Category: Grief

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Monday May 10, 2010


I found so much Truth in the pages penned in this book.

So without further ado, here are my favored

excerpts & quotes from

A Grief Observed

by C. S. Lewis

No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep on swallowing. (p. 1)

There are moments, most unexpectedly, when something inside me tries to assure me that I don’t really mind so much, not so very much, after all… Then comes a sudden jab of red-hot memory and all this “commonsense” vanishes like an ant in the mouth of a furnace. (p. 2)

And no one ever told me about the laziness of grief. Except at my job—where the machine seems to run on much as usual—I loathe the slightest effort. Not only writing but even reading a letter is too much. (p. 3)

Part of every misery is, so to speak, the misery’s shadow or reflection: the fact that you don’t merely suffer but have to keep on thinking about the fact that you suffer. I not only live each endless day in grief, but live each day thinking about living each day in grief. (p. 9)

I must have some drug, and reading isn’t a strong enough drug now. By writing it all down (all?—no: one thought in a hundred) I believe I get a little outside it [grief]. (p. 10)

Her absence is like the sky, spread over everything. (p. 11)

One never meets just Cancer, or War, or Unhappiness (or Happiness). One only meets each hour or moment that comes. All manner of ups and downs. Many bad spots in our best times, many good ones in our worst. (p. 13)

What pitiable cant to say, “She will live forever in my memory!” Live? That is exactly what she won’t do. (p. 22)

You never know how much you really believe anything until its truth or falsehood becomes a matter of life and death to you. (p. 25)

Talk to me about the truth of religion and I’ll listen gladly. Talk to me about the duty of religion and I’ll listen submissively. But don’t come talking to me about the consolations of religion or I shall suspect that you don’t understand. (p. 28)

And poor C. quotes to me, “Do not mourn like those that have no hope.” It astonished me, the way we are invited to apply to ourselves words so obviously addressed to our betters. What St. Paul says can comfort only those who love God better than the dead, and the dead better than themselves. If a mother is mourning not for what she has lost but for what her dead child has lost, it is a comfort to believe that the child has not lost the end for which it was created. And it is a comfort to believe that she herself, in losing her chief or only natural happiness, has not lost a great thing, that she may still hope to “glorify God and enjoy Him forever.” A comfort to the God-aimed, eternal spirit within her. But not to her motherhood. The specifically maternal happiness must be written off. Never, in any place or time, will she have her son on her knees, or bathe him, or tell him a story, or plan for his future, or see her grandchild. (p. 30)

Aren’t all these notes the senseless writhings of a man who won’t accept the fact that there is nothing we can do with suffering except to suffer it? Who still thinks there is some device (if only he could find it) which will make pain not to be pain. It’s doesn’t really matter whether you grip the arms of the dentist’s chair or let your hands lie in your lap. The drill drills on. (p. 38)

And grief still feels like fear. Perhaps, more strictly, like suspense. Or like waiting; just hanging about waiting for something to happen. It gives life a permanently provisional feeling. It doesn’t seem worth starting anything. (p. 38)

I hear a clock strike and some quality it always had before has gone out of the sound. What’s wrong with the world to make it so flat, shabby, worn-out looking? Then I remember. (p. 40)

This is one of the things I’m afraid of. The agonies, the mad midnight moments, must, in the course of nature, die away. But what will follow? Just this apathy, this dead flatness? Will there come a time when I no longer ask why the world is like a mean street, because I shall take the squalor as normal? Does grief finally subside into boredom tinged by faint nausea? (p. 41)

What do people mean when they say, “I am not afraid of God because I know He is good”? Have they never even been to the dentist? (p. 51)

The time when there is nothing at all in your soul except a cry for help may be just the time when God can’t give it: you are like the drowning man who can’t be helped because he clutches and grabs. Perhaps your own reiterated cries deafen you to the voice you hoped to hear. (p. 53)

I think I am beginning to understand why grief feels like suspense. It comes from the frustration of so many impulses that had become habitual. Thought after thought, feeling after feeling, action after action, had H. for their object. Now their target is gone. I keep on through habit fitting an arrow to the string; then I remember and have to lay the bow down. So many roads lead thought to H. I set out on one of them. But now there’s an impassable frontier-post across it. So many roads once; now to many culs de sac. (p. 55)

When you have learned to do quadratics and enjoy doing them you will not be set them much longer. The teacher moves you on. (p. 57)

God has not been trying an experiment on my faith or love in order to find out their quality. He knew it already. It was I who didn’t. In this trial He makes us occupy the dock, the witness box, and the bench all at once. He always knew that my temple was a house of cards. His only way of making me realize the fact was to knock it down. (p. 61)

Getting over it so soon? But the words are ambiguous. To say the patient is getting over it after an operation for appendicitis is one thing; after he’s had his leg off it is quite another. After that operation either the wounded stump heals or the man dies. If it heals, the fierce, continuous pain will stop. Presently he’ll get back his strength and be able to stump about on his wooden leg. He has “got over it.” But he will probably have recurrent pains in the stump all his life, and perhaps pretty bad ones; and he will always be a one-legged man. There will be hardly any moment when he forgets it. Bathing, dressing, sitting down and getting up again, even lying in bed, will all be different. His whole way of life will be changed. All sorts of pleasures and activities that he once took for granted will have to be simply written off. Duties too. At present I am learning to get about on crutches. Perhaps I shall presently be given a wooden leg. But I shall never be a biped again. (p. 61)

Still, there’s no denying that in some sense I “feel better,” and with that comes at once a sort of shame, and a feeling that one is under a sort of obligation to cherish and foment and prolong one’s unhappiness. (p. 62)

