The Day I Changed Forever

   Today is the anniversary of the day my life changed forever. The day I changed forever. Nine years ago yesterday, I was happily, innocently, naively pregnant for the very last day. I would never feel that way again.
The next day, this day, I started to bleed. I prayed and hoped that it wasn't what it looked like, but the following day I "birthed" my first child. And things would never be the same.
   Everyone knows that sometimes this happens, but it's not truly real to you. It's an idea, it lacks a certain solidity. But once it happens to you there's no going back, no way to regain that simplicity of happiness in being pregnant. There's no way to see it the same, to have the same kind of joy in it.
   The grief was deep and hard and even as we struggled to walk through it, I didn't know far and wide it would reach or how much we had really lost. Today, I still grieve our lost child, but I also grieve the loss of who I was, the loss of a certain innocence, of wholeness, that is gone from me forever. From that moment I could not be pregnant without also being deeply afraid.
   As the years passed and loss added to loss, the wound carved deeper into my psyche, the true depth of it not seen until much later. Only the surface fissures, the tears, aches and wails of immediate grief were known. You know that scene in The Princess Bride, where Westley screams, it's heard through the whole forest, and Inigo says, "Do you hear that Fezzik? That is the sound of ultimate suffering." I've made that sound. 

   I've walked in that pain in loss after loss. And now, nine years later, I still walk in it. It rarely makes that sound anymore though. There are times I still cry, aching over the six children I never got to know, most that I barely even got to be aware of. But mostly the pain, the deep, damaging wound makes itself known in a buzzing anxiety. A fear that I'm afraid will never leave me. I'm terrified to be pregnant now. The slightest hint that I could be banishes all rational thought from my head and replaces it with a days long panic attack, gripping my chest and disallowing me from any measure of focus that would allow me to function. Any sickness settling on one of the beautiful boys I was allowed to come out of this story with, puts me through my paces - practicing the small measures of anxiety coping techniques I can manage reminding myself that it's just a stomach bug/cold/minor virus and they'll get through it fine, or lying awake endeavoring to just breathe through the fear that the unknown sickness they have will take them from me too.

   This week, my body broke into pieces of inexplicable sadness and anxiety, reliving the trauma, fear, and helplessness of this week from nine years ago, long before my brain figured out what was going on. There are still scars that I don't even know are there.

   Nine years ago I had no idea what awaited me. How very different my life, I, would be from what I imagined. Sometimes I feel like I'm healing, that my spirit is on its way to recovery, and other times I wonder if I've made it out of the gate yet. You've seen the pictures - grief isn't a straight line. Hell, I'm not even sure it's a single line, there are so many roads and side trips it's taken me through. I hope that's it gradually forward progress though, that somewhere at the end of this line I might find health again, perhaps even wholeness. I can't be the same person I was, but maybe I can be whole still.

   I hate to leave off writing without hope, so I will speak other truth as well. I am not alone. There are been moments when friends have held my hand or held my spirit up in prayer. My sisters and mother have done and do what they can, offering support and encouragement and simply love. My husband walks beside me all the way, occasionally carrying me through the worst spots. And time after time, my God lifts me out of the darkness and sets my feet on solid ground. He slowly teaches me how deeply I am cherished, just as I am. As broken and damaged as I see myself, he sees treasure, and he leads my heart by quiet waters. 

I Am Good (And So Are You)

I'm ever trying to understand myself, why I work the way I do, why I think certain ways or act certain ways. I've gained a greater grasp on who I am as over the past few years as I've been able to identify with and gain greater understanding of certain aspects of my personality such as being highly sensitive and introverted. I recently did a short Meyers Briggs personality test to find that I am INFJ or ISFJ - depending on the moment. I know that I'm going to look further into it to, because I like explanations, I like to know why things work the way they do, especially my own heart and mind. I like to know myself and to be able to say, "This is who I am."
I thought I had a pretty good grasp on my identity as a whole. But recently, I met someone, and as she talked about herself, who she was and what she was good at, I realized that I was mentally framing my identity in response to what she was saying - "you're tough? well, I'm tougher!" I wasn't so confident in myself that I didn't feel challenged by who she was and try to label myself to come out on top. As I realized what I was doing, it threw me through a loop. How did I all of a sudden not know who I am? Why am I trying to make myself fit in and around this other person instead of just being able to acknowledge our differences and knowing that who I am is good, just as who she is is good? I don't want to be changing and altering according to whoever is currently across the table from me.
Apparently, I have some figuring out still to do, some things that I still need to see where I actually identify, and perhaps some old labels to shed. Once upon a time, if someone had called me girly, I would have rebelled against it, but I have an earring collection to rival any woman, love a good red lipstick, enjoy having fresh flowers on my counter, and have made my peace with at least a few shades of pink. I still wouldn't identify myself as girly, but I'm thoroughly feminine.
I struggle to find areas where I feel skilled or accomplished, in part due to my perfectionist nature, but I need to seek that out too, to recognize and acknowledge where I do well. Heck, I think I'm a pretty decent writer, even if I rarely take time for it. I can sing a hymn with full throated passion. I can schedule the shiznit out of stuff and organize cupboards, a room, your desk with precision. I can read aloud with excellence. I have a creativity that allows me to come up with unusual uses for objects, or more often, find a make-it-work (and hopefully even look nice) solution for needs we have with things already in our house. (Like our storage bin bed frame in the guest room. Something to put the mattress on, and a place to keep the bins. Win, win.) And, I'm a good mama. That identification I need to step into. I have so much trouble calling myself a good mom and not feeling just mediocre. But I am and I need to own it. Not perfect, but good.
My challenge for myself is one I give to you - know yourself and know that you are good. Maybe you're more girly, or less girly, than me. Maybe you love chick flics, or just action movies. Maybe you can't wait to be outside each day, or you'd would rather curl up and watch your favorite show. Maybe getting dolled up in fancy dress is your cup tea, or maybe you'd rather die than wear a skirt. Maybe baseball is your greatest love, or maybe you couldn't throw a ball from first to second. Maybe you do crafts with your kids every week, or maybe the idea makes you groan with boredom. Or maybe you're somewhere in the middle of each. Who you are is good.
Remember too that there will always be someone who is more than you - more girly, more sporty, more arty, more goth, more outdoorsy - whatever you identify with. When you find those people remember - who you are is good. It's not a competition, you have been fearfully and wonderfully made. Don't be ashamed, don't be afraid, don't be beaten in your spirit. They may be more whatever, but that doesn't mean that you as a person are less. Who you are is good and well loved by the one who knit you together.

