Just Maybe...

This post, as well as several others have been floating around in my head for some time now, and this one in particular needs to be released! We have been sooo busy lately.  Not the usual busy, but a different kind of busy.  The reason for our new found busy - ness will have to wait for another day... another post. (This time I will try not to let 6 months pass between posts :) This is a story that needs to be told - a story of God's gifts.

The setting: A family reunion weekend in my hometown.  A weekend filled with hugs and laughs, questions and stories, and just a special time to spend with aunts, uncles, nephews, siblings, parents, and other relatives. 

The time: Archer turned one the wednesday before, August 3rd, but we weren't able to celebrate his birthday yet, with a cake and candles and the hoopla that is so fun with a first birthday.  We had hoped we would find time over the weekend with family, but we also had a big family picture, and we didn't know if it would all work out.

The characters --- aka - the people: My family. I have three sisters and one brother.  We are all married with 2, 3, 4, and 4 children. Paige is my littlest sister and she is only 14 - needless to say she is not married or with child, but she is the coolest aunt any of the 11 nephews could ask for, and a pretty sweet aunt for the two nieces in the group. She is also a pretty special sister, and she closes the age gap between parents, siblings, nephews and nieces better than anyone --- playing with the youngest and keeping up adult conversations with the oldest.  Such a fun dynamic for any family to have. My mom married my stepdad after my dad passed away when we were all younger.  With all of the sorrow and confusion of losing a parent, I am not sure that his transition into our family was an easy one, but I have thanked God many times for the gift this man has been in my life.

The place:  My family's farm... really a big house in the middle of farmland, much of which is farmed by my brother and stepdad.  A beautiful spot with a view to the East that is usually breathtaking, but especially so in the summer with the fields full of life --- waves of grain, there is a reason it is called "the heart of the country."

The realization: I miss her more when we are with our whole family.  When all are accounted for - each with his or her respective family.  It is at these times that I miss Amelia the most.  It is as if I am aware of her absence in a different way. I don't know why really.  I mean, I am used to our family now. The three boys, P and I. It is familiar.  We miss Amelia... we always will.  But it feels normal. Sad but true, it feels normal.  I am used to it. 
As we were each lining our families up for photos, and placing people and moving this one over a smidge - you sit, no - stand here, scoot a little further in..... smile everyone - look here --- CHEESE! 

The clouds: As soon as we headed back towards the house these clouds are building... and building... and pretty soon it is a massive wall cloud that everyone is ooohing and aaahing at.  I have never seen anything quite like it.

The party: So the pictures ended and we all head back into the house for cake and ice cream. We will have time for Archer's birthday cake and singing after all, and we are also going to sing happy birthday to a couple others who recently had birthdays as well.  But first --- to Archer.  I mean, it is his FIRST birthday, and he was also borderline sleepy because it was nearing his bedtime. So on with the party

The backstory: So we called Archer our rainbow baby, and you can read about why from this post, when I first introduced him to you on this blog -  http://hisgraceabides.blogspot.com/2010/05/introducing-our-newest-love.html  When I think about Archer, my heart swells.  Each and every day I feel blessed to call him my son.  I love all of my children, that goes without saying, but the past year with him has been precious.  He has the sweetest demeanor - so content.  And at the same time a ham.  What a precious gift - a precious rainbow baby, now filling our lives with so much joy.

The answered prayer: After the birthday song is done, and the candles were blown out (by Owen before Archer grabbed the flame) Archer is diving into his cake, and we are passing out cake and ice cream bowls. Someone looks to the East out the wall of windows at my parents' house and there in the sky, where the dark clouds had been was not one rainbow, but TWO.  Arcing over the horizon in majestic form, I tried to not let the tears fall.  I tried to smile - because how can you not smile when you see a cake covered face of your baby, and frosting smushed between every finger, and him grinning from ear to ear.  Slowly, I look around to see faces caught off guard, some tear filled eyes, and more love in one room, so much so that my heart hurts. My mom says, "I prayed that God would send us a sign of Amelia today, during our pictures". She is missed not just by P and I when we are all together - the whole family.  God answered her prayer, and His timing is perfect in all ways at ALL times.  And if you could have seen those rainbows, you would agree with me that God is a bit of a show-off. Oh how He loves us.