Tonight all the hells of young grief have opened again; the mad words, the bitter resentment, the fluttering in the stomach, the nightmare unreality, the wallowed-in tears. For in grief nothing “stays put.” One keeps on emerging from a phase, but it always recurs. Round and round. Everything repeats. Am I going in circles, or dare I hope I am on a spiral? But if a spiral, am I going up or down it? (p. 66)

How often—will it be for always?—how often will the vast emptiness astonish me like a complete novelty and make me say, “I never realized my loss till this moment”? The same leg is cut off time after time. The first plunge of the knife into the flesh is felt again and again. (p. 67)

I thought I could describe a state; make a map of sorrow. Sorrow, however, turns out to be not a state but a process. It needs not a map but a history, and if I don’t stop writing that history at some quite arbitrary point, there’s no reason why I should ever stop. There is something new to be chronicled every day. Grief is like a long valley, a winding valley where any bend may reveal a totally new landscape. As I’ve already noted, not every bend does. Sometimes the surprise is the opposite one; you are presented with exactly the same sort of country you thought you had left behind miles ago. That is when you wonder whether the valley isn’t a circular trench. But it isn’t. There are partial recurrences, but the sequence doesn’t repeat. (p. 68)

I was wrong to say the stump was recovering from the pain of the amputation. I was deceived because it has so many ways to hurt me that I discover them only one by one. (p. 71)

Turned to God, my mind no longer meets that locked door; turned to H., it no longer meets that vacuum—nor all that fuss about my mental image of her. My jottings show something of the [grieving] process, but not so much as I’d hoped. Perhaps both changes were really not observable. There was no sudden, striking, and emotional transition. Like the warming of a room or the coming of daylight. When you first notice them they have already been going on for some time. (p. 71)

Am I, for instance, just sidling back to God because I know that if there’s any road to H., it runs through Him? But then of course I know perfectly well that He can’t be used as a road. If you’re approaching Him not as the goal but as a road, not as the end but as a means, you’re not really approaching Him at all. (p. 79)

When I lay these questions before God I get no answers. But a rather special sort of “No answer.” It is not the locked door. It is more like a silent, certainly not uncompassionate, gaze. As though He shook His head not in refusal but waiving the question. Like, “Peace, child; you don’t understand.” (p. 81)

There is also, whatever it means, the resurrection of the body. We cannot understand. The best is perhaps what we understand least. (p. 89)

How wicked it would be, if we could, to call the dead back! She said not to me but to the chaplain, “I am at peace with God.” She smiled, but not at me. (p. 89)

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Sunday May 9, 2010

Psalm 113
Praise the LORD! Praise, O servants of the LORD,
praise the name of the LORD!

Blessed be the name of the LORD
from this time forth and forevermore!
From the rising of the sun to its setting,
the name of the LORD is to be praised!

The LORD is high above all nations,
and His glory above the heavens!
Who is like the LORD our God,
who is seated on high,
who looks far down
on the heavens and the earth?
He raises the poor from the dust
and lifts the needy from the ash heap,
to make them sit with princes,
with the princes of his people.
He gives the barren woman a home,
making her the joyous mother of children.
Praise the LORD!

I have learned that Mother’s Day is beautiful and bittersweet. The sweetness is lovely and fresh. But the bitter side of it comes from losing my children. From not being able to hold them. I know so many people who have lost their mothers or lost their child(ren) or who have broken relationships with their mother or child(ren). These are people for whom Mother’s Day is especially difficult. And I know women who are infertile; women who desperately desire to be mothers, but who struggle to conceive precious babies. I know unmarried women who desire nothing more than to be married, so they can devote their lives to serving a husband and children.

Who knew that silly little Hallmark holidays could bring such pain and anguish into peoples’ lives? Well, I do.

Did you know that Mother’s Day was created originally by a woman who was not a mother, in order to honor her deceased (and bereaved) mother?? Here’s the story behind it. Interesting how the holiday has changed over the years, but also interesting to see where it originated.

Anyway… my husband bought me some beautiful lilies, made me breakfast in bed, and has the table all set because my brother’s family and my parents are coming over for dinner after church ~ and the gentlemen are making the meal! How delightful. 🙂
Today I get to hold my sweet little boy on my lap. And I get to caress my sweet seventh baby from the closeness of my womb. And I have the beautiful knowledge that five of my covenant children are rejoicing in Heaven, all because they went from the comfort of my womb to the peace of God’s mansions. I get to visit with them in worship in about two hours ~ where my husband and I will sit in the heavenlies with our seven descendants yet again.

So I am prayerful and thankful and joyful!!
And eager to worship this morning with that attitude. Bittersweet or not. 🙂

HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY to my mother, my mother-in-law, my sisters-in-law, and my friends.
May the Lord bless you in these beautiful & difficult efforts.
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Saturday May 1, 2010

