healed him. My uncle is a prominent physician and he had severe hydrocephalus as a child. But these thoughts aren't helpful. They actually make things worse. So here I am, 3.5 months later, still training my mind to turn my thoughts to Him. After all, He knows what it's like to give up His Only Son. He could have done things another way. He's God! He didn't haven't to sacrifice anything. But He did. He did for me. He did for Henry.

I like to think that heaven was praying over me the night before I lost Henry. That Christ and the angels prayed around the clock as Henry took his last breath in my womb. That they welcomed him in heaven while praying for my broken heart. I have great joy that my son is in heaven. I have great joy that he didn't suffer a bit. And I have great hope that this pain will be redeemed. That it will be used in a beautiful story that will bring great joy and comfort to others. Some days I lack faith to think like this. I doubt in ways I've never doubted before. What if this whole Christianity thing is a pretty red bow we wrap around our problems just to make us feel better? I'm embarrassed to say I've thought this quite a bit since losing Henry. I mean, how else can you sugar coat losing a child in your womb as you're praying for their sweet soul? These thoughts come straight from hell. Satan would love nothing more than for me to lay down and die. To turn from the One who I've walked with for so many years. Jesus has reminded me through my doubt that I know Him. Sure there are moments that He seems so far away that I doubt everything I've ever believed. But thats where our relationship comes into play. You see, I have a track record of His faithfulness. I have a history of His divine intervention in my life. That's what I cling to when I lose faith. And while losing Henry is the most horrific thing that has ever happened to me, I have to look at the big picture. Not the church answer that God is good all the time. But the consistency of His goodness in my life over the last 3 decades. After all, didn't Jesus say: You do not realize now what I am doing, but later you will understand.

Hallelujah, He is good. Even when I can't see in the moment, Hallelujah His Word declares that He is good.

Being Small for God

"We are, each and every one of us, insignificant people whom God has called and graced to use in a significant way. In His eyes, the high-profile ministries are no more significant than those that draw little or no attention publicly. On the last day, Jesus will look us over not for medals, diplomas, or honors, but for scars." Ruthless Trust

When Henry died, I wanted to honor him in every way possible. I read blogs about different things people did to honor their unborn children. Should I host a race? Start a nonprofit? Write a book? I kept wanting to do all these big things and felt guilty every day I didn't. I had to do BIG things for my son. Then it occurred to me that maybe God didn't want that for me. Maybe He wanted me to be small. I don't mean small as in insignificant. I mean, maybe He wanted me to honor Henry by holding onto my faith when most days I was faithless. Maybe he wanted me to share Henry's story not to thousands on a stage with lights and big production, but maybe to the cashier at the grocery store. Or a coworker.

Then it occurred to me: Am I willing to be small for God? Again, I don't mean small as in: I don't matter. I mean small as in: Am I willing to serve God in my daily life? In my current, mundane circumstances? Because that's how life feels right now. Mundane. Sure I have joy. There's always joy, and I'm beyond blessed, but I'm not gonna lie. Life is hard right now.

I don't think all of us are called to speak at Women of Faith conferences. Or dig wells in Africa. Some of us are called to do exactly what we're doing right now: stay home, raise babies, and serve our men. Most of us are struggling for some reason. Whether it be the loss of a child, a hard marriage, debt, bad health, singleness, loneliness...we're all called to endure something, and while it's a BIG thing in God's eyes to be faithful in our mundane circumstances, sometimes it feels small. Sometimes I feel small just playing with Benjamin and making my husband dinner. Sometimes I feel small just telling my story to Bible Study, but anytime I'm faithful and choose joy when I just want to give up is hardly small. It's huge! I don't have to be the next Beth Moore or start a charity to matter. I mean, maybe I'll do something like that one day, but today I'm called to be faithful exactly where I am. So this is how I'm honoring Henry. This is how I'm honoring God! By being faithful today. In this moment.

"When God closes a door, praise Him in the hallway."

Moment by Moment

Today I was walking through the parking lot with Benjamin and that child was not wanting to hold my hand! The tighter I squeezed, the more he fought me. Confidently, I told my son that I was not letting go. At that point, he did what any 2 1/2 year old would do...He fell to his knees....in the middle of the parking lot. I instantly picked him up and carried him to the car.