Pictures hardly do justice to the naked eye view of things, but you can see the span of the rainbow in the top photo, and you can catch a glimpse of the larger second rainbow on the picture below. Thank you Jason and Cindi for the photos :)

The gift:  This is the part of the post that has kept swirling in my head, and swirling and swirling.... and I'm just not exactly how to write it.  I tried to tell my friend Jane about it the other day, and she "got it" because good friends do even if it doesn't make any sense when you say it, and even if you can't talk right because you are crying.  Thanks, Jane.  You see, the gift of a child in most peoples' minds starts from the very beginning. When you find out they exist, even before you know when they will arrive, before you know if they are a boy or a girl, your mind starts thinking about him or her.  You imagine diapers and blankets, and giggles and cries.  You think of all the things you can teach him or show her, the talks you will have, the memories you will make.  The gift of a child is all the joys that you will have when raising them.  The funny things that are said, and the cute faces that are made.

The gift of Amelia was harder to understand.  It took awhile to see that even her short life was a gift to us.  As short as it was we were blessed to have known her, to have prayed for her as her heart beat within me, and to have felt her kick, and to have seen her move and roll on the ultrasound screen.  All things that we would never have wished away.  Better to have had her for a short time than not at all.  To most people we are a family of all things boy, but we know there is a sweet little girl who holds a very special place in our family.  A touch of beauty that we were only able to hold for a little while - born sleeping in our arms, living in heaven this glorious day. 

It is so impossible to explain, but just maybe, her gift to us is unfolding... little bits at a time.  A quiet moment that P and I have in a bustling room filled with wedding goers and joyous hugs and smiles, and we miss her.  Our eyes wet as tears dare to fall and our throats burn. And we share a closeness, a moment that I can't love him anymore than I do at that moment, and just maybe that is another gift to us from the One who made her.  Just maybe she was never meant to jump and play in our home, but to bring us closer to eachother, to help us love our boys better.
I stand in my mom's living room and I peer at the double rainbow outside in all its beauty and think, just maybe... this was the gift we were meant to recieve.  Tears roll down my cheeks, and I think --- this is a gift.  We dreamed of the gift of giggles in the hall and squeals at dinnertime.  Of curly pigtails and dresses and sparkly shoes. Those gifts are truly gifts - we are sure, but we are also sure that Amelia has allowed us to recieve gifts a plenty if we would only wait for them, and realize them. A gift to sisters and a mom who live states away from eachother, and yet we share tears and hugs at the sight of a rainbow-filled sky.  Our differences melt away with hugs and smiles as heaven is brought close. As we share a sorrow, we receive a gift of closeness.

I think about heaven more.
I think about what our lives mean here on earth more.
I think about what God wants of me this day - for His kingdom's purpose.
I talk about her and I mention God and heaven to people I may have been afraid to before.

Just maybe the gift of a child is sometimes not what you dream of at all. Just maybe the sickness or death of your loved one is not what you feel is the best plan for your life or his or hers. 
Sometimes life is not anything close to what we imagined it would be. I am still learning about our Creator and His love for us.

I will always be thankful for the gift of Amelia, the gift that is still unfolding in our lives.

The bottom line, I trust the Gift-Giver.  The Giver of all things. 

I put it on a shelf.

Sometimes I throw them in a drawer, stack them (neatly) under my bed or on a shelf, occasionally I put them in a tote, or slide them in a closet.  They are things I started, but have not finished. Some are books, others are crafts, most are papers or bills that need to be shredded or filed away... This inability to finish things is quite menacing. There are things that I do complete. Usually because I have to, or I really want to or need to.  I am a happier person when I can see my counter tops free of dishes and papers.  This is why I will finish cleaning the kitchen, or at least to the point where I can see the majority of the counter space.  However, my habit or personality trait which causes me to leave things undone is not desirable.  Because, the fact of the matter is, I eventually have to finish the "project" whatever it may be.  And... it is ALWAYS more difficult to finish it later than to just be done with it near the time it started.  The hiding of things, or putting it up or away for a short time alleviates the stress of having it sit right in front of you, and allows a temporary break from the project.  Some people put projects up, to revisit them later, because that is what you have to do sometimes. Some things can not be finished in one sitting. 