Today, May 1st, is the official launch date for a new website/project I have been helping with over the past few months. My involvement has largely just been reading emails, voting on polls, and shooting ideas around with more than a dozen other bereaved mothers. When I was first asked to be part of this new project (as the RPL expert — RPL means Recurrent Pregnancy Loss), reaching out to and supporting bereaved parents, I wasn’t sure why we would need one more website out there like this and what I could possibly do to make a difference. I have been part of two online forums over the last fifteen months that have greatly impacted me (one Christian, one secular) as well as used me to impact others, but wanted to know what would be different about this site. I think the key difference may be the level of personal involvement. It isn’t just a forum or chatroom where bereaved parents can find five minutes of camaraderie with others in similar grief. In fact, at this stage anyway, there is not a forum function for Grieve Out Loud at all.
What can be expected from Grieve Out Loud is an opportunity to learn from others’ stories and experiences. Parents who have lost a baby (from miscarriage, stillbirth, or postnatal death) will share their own stories, be your penpal as you work through your own grief, give book reviews to help you narrow down what book may be the most encouraging for you, send you a care package, help you find links for other sources, and be there for you in a way that many other people simply can’t be — because everyone putting an effort into this site is also grieving their child(ren).
The site is called Grieve Out Loud, serving as a reminder that grief should not be bottled up, hidden, or forgotten. Grief should be lived, breathed, spoken, heard.
If you think of it, please pray that my part in this project would be a blessing to others. I am sharing “my story” there, as well as submitting my “Miscarriage Etiquette” and a book review. I don’t know when these things will be posted on the site, but please pray that the Lord would use my input for His glory and for someone’s encouragement. It isn’t a solely Christian site, but all input I share is overtly Christian: please pray that this would impact people (when they are at their lowest, most broken) for Christ.

May God be glorified through my part in this project.

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Thursday April 22, 2010

Psalm 6

To the choirmaster: with stringed instruments; according to The Sheminith. A Psalm of David.

O LORD, rebuke me not in Your anger,
   nor discipline me in Your wrath.
(My God and Father, be merciful to me. Disciple me according to Your grace, and deal gently with my heart. I feel so vulnerable and weak, but I desire to seek after You and Your kingdom.)
Be gracious to me, O LORD, for I am languishing;
    heal me, O LORD, for my bones are troubled.
My soul also is greatly troubled.
(Please, Lord, yes, be gracious. Languishing means feeling weak and feeble; Lord, my heart and my spirit feel that way. Even my hands and body begin to feel it. Like David, I too am troubled down to my marrow. I seek Your healing, both physically and spiritually.)
   But You, O LORD— how long?
(My Lord and King, it feels like You tarry. Please make haste!)

Turn, O LORD, deliver my life;
   save me for the sake of Your steadfast love.
(Save me from grief, save me from sorrow, save me from Satan’s wiles. Turn the direction of my heart, my longing, my life toward You and conform my will to Yours. For the sake of You and Your kingdom, please do these things, but also for my good, dear Lord, as Your daughter upon her knees.)
For in death there is no remembrance of You;
   in Sheol who will give You praise?
(Give me remembrance of Your mercy, and give me strength to praise You wherever I go.)

I am weary with my moaning;
   every night I flood my bed with tears;
   I drench my couch with my weeping.
(It seems as though I should be properly dehydrated like a raisin by now. I am so tired of crying myself to sleep, and awaking in the morning to terrible dreams that simply bring tears afresh. Grief and sorrow are wearing. Physically and emotionally tiring. Please give me strength, for the tears keep coming.)
My eye wastes away because of grief;
   it grows weak because of all my foes.
(My eye, my discernment, my seer of beauty – it fades. Grief makes it hard to discern, hard to see the beauty. I want to discern rightly according to Your will, and I want to see the beauties of Your hand all around me. But My foes feel too strong: Satan attacks when he knows my armor is weakened. He is wiley and cunning. He sends pangs into my heart when I do not desire the arrows or stings. These foes must be fought! Dear God, enable me.)

Depart from me, all you workers of evil,
(Yes, Lord, enable me to banish Satan and his army!)
   for the LORD has heard the sound of my weeping.
(Oh Father, listen to my cry; do not turn me aside!)
The LORD has heard my plea;
   the LORD accepts my prayer.
(Thank You, my King, for the assurance that my pleas and prayers do not fall upon deaf ears. Thank you for hearing me and accepting me.)
All my enemies shall be ashamed and greatly troubled;
   they shall turn back and be put to shame in a moment.
(Oh Lord, this is victory indeed! My enemies of Satan, sin, and death shall fall into their own snares! You have overcome them all! When You but speak the word, they shall crumble and disintegrate, and oh how glorious! Put them to shame. Trample them under Your feet. You have conquered sin and death. Satan is thrown from his throne. Comfort my heart with this knowledge. And bring it to mind when I feel my enemies overtaking me. They have no power over me. I am Yours.)

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Saturday April 3, 2010

I feel like the feelings of ‘today’ rather epitomize where I am in life.
Yesterday was Good Friday.
Tomorrow is Resurrection Sunday.
How do you keep faith and hope alive during Saturday?

That’s when Jesus’ followers thought all was lost and they were overwhelmed by grief, for they had just buried their Son/Brother/Teacher/Friend. (Did they know they had just buried their Savior??) Did they know the Resurrection was coming?

Saturday -today- is that time of waiting between the terrible darkness of Good Friday and the glory of Resurrection Sunday truth. When Jesus’ people did not know whether or not there would be glorious resurrection.

In some ways, this last year has felt like one long Good Friday for me, and now I am in the Saturday of waiting. Wondering what is going to happen. Knowing that there will be some sort of resurrection (when I die, if nothing else), but wondering where, when, how…

How do I keep faith and hope not only in God but in His works and in His people, when I feel like the grief is too fresh and any sort of resurrection is beyond my reach or too far away??

I want to experience His power and glory apart from getting the desires of my own heart. I want to know His power and glory even in my weakest and darkest moments.
Because, ultimately, I want His people & the world to see my joy is because of who He is and what He accomplished at THE Resurrection — not just my joy if/when He fulfills the desires He has put in my heart.

So today as we prepare for and await Resurrection Sunday, remember that today is a day of wondering, a day of fresh grief, a day of the unknown.

