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.