My problem arises more because that which I put up, to do more of later, almost never gets done later. It gets done... sometimes never.  I have some new thing which comes and fills my time.  As a mom, often times it is something I didn't plan for the day, but is nonetheless worthy of my time.  Those things like cleaning up messes, sitting down for an impromptu "rocket star" concert, or looking for a boot that has gone missing, and that sort of thing.  Usually I put one thing away to get to something more fun, and less taxing.  This is why there is an unorganized stack of papers laying on top of the filing box, and an array of papers squeezed in between the wall and the shredder in the closet, and I have little problem saying, "I'll get to you later".  I will get to it later... when I can't stand it anymore, when the sight of it I can take no longer, or when it is time to do taxes, or when I can't find an important paper, which needs to be found.  Whatever the reason, I do eventually have to deal with the "put away" thing.

I know that grief is ongoing work.  I knew this early on.  It was so huge in my life, I had to deal with it.  It would be like if the mound of dishes on my counter ---- I HAVE to deal with them, or I can't function.  But now it is smaller. I don't trip over it everyday like I used to, I can look around it, or put it on a shelf.... for a while.  I always know it is there, but sometimes I want to get to the more fun things.  I (usually) have the choice now, almost two years later, whether I will get the tote of pictures and mementos out... whether I will pull up her pictures on my computer, and gaze at her sweet red hair.  Most of the time, out of necessity I do other things.  I hold Archer's rolly polly legs in my hands, and I pull the smell of his peach fuzz hair into my nostrils and breathe deep.  I hug Ev and wonder how he got so big, and how he knows that the planet closest to the sun is really, really hot. I run my fingers through O's hair, and wonder when he stopped twisting it. I can't remember the last time I have seen him do that... has he grown out of that? already?   Sigh...

I think about the first months after we lost Amelia, and how my arms were so very empty, and all I could do to get by was to pull her pictures out and look at the flowers and plants that were given to us, and fight back hot tears when I thought of all the hopes I had for her in our family, as our daughter, as the boys' sister.  I think of how I planned on nursing her, holding her, rocking her, playing with her, filling my days with...... her.  I still swallow a lump sometimes when I see a little girl about her age, and wonder.  But now, I can put it on a shelf for a little while, and I can choose not to go there in my mind, or to get the pictures off the shelf. But sometimes it falls on my head, and I curse at it, wondering why it fell out of nowhere when I wasn't planning on getting it out.  Sometimes I can just remember that it is there, that she is gone, and that she is in a glorious place, with her heavenly father, the King... and she has no tears of pain or sadness.  I remember what almost always dried my tears, even in the earliest days after losing her.  I think of Christ. I think of His sacrifice, and my cross seems much more bearable.  If not for Jesus's sacrifice and His love for me, I wouldn't have the peace I have now.  The peace that comes knowing she is waiting for me, the peace knowing I am forgiven, and I have a day to look forward to. A day and a place where everything is as it should be.  Praying that His peace comforts you in your trials, and that His sacrifice changes you. 

And some days I have to look at her pictures, and savor the sweetness of having her in our arms.  I have to go there, to that place of missing her like crazy... again, and I have to live with the sadness and the joy all together - pell mell.

  

These Women on Wednesdays

Sometimes a good practice for your marriage has something to do with other women, and your spouse isn't even there.... Just a filling of your spirit, a refreshing of you.

