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."