I feel, still, like it is a day that epitomizes this season of my life.

May God be glorified. May He be close.
May we praise Him rightly tomorrow, in glory and truth and righteousness, as we remember Jesus’ resurrection, as we look ahead to the final Resurrection, and as we look for little resurrections in our lives!

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Saturday March 20, 2010

“Is anyone among you suffering? Let him pray.”
James 5:13

The New Testament has numerous references to suffering in relation to Christ & His Kingdom: sharing His sufferings (2 Corinthians 1:5, Philippians 3:10, 2 Timothy 2:3, 1 Peter 4:13), suffering for the Kingdom of God (2 Thessalonians 1:5), suffering for the Gospel (2 Timothy 1:8). And these, of course, are just the first instances that pop up; there are many more, should you wish to study it out more in-depth.

But anyway, Scripture talks a lot about suffering — nobody can dispute that. One of the biggest books in the Bible is all about it: Job. Scripture connects suffering to glory (Romans 8:18, Ephesians 3:13, Hebrews 2:9, 1 Peter 1:11, 1 Peter 4:13, 1 Peter 5:1), mostly in reference to Christ but also in reference to His people. So this morning I have been pondering how my own suffering is connected to glory.
In the midst of suffering, it simply feels -well, honestly- sorrowful. It can feel shameful. Even overwhelmingly dire. I would, most days, just rather give up altogether. Where is the glory?, we wonder. It is future glory. Gold is beautiful and glorious, but while it is in the refining fire, beware: it is brittle and hot and not to be envied. It is the after-effect that is shiny and precious. (Zechariah 13:9 and 1 Peter 1:7 refer to this.)

I don’t like suffering. (Who does?) But the fact is, we all suffer. In different ways, at different times.
Sometimes I wonder how the Scriptural references to suffering impact me and my own suffering. It talks about suffering with Christ, but am I being physically mocked, persecuted, and tortured because of my faith? It talks about suffering for the Kingdom and suffering for the Gospel, but -again- is that what I am doing?
Sometimes it is hard to see the connection.
It is hard to see how my suffering (or your suffering) is sharing in the sufferings of Christ, is suffering for the sake of the Kingdom of God, is suffering for the sake of the Gospel.

But I am sharing in the sufferings of Christ — I am suffering -grieving- because sin inhabits this world, and death came through sin (Romans 5:12). My suffering produces Christlikeness.
I am suffering for the sake of the Kingdom of God — I am suffering as we pursue growing the Kingdom of God, in Heaven if not on earth (Matthew 19:14, Luke 18:29). My suffering preaches the Kingdom.
I am suffering for the sake of the Gospel — the Gospel is all about Resurrection (John 11:24-25), and there is nothing I speak of more often & intently than that (Romans 6:5, 1 Peter 1:3). My suffering proclaims the Gospel.

In my suffering, there is nothing I want more than to bring glory to God because of His faithfulness and endurance. He has overcome the world (John 16:33). Amen!

This is what it is to share in Christ’s sufferings, to suffer for the Kingdom and the Gospel — to faithfully endure by the power of God’s grace, and to proclaim it to the nations.

So today while I sit here suffering, grieving for my children, may I also be enabled by the power & grace of God to look ahead toward future glories. May I somehow see through my vale of tears that there is a glorious hope, redemption, and resurrection. There may yet be these things here on earth ere I die. And if not, if the Lord should see fit to fill each one of my remaining days with suffering & grief, may He still cause me to praise His name for the knowledge that there is heavenly hope awaiting me. And that, if nothing else, is glorious beyond measure.

John MacArthur (not always, but sometimes, a good read) and Toby Sumpter (not just sometimes, but always, a good read) have thought-provoking, excellent things to say on the subject of Christian suffering. Go take peeks. And join me in prayer today. Is anyone among you suffering??

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Monday March 15, 2010

Opening a can of worms can be so… wormy. 🙂

I guess my previous post was meaning to clarify myself, but maybe it was just digging further into the can. That’s quite possible (and that’s okay – I’d love to learn how to eat fried worms, lol). In my experience, it is desperately hard to tell tone, inflection, and even meaning sometimes when something is written. You can’t see facial expression or always discern sarcasm. And although sometimes I use italics, sometimes I use them too often or not enough. And aren’t you left sometimes thinking, “is she talking about me?!” (or not). So yeah – wormy. 🙂

Blogs are funny. There are lots of different kinds of blogs, and my blog tends to fall somewhere into the realm of an online journal. Pictures and personal updates, things I read, things I cook, thing I make – yep, I guess it’s pretty much all about me, me, me. That’s how most personal blogs end up being, when you grind them down to brass tacks. All I am doing is sharing my experience. That’s all I know. So it’s all I feel comfortable sharing about here – my experience.