For several months now, I have been going to a Bible study on wednesday mornings.  With three littles, a head full of busy and nothing, at the same time, a house full of laundry and dishes (mostly dirty), a car full of cracker bits and milk splatters... it is good to fill your heart with what really matters so that you can let that which is both life giving and spiritually enriching overflow into this life of mine... and into the lives of those so very dear to me. I try and find quiet time here and there to feed my soul, and refresh. It is sooo very hard it seems, although maybe that is just an excuse sadly.  And on this wednesday morning, with no school... again (snowday # 2) and with no Bible study, these women have found a way to fellowship without being face to face. Oh how they bless me.  This is my practice. This is what helps to fill my cup, this is what helps me to be a better wife to my dear husband.

Normally with food and smiling faces we meet, but today I turn to their encouraging e-mails, the verses that have touched them this week, and as I open my inbox, feeling a little drained, the Word is powerful, and those verses encourage me.  So fitting, the verses today are focused on how God wants us to be better wives to our husbands, His sons, and in turn love those littles better who spend every waking minute with us.

All because of a string of wednesday mornings spent with some of God's girls.  I feel God encouraging me through them.

And I can better love my partner, my beloved, the way God intended me to.

Amelia Grace

Why does it mean so much? Why does it touch my heart when someone, a mere acquaintance really, says her name?

The picture below is the marker that is currently at the cemetery. This is the only thing we can have out there until we get her headstone installed (since it has been more than a year). So this is what has been marking her grave since May.

I went there today. I have been meaning to call Sharon, the lady who (with her husband) takes care of the cemetery, because I needed to ask about the installation of a headstone.

And who happened to drive in while I was there?
Her smile was as gentle and as sincere as it was the day we first visited with her. That day we had asked her questions about putting our precious daughter's body in the ground, in the ground she cared for. It was a nice spring day. A little windy. We told her how we were unsure of putting our baby in one of the larger cemeteries in town. She told us of how her teenage son was buried in town, in one of the larger cemeteries... and she wishes he wasn't. You could tell she has had guilt over it. But she now has peace about it, has forgiven herself, resigned to the fact that her mind (as any newly grieved parent) was lost during those first days after he died. At that time she was not involved with the Yankee Hill Cemetery, like she is now. "You do the best you can," she said.  Now... She answers the phone for them, she mows the grass, she meets with people, and SHE is who touched my heart today. Sometimes a touch can break what is fragile at the moment. And sometimes breaking isn't a bad thing.
When I spoke with her and told her we were ordering Amelia's marker, do you know what she said? She smiles, and looks me in the eye, and says, "Amelia Grace is getting her headstone." Then another wide, soft smile and she says, "I think about her when I mow."
- Sigh -
My first thought - awe, she used her name... I love that. My next thought - there are so many people buried here, does she think about everyone?  Not only does she sweat and toil over the ground as she mows with her large straw hat, but she is mentally and emotionally connected as well. That would be me. I would have a thousand day dreams of who these people were and how they came to be in this same square of land. All from different eras and of all ranges of ages. Entire families wiped out within days of eachother - maybe it was an illness or maybe a fire or a flood... A young man in the service who died in a battle... in another country?  A mother who died giving life to a child, leaving others behind.  A baby who lived two days. What happened little one? Do you know my "Millia", as Ev calls her still?

Now the part that I didn't "get" until a mile down the road.

She remembered her middle name.

She said Amelia Grace. Her lone marker has only had "Amelia Heath" on it for 5 months now, for most of the mowing season! I should have thought of this before leaving the cemetery, because now my eyes are filled with tears and I can barely see to drive.
Oh...

the simplest things that touch my heart...

that break it...

in a good way,

again...
Thank you, Sharon.
I'm thankful that my daughter's body lies under the earth in the corner of the world that you take care of.  I'm thankful that you remember her and that you think about her.
Thank you, God, for reminding me that you are so very aware of my aching heart, and that you know what my heart needs to hear - to heal. Thank you for being BIG in the small things.

Remembering your "Grace" today, even more so, because someone remembered ours.