Press On

My life seems to have more than the average scattering of good intentions and failed attempts. For all the things I've started and stopped, started and dropped, tried and failed, tried again and failed again, there is one thing I've managed to learn really well. And it's not that I'm a failure, despite the lies that regularly want to convince me that all my repeated attempts and subsequent failures to create this new habit or that, mean that I'm a screw-up who will never get it right.
Nope. What I've learned is that it's always worth trying again. No matter how many times I slip back into skipping my prayer time, not keeping up an exercise routine, late nights, or days filled with tv instead of books and outdoors, no matter how many times my patience abruptly lets go, or how many times some new practice I started was forgotten after a couple of days, or how many times that that project/cleaning/letter I meant to do still hasn't been done - none of it means I am a failure, or that I should stop trying to do those good things.
I think many of us have these moments where we're so discouraged by our track record that it feels like there is no point - we might as well give in to the inertia and stop attempting the better habits and practices. Why keep repeating the same pattern over and over again; why try when you know that sooner or later you'll fall off the bandwagon and be back to the old habits?
"Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus." (Phil 3:13-14) Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead. Those failures? They're yesterday's failures. Forget them. Strain toward what is ahead. Yes, you might fail again, but guess what? In a short moment, that will be yesterday's failures, too. There is always a fresh start before you. Always. 
And in the meantime, every month, week, or even day, that you manged to do whatever you're struggling to change - that's one month, week, day, that you did a good thing. You ate healthy, went for a walk, read a book to your children, and all those "try again's"? They add up. You are still making a difference, one drop at a time.
"Press on toward the goal to win the prize." Press on, friends, press on.

For Aaron

To my love on his "coming of age." (Yes, I did look that up so that I would have a clue what you are taking about.) I love these past twelve years we've spent together, and all the birthdays we've celebrated from that very first one with dinner out and a bag of rockets. I'm glad I've been the one to help make your birthdays a little brighter.
You've certainly made so many of my days brighter. I love the way you make me laugh, and every step you take towards me when I'm too stuck and stubborn to take a step towards you. I love your dyed hair and your tattoos and how you're always there, no matter how bad a day I'm having and how rough things get. I know you're in it for the long haul, and so I don't worry about our future, because I am too, and I know we'll make it through whatever comes our way. I love how you get excited about board games and fantasy, Firefly and Tolkien and Harry Potter, and the way you can all out play with Dune, reconnect with him and draw him out of whatever hard feeling he's dealing with at the moment. I love how when I've reached the end of my patience, you are there reminding me of the mama I want to be, and our sweet son's sensitive heart. You're a wonderful husband, a full of love father, and a great guy. Don't let anyone tell you differently, even the negative voices in your head that try to keep you from seeing how amazing you are.

You always keep learning and growing, and I've said it before, but it's one of my favorite things about you. This past year, I've seen you grow as a husband, especially as I've needed you more these months. I've seen you grow as a dad, learning more about Dune and how he works. I've seen you grow as a pastor, increasing in compassion and grace towards others, learning new skills, both people skills and practical skills. I've seen you give some of your best sermons ever. There's been a lot of change in you here, and while I think you're already a great pastor, I know that you will continue becoming more excellent in this area. I love seeing you dream (even though sometimes it's a little scary for this non-adventurous gal), gain steadier footing and confidence, and face the future without fear.
The next year certainly holds some major changes for us, but I'm not afraid, because I know we're in it together and God keeps taking care of us. I know we'll have some rough days, stressed days, "I'm so angry I could spit" days, but in the end we're together, learning how to love, how to forgive, how to hold on a little tighter to the hands that keep helping us up and caring for our hearts.