When I lost Henry, there were days I didn't want to hold onto God. And if I'm really being honest, there are days I don't feel like he's holding me. So often I ache and hurt and wonder why He took my son. Today, I've run into 2 pregnant women due around the same time as Henry. Longing to have that boy in my womb, I cried silently as I stared at their bellies and looked down at mine. In moments like this, I act very much like my son. I feel myself trying to let go of God's hand. I fight and struggle and try to break free, but God confidently holds tight. He won't relax His grip no matter how hard I fight Him. And in those dark, dark moments, those days where I want to (and sometimes do) throw in the towel, He confidently picks me up and carries me through that moment. And that's exactly how I'm getting through the loss of my sweet Henry. Moment by moment. Some I'm able to walk through. Others I have to be carried.

 

Earthly Blessings

I did something bad the other day. I didn't break the law or anything that extreme, but I did do something I knew was wrong. Blatantly, knowing it was wrong while doing it. My first thought after feeling conviction was: Did I lose Henry because God knows how blatantly I sin when I want my way? Followed by my second thought: Will He not allow me to get pregnant again because of how awful I am? Praise God it doesn't work that way.

I read in Shattered Dreams that, "Our badness is no longer the obstacle to blessing. Not is our goodness the condition for blessing." I'm no Biblical scholar so I can't really come up with a verse at the moment that supports this, but this is seen throughout Scripture. Jesus being the ultimate example. He was perfect and look what God allowed Him to endure. On the flip side, I know plenty of evil people who live blessed earthy lives. I say earthly because most blessings I pray for are just that. Unfortunately. "And if our hope in Christ is only for this life, we are more to be pitied than anyone in the world." (1 Corinthians 15:19)

I'm not gonna lie. I hope beyond hope that God blesses me with more children. I hope Benjamin grows to be a godly man. I hope my marriage continues to grow stronger every day. I hope to hold my grandchildren. There are so many good things I hope for, but no blessing on this earth compares to the hope we have in Him. And I'm not some Mother Teresa that lives this out consistently. Sometimes I don't feel that way at all. Sometimes I feel so hopeless because no matter what earthly blessings I receive, I won't have Henry. But I do have the hope of a future in eternity with my son, and that should have me singing!

"God is not waiting to bless us after our troubles end. He is blessing us right now, in and through those troubles. At this exact moment, He is giving us what He thinks is good." (Shattered Dreams). My first thought to this is, But having my 33 week old baby kicking my womb is good! Yes it is, but as hard as this is to stomach, much less say out loud: He has something better in mind. Better than the blessing of holding my darling child. Some days I don't care what good He has, I want my way. Some days I want Henry here more than I care about His glory. And as worldly and selfish as these thoughts are, I think they're okay to feel. But the Holy Spirit continues to remind me that glory means more than any earthly blessing that comes my way...even Henry. No sin, no good behavior, nothing can change that. PRAISE GOD!

If we are faithless, He remains faithful. 2 Timothy 2:13

Choices

Sometimes I tell Henry I love him out loud and my sweet son repeats my words. I cry, of course, but know that he really would have loved his little brother. They would have been best friends. Partners in crime. I realize how badly I want to give him a little brother or sister to love. Someone to walk though life with. But the guilt sets in. It would feel so wrong housing a child in a womb that should hold Henry. And when that child is born, they will be on this earth because Henry isn't. That feels so wrong to me. Will I be glad Henry didn't make it because I love this one so much? Or will I look at this child and only want my Henry? All these thoughts have to be normal, but deep down I know I was never given that choice. Just like the widow that remarries was never given that choice either. The only choice given is to live or to die in my grief.

I was running the other day and saw a lady pushing her 2 children in a stroller.  She had a newborn and was still carrying her baby weight. It felt good to run and have energy. I started thinking about how I'd love to run another marathon and how happy I am that I'm back in my jeans, but my heart really longed to be that overweight woman. I have a lot of freedom with only one child and that feels wonderful. I can work when I want. I get plenty of sleep and have a pretty easy set up. But this simplicity is not what I would have chosen. I would gladly accept the pounds and sleepless nights. Everything the comes with having Henry. But sometimes in life we aren't given a choice. We are given a bad set of circumstances and asked to trust Him no matter what befalls us. As I ran I thought, will I choose to live? Will I choose to have another child? Will I love God if it happens again or I'm unable to get pregnant? Yes, yes, and yes.

No one and nothing can replace Henry. He was created in God's image, knit together in my womb, known before he was even conceived. No high in this world can replace him. Not food or success or any material thing. Nothing, but the blood of Jesus can make his loss a gain. A gain for God's glory. A gain in my walk. A gain for The Kingdom.