If you look at my recently created little “tag cloud” (as I think my hubby called it), you’ll notice that “grief” is pretty  much the largest word. That’s because it has the most tags. And that‘s because this last year has been a year of grief for me. People tend to blog about their experiences – and as I said, I fall into that category. I blog about what I am doing, thinking, reading, cooking… and so yes, for right now, a large part of my blogging falls into the grief category. Because that is where God has me. I am learning to be thankful for that, and God’s enabling grace causes me to resist becoming bitter. And I give all the glory and praise for that to God! I sincerely hope that my tag cloud will change one day soon. That the word grief will become smaller amongst the other words. And that it will not be the majority of my experience, and therefore the majority of what I share. But for now, that’s a large portion of what you get here on my blog. Pray with me that it won’t be like that forever. 🙂

I love to pray for people. I love to encourage people.
Those are what some people call my “spiritual gifts.”
I inherited that from my mother. 🙂
And no, I don’t always have the right words (if you’ve ever gotten an “encouraging” note from me, I frequently say that flat-out), and I don’t always know what you are feeling, suffering, or going through.
And yes, I too love to be prayed for. I love to be told that I am being prayed for. I love getting flowers, cards, emails, hugs, coffee, muffins, dinner, blog comments — those are a few ways people have reached out to encourage me when the times are tough. And I just simply love it when people reach out to encourage me – because I know that takes faith, courage, and love. I know that, and I am thankful. So THANK YOU. 🙂

The hard thing is: everyone suffers.
And everyone suffers differently.
God gives us different problems and different experiences. And even if we go through the “same” pain or suffering, we each handle it differently. For instance, if two women lost their husbands in the same head-on automobile collision, the two wives would likely grieve very differently, handle it very differently, and experience two different things – even though on the outside it would look like the same thing.
So when I say “you can’t understand” what I am suffering, it’s true. (To an extent.) Just like I can’t understand your own suffering. That isn’t a bad thing, and I never mean it to come across as vindictive or accusatory. Simply a fact. We will never wear each others’ shoes.

In the online forums in which I participate, I have met with hundreds of women who have lost babies. Some have lost many more than I have, some have only lost one, etc. And although sometimes we know the right thing to say, oftentimes we don’t. And that’s okay. We are reaching out with the comfort with which we have been comforted. And that’s all anyone (including our Lord) can ask of us. I’ve never asked more than that from any of you, my friends & family.

I have a couple of friends whose husbands have been out of work for over a year.
We know a family who has to sell their house ultimately because the husband is out of work.
I have a dear friend whose mother has recently fought through her second bout of breast cancer.
There are three different families we know who have children in rebellion, who have been excommunicated from the covenant community.
One couple we are friends with always has premature babies: they’ve had three babies (two have been in the NICU) in the last 35 months.
One of my friends suffers from Crohn’s disease.
A family at our church is trying to adopt twin boys while raising support for the mission field.

These are just a few forms of suffering that are effecting people that I know and love. These are people that I minister to, encourage, and pray for although I have never been in their shoes.
I do it imperfectly.
I don’t know if it is honestly encouraging for them or not.
But the Lord has called me to encourage them and pray for them in my imperfect ways, and I make an effort to do so, praying that God would give me the words and the timing and the resources to be a true comfort.

So sure, you may not “completely understand,” as that would be impossible (and I am not asking you to). But you try. And you take me before the throne of our Heavenly Father. And that is beautiful. And I can’t tell you how thankful I am for that. And how thankful I am that you tell me. Because otherwise, I just wouldn’t know. 🙂

And yes, some people are called to share their trials (and blessings) with others (like I am), while some do not feel that calling. My personal experience is that I feel called to it. I said that I could never ignore the lives of my children, but I didn’t mean to imply that someone who keeps a miscarriage (or another form of suffering) to themselves is necessarily ignoring or forgetting their child. My family, and our experience, and what the Lord has called us to – that’s all I was referring to. I can’t pretend to know the intricacies of anyone else’s losses, sufferings, or pains. Even if someone else’s suffering is because of miscarriage. Some people call me an expert on that, but I’m not. Certainly we all have different experiences, different callings, and different coping mechanisms. I am the first one to accept that.

So why do I share my experiences? Why do I share my grief? Why do I share the lives of my children with you?
To bring glory to God.
To show His faithfulness both at midnight and at noonday.
So that someday when I am no longer walking through the valley, you can rejoice even more with me when I am dancing on the mountaintops.
And in case someone else in a similar situation to mine comes by my blog, maybe I can even offer practical advice (from my experience) that other women wouldn’t be equipped with. Who knows.

May God use me –even me– and my feeble little blog to show forth His praises, His providence, and His comfort.
It’s all I can share – it’s my experience

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Monday March 15, 2010

(excerpted) ~~>
I yearn for the days that we ‘didn’t know.’  The days when pregnancy was blissful and normal, filled with joy and anticipation.  


I want my ignorance back!  I want to be able to believe, once again, that NOTHING could possibly go wrong ~ that I could NEVER be a statistic.  I want to be able to think of a newborn baby and not cry or feel such intense jealousy that I don’t even recognize myself.   I want to be able to wear my maternity clothes with pleasure again.  To feel like I am blossoming and not getting ready to implode. 

I want the light switch moments of my life back.  I want to be one of the others who do not understand what it is like to lose a child.   Instead, I don’t get to choose and just have to live with it.  It has become part of who I am.  I have to learn to survive ~ to find the elusive “new normal.”   

I just want a life jacket or a boat that will carry me in the current of death.  I want to believe that God is that for me…but He seems so very far away right now.  Sometimes, even with my best efforts, I get pulled under and tossed about, in the emotion that I don’t see coming.  One word, one look, one encounter, one smell, one song, one thing ~ is all it takes to blindside me. 

I don’t ever get to just turn it OFF!  I have to pray to get through.  I have to hope that each day, I will find it easier to anticipate.  

How very lucky the others are, to be able to offer support and then go on with their lives.   Feeling better for having reached out and stepping out of their comfort zone, knowing that when they turn back around, their normal life will be waiting.  Like a bit of mud on hiking shoes.  It is easy to dislodge once you get out of the muck, take off your shoes, and let it dry.  I don’t get to wear hiking boots, I have to walk through in my bare feet.  I have to feel rough terrain:  each rock, brier,  and thorn that threatens to cut my feet to shreds. 