Be Still My Soul

We arrived at church on Sunday (a couple of sundays ago now), dropped the older boys off at sunday school, and then headed into the service. Which, I might add, had not started yet.  Pretty good for our first trip to church with Archer along.  We sat down, and I flipped through the bulletin as usual.  I noticed right away that the celebration choir was singing a couple of my favorites, and then I turned further and saw one of the later hymns... "Children of the Heavenly Father".  I am sure I had heard it before, but because it was one that we had at Amelia's funeral, it will always evoke strong emotions and memories for me.  I don't think it was something that P would notice, but I didn't point it out.  He may notice that my shoes don't match my outfit very well, or that the wall hanging is a little too high or low, but a specific hymn, not so much. However, as we sang the second hymn, I stopped singing, my mouth couldn't form the words, and I didn't have the air to push them out.  I didn't expect it... Maybe I had never paid attention to the words before - I mean really paid attention. Soaking up the words and their meaning.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Be still, my soul; the Lord is on thy side;

Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain;

Leave to thy God to order and provide;

In every change He faithful will remain.

Be still, my soul; thy best, thy heavenly, Friend
================================================


Through thorny ways leads to a joyful end. 
 
--------------------------- and then these words-----------------------
 
Be still, my soul, though dearest friends (my daughter) depart

And all is darkened in the vale of tears;

Then shalt thou better know His love, His heart,

Who comes to soothe thy sorrows and thy fears.
================================================

As much as I hate the pit in my stomach from grieving, and the missing that is so painful at times, I must say that God was tender. He was tender and close.  His love for me evident, despite the hurt I was experiencing.  I don't think I realized it at the time.  I was probably still confused and mad about everything.  I am a little passive aggressive though, even with God (pathetic, I know).  You know - when you say, "no, I'm not mad at you", and then you are quiet and sulky despite 'not being mad'. I prayed to Him, I sobbed and hung my head, I pouted my lips and asked why, but I still said, "no, God, I'm not mad at you."  I didn't understand why us, or why her, and even though I will never know why --- at least I'm not mad anymore.  I will still look at other people and wonder why us and not some other family... but then I will also think of how close He was to me during that time, and I will crave that forever.  I am thankful that He was close to me.  I will know His heart in a way I couldn't have before. I will know His love in a way I was incapable of before. Just as the hymn says, "I better know His love, His heart," AND I DO.  He did, "soothe thy sorrows and thy fears" too. 
It is not my job to understand how He chooses to- as the hymn says, "order and provide" and it is okay that it is a mystery to me, because He is a mystery.  A loving and just God who orders the heavens and earth and knows when a sparrow falls, and yes, is still a mystery.  He is a big, HUGE, almighty God, and He chose to come close to me... as close as my own skin.  I miss my daughter, I always will, but later in the service when I sang "Children of the Heavenly Father" I didn't cry.  I didn't cry for her, or for us who live without her on this earth.  This time it was "Be Still My Soul" that brought the lump in my throat. Because those words were my experience exactly. He was all of those things to me.  He was so very real to me during a time when I wanted to look the other way, when I wanted to ignore Him.  However, it is impossible to ignore your own skin.  It's there, all the time, and you live in it.  I get to live everyday with His spirit in me, but those days when the outside world was foggy and my head and heart were wounded from grief, the Father was close, so very close to me.  I miss only two things about those early days. One - everything about Amelia was more fresh in my mind, and two - God's tenderness and closeness.
And during a time of turmoil and restlessness in my heart, He stilled my soul, as only He can. 

August 3rd... sweet Archer's story... part 1.

I slept for the first couple of hours of this day, in my own bed after supper out with my hubby. The rest of it was an emotional roller coaster, ending with a sweet baby boy nursing in my arms, with a quiet hummm of hospital sounds.