Until I lost Henry, I never needed God. I know that sounds blasphemous and I hate to admit it, but it's true. I loved God, but I had everything I needed. When things were bad, I had my husband, my mom, resources to pull me out of any crisis. Losing Henry stripped me of all sense of security. No amount of money. No words of wisdom. No person. No high could fix my broken heart. Nothing on this earth could give me the only thing I wanted in this world...my Henry. It's the most helpless feeling, but the cross can give Henry purpose. It can make his life meaningful. It can make my pain matter. For the first time in my life I know what it's like to carry around the death of Jesus. I don't want to take that verse out of context, but for me it has meant that His death is now a constant reminder of the hope I have in Henry's death. The death of Jesus means everything to me. Not only did it save me from hell, but because of His death, Henry's life mattered.

100 Good Things

If you're gonna blame God for the bad, go ahead and blame Him for the good, too. I am so quick to blame God when things are bad. When I lost Henry, some of my first reactions were, "Why would you do this to me, God?" and "You did this." Because I believe in the sovereignty of God, I know my thoughts carry validity. There's no sugar coating it...In His perfect will, He took Henry home. In His perfect will, He also allows cancer, slander, unemployment, failed marriages, and poverty. But that's just part of it. He also allows healthy babies, successful marriages, good health, wealth and prosperity. Best of all, He allows good to arise from bad.

I'm so quick to blame God and so slow to thank Him. Yes, He took Henry for reasons beyond my comprehension, but He gives me day after day with Benjamin. I've probably blamed Him more for losing Henry then I've ever thanked Him for Benjamin. How this must hurt Him. I mean, look at all the healthy days we get. Then one bad diagnosis and all of a sudden God is cruel? He safely leads us home every time we get in the car, but one fatal car accident of a loved one and He is no longer good?

It's so easy to focus on the bad. I have too many moments where I zone in on my great losses. And too few where I focus on what I have. Oh, how this must break His heart. My husband is a great man. He works hard. He serves our family. He is a better husband, man and father every day. Do I tell him this often? Probably not, but I sure do focus on the few flaws he has. How wrong is that? And it's no different with God. It all comes back to renewing the mind. I'm in no way saying I shouldn't cry out to God my deepest thoughts, even if they are ludicrous, pompous, and immature. Being authentic in prayer has been one of the greatest weapons used against The Enemy. But I have got to focus on His goodness. For the one bad thing, I've got to remember the 100 good things. Because there are 100 good things. I don't care how bad life gets, there are always 100 good things.

Hope

Benjamin got both his power wheel cars out of the garage today and couldn't decide which one to ride. A flood of sadness hit me as as I stared at the empty one, realizing my sweet Henry won't be riding next to his brother. I was always told that time heals. It's been over 2 months, and I have yet to experience that. Maybe it's because my due date is getting closer and everything is a countdown. I should be over 31 weeks pregnant. I should be getting the nursery ready. I should be feeling his kicks. Instead, I feel sadness as I laugh with Benjamin and wish his brother were playing with us. Sometimes I wonder if he's looking down, smiling at his family. Can he see us? Can he hear me yelling at Andrew when really I'm taking my hurt out on him? Can he see me sin? How does Jesus hold every baby in heaven? And if Jesus isn't holding him, then who is? Does he have a mom in heaven? How old is he there? To be honest, I'm not sure how it all works. I have so many questions. But the same one keeps entering my head day after day....why? I know that's the question you're never supposed to ask. It's the question that never seems to get answered, but as I hear about babies being born and people getting pregnant it always enters my mind. "Why, God? I've loved You most of my life." When I lost Henry, I was walking with The Lord closer than I've ever walked with Him. I would have raised Henry to love God, so why him? Was I being punished? Would I have loved Henry too much?

A lot of people tell me they'd never be able to handle something like this. I often hear, "I can't even imagine." My answer is this, "Me neither." I truly believe God gives you what you need at that moment, for that moment. I've heard the phrase "God won't give you more than you can handle" my entire life yet no where is that in Scripture. Losing Henry was more than I can handle, so I can attest that this statement is untrue. What is true, however, is that He changes you when something like this happens. The old you can't handle it, but the new you can. But only a day at a time. Maybe an hour at a time. The moment I look ahead, even to the next day, I fall into overwhelming sadness that tempts me to lose hope.