In all of this, all I can do is wait and pray.  Pray that God will continue to help me feel His unconditional love.  Pray that even when I turn from Him, because I expect that I will (I am only human), He will embrace me. 

I know that many of you are reading and hoping to offer some kind of relief from the pain.  I don’t know that it is even possible.  Pain is something that only God can help me with.  But I do know that there is support (I can feel it) in the form of prayers.  And I think that it is safe to say that we don’t want to be forgotten or avoided. 

Right now, I don’t know that there will ever be a time when we will be ‘better’  just ‘better at hiding our pain.’

A woman I know online, a sweet bereaved mommy, wrote the above excerpt. Our experiences are not identical, but these are words I could have penned myself. I wanted to share them with you, so that you know I am not the only one feeling these things. Her heart, her courage, her writing, her faith are beautiful to me.

Recently one of you said that it is courageous of me to share some of what I do with you. Thank you for recognizing that. You know I don’t have to bare my soul to you. I don’t have to tell you of my grief or share my heart with you. I didn’t even have to tell you that five of my children ever even existed! You never would have known the difference. Right?
But actually… I don’t believe that. I believe I do have to share with you (although I share even more on my private family blog – aren’t you glad you aren’t privy that one?!), and that God has called me to proclaim His glories and faithfulness through my loss and grief and pain. And I can’t even imagine ignoring the existence of any of my children.
Life on earth only lasts for so long. Life in heaven is eternal.
That is where true life lies.
Although most of the time I tend to think of Covenant, Glory, Promise, Peace, and Mercy as having died – in truth, they are the ones who are truly living. Those of us left behind to walk the dust of this earth for our threescore and ten – we are dying. We are simply longing for the true life of heaven to which five of my children have already attained.
How beautiful that is.
(Beautiful, at least, when I am not in a moment of overwhelming grief, and am willing to see its beauties.)

Anyway…

Someone else also recently wanted to encourage me (thank you for that, too!) not to grow weary during this hard time. That is something I am praying for grace to do – to endure with faithfulness, not growing weary – although it is honestly tempting to simply throw it all away and wallow in tears. But that’s something you won’t see me do. By God’s all-sufficient grace. (Amen.)

Many people have told me that Gabriel will make a huge impact on the Kingdom. And I truly believe that. I believe that God has prepared great things (whether he sees it in his lifetime or not) for this little boy. He survived against odds I can’t even comprehend. He had about a 5-8% chance of being born. What a miraculous little life. Sustained by God’s very words.
And not that I expect my Gabriel to be a Samuel, Jacob, or Moses necessarily — but the Lord had him survive against great odds. I truly do believe that whether I have other biological children or not, the Lord has great things planned for my son. Gabriel belongs to the Lord, and I am eager to see the paths He has prepared for this little boy as he grows.
Yes, many “great men” were from small families. Many women were mothers of few children. The most common  examples people give me are (predictably) Sarah and Hannah, but there are many others. And no, of course I do not believe that having more children is more holy or more honorable. I am definitely not in the “Quiverfull Movement” (oooh, do I sense another blog post coming there?? hmmm…).
Of course that does not necessarily mean that we will give up pursuing more children for the Kingdom (either on earth or in heaven), as our Lord leads. At this point, we feel strongly the Lord calling us to endurance. So we must follow Him and His call. We seek His wisdom and guidance as we move forward. We know that He will continue to guide our footsteps, and we are praying for discernment as we follow Him.

Certainly, yes, Gabriel is young – not yet two years old. And certainly, no, I am not too old to bear children.
But these things, I’m afraid, are not the point.
Gabriel’s age is irrelevant.
And I am not a “normal” bereaved mommy. The majority of women (85%, according to most statistics) who endure a pregnancy loss will go on to have perfectly normal, full term, healthy pregnancies following a miscarriage/stillbirth. While having one miscarriage is very common, it is less common to have recurrent miscarriages (some places say that chance of recurrent miscarriage is only 1%, while others say 1 in 200 couples). And with each miscarriage a woman has, her statistic chance of having a healthy baby in the future goes down significantly. After having five miscarriages (regardless of having a live birth in there – because Gabriel has already been established as a miracle), my statistical chance of having a healthy baby is 5%. Five.
For me, being young makes no difference.
And for me, trying again makes no difference.
Most of my babies have not died from some random chromosomal anomaly that will likely not reoccur in a future pregnancy. It is our belief, according to the knowledge that God has provided us, that only one of our babies has died from aneuploidy.
For most women, seeing a heartbeat on an ultrasound is a comfort – for me, it means nothing. While risk of miscarriage for most women drops to 5% or less after confirming a heartbeat in a baby over 6 weeks’ gestational age, it doesn’t for me.
Maybe some of you will remember that Peace miscarried in November just a few hours after we saw his gorgeous little heartbeat (it was the second time we’d seen it).

I’m not asking for pity here. That’s not why I am writing this.
I just wanted to make some clarifications. For myself, if not for you.

I am not most women.
I am not even most bereaved women.

While yes, there may be time and there may be hope – when you’re in my shoes, both of those things are limited.
My body now will rely largely on medical intervention to prepare for and protect pregnancy. Any time that I could possibly conceive, I need to be monitored closely and continue these medical interventions (unless we want to keep miscarrying 4 or 5 babies a year for the rest of my fertile years). If you know anything about lab work, medications, medical specialists, plasma, i.v.’s, etc – you will understand that these are not cheap. And while we pay for good insurance, our insurance does not have to cover these things (we pray that they will continue to cover a percentage though). If our insurance drops us, you’ll realize (ca-ching) that my childbearing days may be over.
And, please note, these medical interventions are still balancing on the skinny branches: while not exactly experimental anymore, they are far from common practice. There are no guarantees. None.
Yes, it is possible that I will be able to have more biological children with the aid of i.v.’s, shots, and medications.
And yes, it is possible that my body will be resistant and will simply continue to miscarry repeatedly.