To the one who holds my heart, on your thirty-third birth day, may you know how much you are worth and how much you are loved.

What I'm Missing Out On

I think almost everyone who knows me has heard our latest pregnancy related news, but in case you haven't, go check this out first.

You gotta read it before you keep reading here. It will only take a second.

Ok?

A boy! Another amazing, wonderful boy. We know it's going to be fantastic and we're all looking forward to it, but have you noticed how often pain and joy hold hands? Yeah, I did say pain. I know a lot of people might be wondering what on earth I have to feel pain over at this point. I mean, I'm pregnant! Twenty weeks pregnant and carrying a beautiful little boy. This is a miracle, and I'm so grateful. I get a little nervous that someone might think I'm not grateful, because shouldn't I just be happy with that? I'm going to have a baby after all these losses. What have I got to be upset about? And I am grateful, and amazed, and in love with this little one, and none of that will change.
But I do have grief in the midst of all of this. I will never have a daughter.
Long before we knew for sure that we would have another child, Aaron and I knew that one more would be the end of the road for us. We had just about reached our heartache limit and if we were blessed enough to have another baby, we wouldn't put ourselves through the anxiety of trying, the pain of losses, or the stress of those highly tense beginning weeks of pregnancy after that. This is it for us.
We will be a two boy family, and it's great! I'm so glad that Dune will have a brother, one who will hopefully be a close friend as they get older. But he will never have the baby sister he was so hoping for. Aaron will never have a sweet baby girl to capture his heart, and I will never a dark and curly haired daughter to share everything feminine with. No fluffy tutus or sparkly fairy wings.
When I was pregnant for the very first time, Aaron and I were in a store one day and passed by this adorable, melt-your-heart, soo pretty, baby girl's dress. We stopped for a moment to "aww" over it and dream together about being able to buy something like it for our baby girl when we had one, maybe this baby. It was one of those moments that etches itself in your mind. We lost JJ shortly after, but that memory never left me and I always assumed that somewhere down the road would be my chance to buy that tiny piece of a dream for a daughter of my own.
Now I have to let go of that dream and grieve it, as I lay it at the feet of Jesus as I did so many babies. No, it's not the same kind of loss, but it's heartache all the same, and I cry over the daughter I will never have.
Please understand. Understand that I'm not unhappy to be carrying this precious boy. Understand that I thank God everyday for him. Understand that it's ok that I feel this way. It's ok that I'm sad to not have a girl. It's ok for me to see this as a loss and grieve it. I see families with sweet daughters. I know what I'm missing out on. I assume I will have daughter-in-laws down the road, maybe even granddaughters, and that will be wonderful, but it's not the same.
I told Dune that God knew what our family needed and I believe it, but I know he understands my sadness too.

Stumbling Into Me

Do you ever have those moments when you get an unexpected revelation about yourself? Every now and then I realize something new to me and it feels so enlightening.
I was just in the middle of a conversation and I was about to describe myself as not an energetic person, and it was very much like that light turning on. I'm not. I've never been high energy. But, somewhere along the way, I think I came to the conclusion that that is what I'm supposed to be - high, happy, bubbly, energy. But that's not me, and that's not bad. I'm calm, quiet, peaceful, but occasionally turbulent. I'm not the life of the party, I'm the friend you want to take on a quiet walk. I'm not the spark of electricity, but the steady thrumming of it in the background.
The more I know about myself, the more I can accept who I am. The more I accept who I am, the more I can see and appreciate the design that makes me wonderful, the more I can settle into my strengths instead of striving to be something I'm not, the more I can put forth the beauty I have, instead of seeing failures.
"I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made." Psalm 139:14

His Grace is Sufficient

Trust. I've had a number of people tell me to just trust Jesus as I go through this difficult time of being pregnant after multiple losses. To trust Jesus and not be afraid.
Sometimes I wonder what it is I'm supposed to be trusting him for. Because I trust that he loves me. I trust that he has deep care for what happens to me. I trust that he works all things for the good of those who love him. But my fear - my fear is that my baby will die. And he hasn't promised me that they won't. He hasn't promised me that things will turn out exactly how I want them to. He's promised me eternity and that I will be reunited with my little ones there, but not that I will get to see them grow and learn here. He's promised comfort in grief, but not that I won't go through grief.
I do believe that somehow it is possible to be so secure in his love and goodness that we are unshaken by the ideas or reality of what this world can do to us, but I don't know how to get there from here. The scars of my losses run so deep that they are ingrained on my soul. And he's done a lot of healing there, but the edge of fear remains, waxing and waning with the events of each day.
Here's what I do know: perfect love casts out fear. There is no fear in my heart of punishment, recrimination, shame, or his disappointment in me. He knows my fear. He knows exactly how large or small it is. He knows the form of it, the shape, the intricacies of it. He knows me. He knows my failings, my weakness, my burden, and he doesn't frown on me, scold me, or grow frustrated. He sits with me. He loves me. Even when my fear is at its greatest, overwhelming me, striving to keep me from any semblance of peace, he holds me and refuses to let go. His grace is sufficient for me.

"As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him; for he knows how we are formed, he remembers that we are dust." Psalm 103:13-14