For some reason church is one of the hardest places to be. Maybe it's all the babies in the nursery. Or Satan trying to hinder my worship. Or maybe it's a place full of hope that sometimes feels unreachable. Because some days I don't "feel" like hoping. Today was one of those days. I found myself looking at my flat tummy and wondering how big I'd be right now. I cried as I thought about having another baby one day because Henry will always be missing. I thought about how soon April 12th is approaching. All of it is so overwhelming. Some days are easier than others. Some days I smile and really mean it. Other days I feel as if the world is moving on and I'm stuck in one place. One of my favorite verses says not to lose heart. To renew our minds day by day. Even when I don't feel like it. Even when it feels like everyone has moved on. Even when I see a mother cradling her infant son...do not lose heart. The rest of the verse reminds us that this is light and momentary in comparison with the glory that far outweighs it all. I can't even fathom this being light and momentary, but if the glory that compares isn't even in the same ballpark as losing Henry...Wow. I want to be a part of that.

I find great comfort in King David's words after he lost his infant son.... "I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me." Now that's hope. David is telling us that babies will be in heaven! I will one day go to Henry. Even when I don't feel that way. Even when I have too many questions. I have this hope and it's written in the Word of God....I will go to him.

Earthly Heaven

Sometimes I catch myself in a panic because I'll be eating seafood or inhale secondary smoke. Then I look down and reality sets in. Every date is significant right now. I'll look at the cheese in my refrigerator and the expiration date is in May. My first thought is that Henry will be here before my cheese goes bad. Then I remember. It's been over 8 weeks, and I still feel phantom kicks. But my boy isn't there.

I walked into church this morning and saw so many pregnant women and newborn babies. Turns out it was Baby Dedication today. My heart burned with sadness, but God instantly reminded me that He has asked me to walk a different road. It did get me thinking though. I wonder how many women looked at me when I was pregnant and thought the same thing. Women who had miscarried or were dealing with infertility. Did their heart's hurt when they looked at me? Did they wonder why God asked them to walk a different road? Even now? Has there been a woman who cried when she saw me with Benjamin because she lost her son? I'd give anything to know these thoughts.

I saw a nursing mother the other day and told Andrew that she has no clue how blessed she is. He reminded me that I had no clue how blessed I was when I nursed Benjamin. He had a point. We were totally naive when we were pregnant with Benjamin. It never once occurred to me that I could lose him. Not once did I fear he wouldn't breathe outside my womb. The human in me would give anything to be that naive again. But the godly woman in me is thankful for the opportunity to really trust Him should I get pregnant again.

When I was pregnant with both my boys, I instantly acknowledged in their journals that they were God's children and on loan to me. I dedicated them to Jesus the moment I knew I was pregnant. I had no clue I'd really have to put my heart where my mouth was. That He would really ask me to give Him my son. Before I lost Henry, I never knew real pain. Sure I had trials. Since I was a child, things have never come easy for me, but I'd never really suffered. I would read Scriptures about suffering and think oh that's nice....for somebody else. It was always my sister's friend or my friend's sorority sister. Then one day it was me. Never in my wildest dreams did I believe these Scriptures would sustain me.

Before I lost Henry, I was the happiest I had ever been in my entire life. My husband and I were in Boston, and I remember thinking that life was heavenly. My marriage was in a good place. I had a beautiful son waiting for me at home and couldn't wait to give him a baby brother so close to his age. And I made plans. I had Benjamin's bedroom set picked out and was going to order an extra twin bed so he could share a room with his brother one day. I had started going through all of Benjamin's old clothes, had new items saved in my Etsy favorites and moved the crib into Henry's room. I was HAPPY! And it all changed in a second. In one moment, my dreams were shattered. But that's the thing about happiness. It's fleeting. I've been walking with Christ most of my life. Shame on me for thinking...for expecting...to have heaven on earth. That was never God's intention for any of us and while I'd change what happened out of my own selfish desire to have my Henry, I'm so thankful He got my attention. You see, I had no need for heaven before I lost Henry. I had everything I needed on this earth. I'm honestly shocked God allowed me to live that delusional for as long as I did.

I sometimes wonder why God allows so much suffering for one person and what seems like nothing for somebody else. In fact, I know quite a few people who appear to live "heaven on earth" as I once did. The human in me wants to remind God that it's not fair. Why do they get heaven and I don't?

2 Corinthians 4:16-18
Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

If I really get the point of this life...if I really believe that this is but a moment, who am I to balk at suffering? Why wouldn't I welcome it? If He bruised His Own Son why wouldn't He bruise me? Why wouldn't I delight in the fact that He chose me? It's the renewal of my mind that makes me able to walk a different road. To stomach babies and pregnant women when my arms are empty. To worship through my tears. To give up the idea of "earthly heaven."