This is where I stand.
This is where God has us.
This is what our kind Father ordained for us, prepared for us, and carries us through.

Yes, we want more children.
No, we are not unthankful for our one living son.
Yes, we acknowledge that a family of 3 is just as useable in God’s kingdom as a family of 8.
No, we do not feel God calling us to complacent contentment.
Yes, we are pursuing more biological children as God provides.
No, we will not stop pursuing where God leads.
Yes, He may change His direction of leading.
No, He will not leave or forsake us.
Yes, He may use miracles (like Gabriel) or medical science (which He has given us as a gift).
No, there are no guarantees.
Yes, we continue to grieve for our five children in heaven.
No, this is not wrong but right.

Answer this for me: if you have six children and five of them die, would you not grieve? Would you want someone telling you that you need to get over it, be happy, simply try again (there’s time and hope that you can replace those kids)? Obviously not.

And if you think for a second, “but your five children died before they were born” – stop it. Get over yourself.
Life begins at conception.
These are my sons and daughters.
They are heirs to the Kingdom of Heaven.

We do have hope.
But where is that hope?
I must cling to God alone for hope, especially in the midst of grief. Not to hope of a future healthy baby. I would be deluded if I thought that my hope and my joy will come from a healthy pregnancy… that will only bring me joy ultimately if my first joy is found in the Lord. So yes, I am praying for a deeper faith, a deeper relationship with my King, and a stronger bond with His people. I want to find my joy there, and my fulfillment. I want to.

But my hope in God and my hope for more children are not mutually exclusive.

Thanks for letting me be courageous, for reading this piece of my heart.
Thanks for trying to understand (even though you can’t).
Thanks for praying for us.

Posted on

Saturday March 13, 2010

The boy is napping and the hubby is working outside in the yard. I am supposed to be drinking tea and reading – but my tea (earl grey – my daily favorite) is already cold. So why not take another few minutes to say hello to the world? 🙂
We went out on a little family date today. My tires needed switched out (in fact, we never really needed my studded tires this year), so while they were being done, we went to Starbucks for a rare treat, and then to the grocery store to wander around and pick out a few special things for upcoming meals. Like delicious-looking olives for our Sabbath supper tomorrow night (after our niece & nephew’s birthday party!), paired with applewood smoked cheddar cheese & crackers & red wine.
Delicious food has been something I’ve enjoyed focusing on lately. Making dinners that are new to our palate, and coming up with some new kitchen skills along the way. I have even added some new ingredients to my fridge lately: like fresh ginger, green onions, and fresh parsley – apparently these are all much better fresh than dried, so I’ve been giving it a shot. 🙂
I have made a bunch of new recipes this week, including a crockpot version of Beef Burgundy, a Blackberry Buckle, a round loaf of sweet bread (I don’t generally use recipes for bread, but this one was worth trying), and Chicken Scampi over Lemon Noodles. Mmmm! Tonight we’re opting for quick and familiar: salad (with homemade dressing and croutons) and grilled burgers. I just hope it doesn’t rain on the grilling… it isn’t as fun to grill in a storm. 🙂
I am looking forward to giving my niece & nephew their birthday gifts tomorrow. They won’t probably love them as much as I do – especially because they will be dripping in oodles of birthday gifts from all the relatives… but hey, it’ll be fun anyway. 🙂 I can’t believe they will be one year old this week!
As much as I am excited they are turning one, it is also bringing up memories that I am not looking forward to delving into. A year ago I was pregnant with Glory Hesed. I never really imagined that I would still be newborn-less a year later. And, at the very least, I thought I would have a full womb now. But nope. Empty. And I hate that. I’m pretty sick of it, actually. I feel alone in my plight… and then God reminds me (as I will elaborate upon in a moment) that I’m not. Even though I may feel it.
One of the hidden blessings that comes with being a bereaved mommy is the perspective I can bring to others. So many women take pregnancy for granted. They take healthy babies for granted. They take motherhood for granted. And not that I am perfect either. I am a sinner, too! And my perspective isn’t always what I would like. For instance, last night I was exhausted – it had been a long day, and an even longer week. And I really just wanted Gabriel to go to bed so I could take a long hot shower & head to bed too. My normal bedtime routine with him is to read 3 books, sing 3 songs, pray together, put him in bed, give him his blessing, and leave the room. It takes a good 20 minutes. Last night I picked short books and short songs. And he desperately wanted one more book (which may have turned into four more books, if I had let it…). But I said no. Was that selfish? Or was it prudent? And how do I know the difference sometimes? I’m uncertain. I told him that we’d already read our three books, and it was time to sing. So he cried a little as I sang him three short liturgical hymns (they tend to be the shortest…), and then he was fine and ready to pray and ready to go to bed.
As I sang, I remembered my five little babies who I no longer get to read bedtime stories to. I no longer get to rock them and sing to them at night. And I wish I could. I sincerely, desperately wish I could read them “just one more book.”
One of the songs I sing to Gabriel (the one that I always end with, and the only one that I faithfully sing every single night) goes like this:
God that madest earth and heaven, darkness and light;
Who the day for toil hast given, for rest the night;
May Thine angels guard defend us,
Slumber sweet Thy mercy send us,
Holy dreams and hopes attend us
This live-long night.
Guard us waking, guard us sleeping, and when we die;
May we in Thy mighty keeping all peaceful lie;
When the last dread call shall wake us,
Do not Thou our God forsake us,
But to reign in Glory take us
With Thee on high.
I love this song. And yet it is so painful for me. I have sung this to all of my babies. All of them. And the hardest part for me is when I am pregnant, and I have to sing the line about guarding us when we die. Five of my babies have died, and I have prayed this song with them in my belly.
Yes, I am continuing to grapple with grief. It comes and it goes, against my will and even sometimes against my expectations. God continues to teach me, mold me, break me, grow me, forgive me, love me, and sustain me.
And -back to my original thought- I am beginning to be equipped with so much with which to help other bereaved mothers. I am part of a few online forums/groups of bereaved women, and I am constantly surprised by how often the Lord brings certain women to talk with me, ask for prayer, ask for wisdom, wanting to know my experiences. I feel so helpless and useless, and yet the Lord is using me. I get emails not infrequently (four in the last month) from women (some I know, others have simply stumbled upon me) who have lost babies. I feel blessed to pray for them, to weep with them (because you know I do), to grieve with them, and to offer any support that I can. Even though I feel so ill-equipped, I can tell that God is continuing to equip & use me.
I don’t know what He is going to do with me long-term. But I have no doubt that He is molding me for lifelong service. I am not in love yet with the idea of forever being surrounded by grief and sorrow – but I am called to serve Him and His people. And I will do whatever He asks of me. If I can help any hurting mother whose arms are aching & empty – it gives my babies’ lives & deaths even more beauty & purpose by the grace of God, and lengthens their legacies.
Please pray with me that God would use me in His kingdom, for His kingdom, by His power & strength.

I was reading more Amy Carmichael poetry this afternoon, and wanted to share this poem, which so aptly describes what I feel:

Thy servant, Lord, hath nothing in the house,
Not even one small pot of common oil;
For he who never cometh but to spoil
Hath raided my poor house again, again–
That ruthless strong man, armed, whom men call Pain.

I thought that I had courage in the house,
And patience to be quiet and endure,
And sometimes happy songs. Now I am sure
Thy servant truly hath not anything;
And see, my song-bird hath a broken wing.

~~

My servant, I have come into the house–
I who know Pain’s extremity so well
That there can never be the need to tell
His power to make the flesh and spirit quail:
Have I not felt the scourge, the thorn, the nail?

And I, his Conqueror, am in the house,
Let not your heart be troubled–do not fear:
Why shouldst thou, child of Mine, if I am here?
My touch will heal thy song-bird’s broken wing,
And he shall have a braver song to sing.

Posted on

Monday March 8, 2010

Today I had another immunoglobulin blood infusion, to help my body with my autoimmune problem. It is longer and more complicated than most of you want to hear, so I won’t go into details. 🙂 I am thankful that today’s treatment is done, and that after tomorrow it will be another month until I need my next one. Once I got my headache (a common side effect) under control and rested for a while after the i.v. treatment was done, I did some baking and eventually a little reading (while Gabriel watched a dvd). God never fails to provide for me, not only physically but emotionally & spiritually – if I just open my eyes to see it. Steven sent me the most wonderful email this morning, reminding me to take everything to my Lord in prayer. I needed that. And a lady from church who used to get blood infusions (different from mine, yet similar in essence) emailed me today to say she’s praying for me & wanted to encourage me to fight this good fight – reminding me again that it is a good fight. How easily I forget that. And my mama spent hours here today watching Gabriel for me while I was tied to the i.v. as well as afterward when I wasn’t feeling well enough to look after him myself (I still have the hep-lock in my arm, so that makes things a little tricky with a youngin’). Even in my baking today (for our dinner with friends tonight), He provided: I had two eggs left and 2 teaspoons of baking powder left. Well, guess what? I needed one egg and 2 tsp of baking powder for the dessert, and I needed one egg for the bread. How good is our God! Even in the little details. Just another reminder to me of how I need to ask for daily grace, my daily bread, because He only ever promises to give us strength for the day, and bread for the day.
Daily.
I can’t stock up!
It’s like manna.
Gotta keep filling up each day. 🙂

“If your Lord call you to suffering, be not dismayed; there shall be a new allowance of the King for you when ye come to it. One of the softest pillows Christ hath is laid under His witnesses’ head, though often they must set down their bare feet among thorns.” ~Samuel Rutherford

“There is no sweeter fellowship with Christ than to bring our wounds and our sores to Him.” ~Samuel Rutherford

What room is there for troubled fear?
I know my Lord, and He is near;
And He will light my candle, so
That I may see the way to go.

There need be no bewilderment
To one who goes where he is sent;
The trackless plain by night and day
Is set with signs lest he should stray.

My path may cross a waste of sea,
But that need never frighten me;
Or rivers full to very brim,
But they are open ways to Him.

My path may lead through woods at night,
Where neither moon nor any light
Of guiding star or beacon shines;
He will not let me miss my signs.

Lord, grant to me a quiet mind,
That trusting Thee –for Thou art kind–
I may go on without a fear,
For Thou, my Lord, art always near.

~Amy Carmichael

Thou art the Lord who slept upon the pillow;
Thou art the Lord who soothed the furious sea;
What matter beating wind and tossing billow
If only we are in the boat with Thee?

Hold us in quiet through the age-long minute
While Thou art silent, and the wind is shrill.
Can the boat sink while Thou, dear Lord, art in it?
Can the heart faint that waiteth on Thy will?

~Amy Carmichael