"I am certain that I never did grow in grace one-half so much anywhere as I have upon the bed of pain." Charles Spurgeon

Fear Not

I felt true joy today. I took Benjamin to the fair and he was so excited that it warmed my heart to the core. It was a gorgeous day, and I was happy. Then I felt guilty. I felt guilty because Henry is gone and today I was happy. I know I have to continue to live. And that this wasn't my choice, but it almost feels wrong to smile. A friend of mine who lost a baby sister told me that she wanted to hang onto her anger as long as possible because to let that go would be letting her go. For so long she held onto her anger because she was afraid. Truth is, I'm afraid too. I'm afraid to live a life without him. I carried my sweet son every moment his heart beat on this earth. And now that it has stopped, I'm lost. But maybe being lost isn't so bad? Maybe being lost gives me no other place to go but to the arms of Jesus. I've always been one of those people who struggle with fear. And I'm not talking normal, healthy fears. I'm talking fear to the extreme, and I have so much fear of the future. Fear I'll lose Benjamin. Fear I'll never have another child. Fear I'll die trying to have another child. Fear I'll let Henry's death ruin me or that he will be forgotten. And so on and so on. I've come to realize that I can't help how I feel. I can't help that my first thoughts are fatalistic and that things scare me. But I can turn those fears over to The Lord. I can stay off Google and WebMD and throw myself into His Word and promises. And I can do things afraid. King David said in Psalm 55:4, "My heart is in anguish within me. The terrors of death have fallen on me." David was "a man after God's own heart." He was afraid, so why shouldn't I also struggle with fear? I don't think it matters if we're afraid or courageous. What matters is what we do with that fear. The Bible says things like "Do not be afraid" and "Fear Not" over a hundred times! God anticipated our fear so we can rest assure that being afraid is okay. Let's be honest. Life can be hard. We aren't promised a happy ending on this earth. I was never promised a healthy child. But I am promised comfort in my dark hour. I am promised eternal life. And nothing, even the most horrific of circumstances, can take that away. Not the death of a child. Not failure. Nothing. And for that reason, I am choosing not to be afraid.

Choosing Joy

Work called me yesterday and asked if I wanted to cover for the oncology and maternity social worker. I almost told them no. Babies? That’s the last thing I want to see right now, but I needed to get out of the house. Besides, I never have maternity cases. Oncology always keeps me busy. To be honest, the past few days have been hard. I’ve kinda crawled into a hole and sat. I haven’t felt like choosing joy. I’ve chosen to focus on my pain, on what went wrong, and on what I didn’t have. I spoke with my mother who reminded me to live. I know it sounds silly to have to be reminded to cherish what I have. To tell me it’s okay to grieve Henry but to live for God’s glory. To tell me I need to be present for Benjamin and my husband. And to remind me not to allow Satan to have an inch. I woke up yesterday with a pep in my step. I was determined to choose joy and live. When I got to work, I noticed a mother I needed to see. She was in her 3rd trimester and had been in the hospital a few days so I wanted to check on her. When I called the nurse she told me that this mother tested positive for drugs, has multiple kids she doesn’t see, had no prenatal care, doesn’t know who the father of the child is and doesn’t want the baby. My first reaction was to go upstairs and punch her in the face. This woman had no prenatal care! She smoked crack while pregnant! And she has a healthy baby kicking in her womb! But I prayed for Henry before he was even conceived. I ate organic.  I gave up Diet Coke. I did everything right and Henry died! On the way to the maternity floor, I prayed for softness. I prayed to glorify God. I prayed I would honor Henry. By the time I reached this lady’s room, my icy heart began to melt. As this woman told me that she didn’t want to keep this baby, the Holy Spirit gave me the strength to tell her how proud I was of her. Proud that she didn’t choose abortion. Proud that she’s going to sign custody over to someone else.  I’m not saying this to brag. Like I said, I wanted to punch her a few times. I’m saying that the Holy Spirit showed up. Because I wanted to chose joy, He made me able to do so. I left the room and spoke with the nurses. I shared my story and was able to connect with a few of them. As a mother who’s lost a son, one of the most therapeutic things for me is to tell Henry’s story. I love to talk about my second born. I love when people recognize him as the person he was. When people don’t say anything about him, it breaks my heart. Today, I was given the opportunity to share what the Lord is doing BECAUSE of Henry. And I pray that this is only the beginning. Today was a small victory. The road has been hard and windy. I go from happy to distraught in .5 seconds. One moment I’m raising my hands praising the Lord, the next I’m heaving and wondering why God took my son. And I think both reactions are okay. One thing I’ve learned is that no matter how I feel, I have to go to God with it. Even if my thoughts are ugly and my questions are trivial. I see pregnant women all the time and wonder why me and not them. I in no way wish this on them, but I wonder why God chose me? My son? I want to hold Henry more than anything in this world. I would give up just about anything to have him tucked safely in my womb, but he’s not there. God chose Henry as a way to glorify Him….If I let Him. I know one day this will all make sense. That it’s just a piece of the story. And I take great comfort that in 10,000 years I’ll be praising The King with Henry by my side.  And I’ll know....I'll know that while this was brutally hard and a road I did not choose, it will have been “light and momentary in comparison to the glory that far outweighs it all.”

Henry

Jeremiah 1:5 Before I formed you in the womb I knew you. And before you were born I consecrated you.

I knew something was wrong from the moment our Henry was conceived. I chalked it up as my usual neurosis, but something kept preparing me. Something kept me praying more than usual, fearing more than usual. When I started to bleed, I knew he was gone. When I say I felt prepared, I was preparing myself for a special needs child. A child with a few complications. A difficult birth experience perhaps, but only My Lord and Savior could have held me tight as the doctor frantically searched for a heart beat. Less than 24 hours from that still, quiet ultrasound, I gave birth to my sweet, precious, 2^nd son Henry Carlton Dafferner.

Having a baby is such a joyous time, so full of excitement. Packing a hospital bag, waiting for your mother to arrive, being led into a somber hospital room where you know the pain has just begun is beyond brutal. When we got there, I asked for one last ultrasound. Maybe I didn’t have enough faith. I didn’t ask enough of Him. Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead. Christ rose from the dead for heaven’s sake! Maybe if I boldly called upon The Great Physician, He would perform a miracle. I pleaded with God. I told Him I would give Him all the glory. That such a miracle would change so many lives. But God had other plans. My entire body was shaking as they prepped me. I was beyond scared. The pain of what was about to happen, the danger of what they were doing; it terrified me to the core. My Mom was there. My husband. The doctor, but no one held my fate in their hands. No one but My Sovereign God. I stayed up the entire night praying and the process, while gruesome, bloody and heart wrenching, went beautifully. 

When I first saw my son, I lost it. I held that precious, lifeless boy and felt so many things. Anger. Anger because God could have stopped it. He didn’t have to allow any of this to happen. Sadness. Sadness because no matter what anyone says, what anyone does, where I go, Henry is gone. This little boy who kicked and played in my womb is gone. Mad. Mad that it had to happen to me. Call me selfish, but I would wish this on someone beside myself. If God gave me the choice of Henry or one person changing for the better, I’d choose Henry. Every time. But that’s why I didn’t get the choice. I don’t know what’s best for me. For the Kingdom. I know only of my pain. My heartache. My love as Henry’s mother. I don’t know how God did it. I get that He’s God and perfect, but I don’t care how perfect you are, to give up your own Son is the ultimate act of grace.  And if God had changed His mind, like I so begged Him to with my son, Henry wouldn’t be singing glory with the angels right now. He’d be in hell, like the rest of us. I believe worship is a choice. It’s easy to jump up and down and lift your hands in praise when things are good, but how about when you are offended? When God’s perfect plan is offensive. My heart aches beyond words, but my hands are lifting sweet Henry to God, willing but not able. This entire journey has been just that-willing but not able. I so badly wanted this cup to be taken from me, but I was willing to endure what was asked. He made me able.

I know that this is just the beginning.  Christmas. Birthdays. It’s gonna be brutal. And I want to be angry and stay there. To climb in a hole and never get out. But I can’t. Anger. Tears. People.  They can’t pull me out of my hell. Only my Savior can renew my wounded spirit.  And I need Him to pull me out of my hell.  When I kissed Henry’s cold head, I was weak, but He was strong. When they took Henry away for the very last time, His grace was sufficient for me.  I can’t begin to understand the “why” of all this. I actually don’t think I’m capable of understanding it. Like I said, I’m so selfish I’d choose Henry every time if given the choice. But God loved me enough to pry my little fingers away from what was never mine. Because He knew. He knew then and He knows now. And as gut wrenching, offensive and awful as this is, I willingly raise my hands to heaven and worship My King. 

Henry’s Life Verse:

Colossians 2:6-7

So then, just as you received Christ Jesus as Lord, continue to live your lives in Him, strengthened in the faith as you were taught and overflowing with thankfulness.