I woke up at about 2:20 am and as I frequently did, I had to go to the bathroom, but before I ventured out of bed, I waited to feel little one... a move, a kick, something... nothing.  This had happened before with him, and usually I would talk myself into "everything's okay" you are just being a worry-wart, and eventually I would feel him, or at least have enough peace about it that I would be able to go back to sleep.  I don't know if it was my escalating hormones, or the fact that I was having braxton-hicks so frequently, or maybe it was just my memories of Amelia.  I was beside myself. I have a doppler, but it was not a comfort as I didn't know if I was finding his heartbeat or mine. I knew that mine was fast, and his (if it was his) seemed slower than normal.  Possibly because he was being squeezed by constant contractions.  Paul was awake already, and knew something was bothering me.  I will admit I cry at odd times (I am a woman) and because he is the most perceptive male I have ever met, he knew this was different.  To be honest, I think we were both ready for this little one to be here, and both of our nerves were shot (a few months ago, actually).  He said, "let's go in".  I didn't hesitate, and with boys in tow, cute as bugs in a rug, asking from the backseat "why aren't we sleeping?" we were off.

Okay - back up ten minutes...  This is not only Archer's story, not only the story of our rainbow baby, but it is God's story too.  I had a moment when you just know it's God, because it could ONLY be God.

I would like to say that God knows.  He knows, He always knows.  Before I officially woke up Paul (he was already awake wondering why I wasn't getting back into bed), my phone buzzed - a text message. Seriously? At 2:31 am, at the exact moment I was up and crying and worried sick in the middle of the night, I get a text message from my big sister who lives two states away. This is what it said,
     --------------     "Praying for you:-) and your boys".       -------------------
I know God knows me, I know He knows my story, my every need before I know it, but sometimes He shows me He knows it.  I love it when He does that. I love how He knows each one of us.  When we doubt He does, and when we wonder if He is even real, He knows... and loves us anyway. 

I guess this is the end of part 1, because I haven't figured out how to nurse Archer without using atleast one of my hands, nor do I have the patience to type with only one hand.

To be continued...



 

A Time To Mourn...

A belated update...

Grandpa Art's heart stopped beating on July 13th, 2010, in the minutes before I finalized my last post.  I found out only a half an hour after I finished writing it.  He was not suffering from dementia or alzheimer's.  He was himself, even in the end.  He was ready to meet Jesus, and to take his first peek at heaven.  He told everyone in his hospital room the night before that he was leaving, and that he would see them all later.  He also talked about just seeing beyond the "corridor"... not a typical word for this South Dakota farmer.  He was ready to go home.

He chose the scriptures that were read at his funeral, one from chapter 14 of John, Psalm 23, Psalm 121, and Ecclesiastes chapter 3.

I'm not sure how I might convey to you the kind of person Grandpa Art was, but I would like to try.  I will give you some snippets from that weekend, and from the years earlier, when I first came to know him.  The weekend of his funeral was spent celebrating a life well lived, and mourning our loss... our great loss.

As I stood in his kitchen, making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for O-dog, a kitchen that was small and familiar, all I could do was think of the first time I had toast in the morning after staying at Art and Alma's. Grandpa Art was so concerned that I didn't want peanut butter on my toast.  He asked once, and then again...

A: "Sherri, here's the peanut butter for your toast."

me: "I don't put peanut butter on my toast. Jelly is enough.  Thanks, though."

----- five minutes pass, a couple conversations about the day, a news story on the t.v. -------

A: "We've got plenty of peanut butter here, Sherri, you'd better have some."

me: "No, really, I'm fine - peanut butter isn't usually something I eat in the morning."

A: "Well, if you change your mind - here it is.  It will be a while before lunch" (said with a teasing smile)

I don't know why this exchange came to mind this last weekend, but it reminded me of how intimate breakfast at their house was.  How you couldn't sneak peanut butterless toast by this man well into his 80s at the time.  And how special you felt to have one of the seats at their table, in their home, even as a visitor, the
"new girlfriend" of their grandson. 

To be honest, I always felt like my grandparents set the gold standard of grandparents (and they do), so I was caught a little off guard at how my husbands' grandparents (all 4 of them) seemed just as genuine and loving as mine.  I have been richly blessed in that department, and as they each age with every passing year, as we all do, and we keep having to let go of one more, and then one more...  I find my heart overwhelmed with gratitude and pain.  It is so very difficult to let go of them.  They lived in a different era.  One where honor wasn't a medal or a badge, but how you lived. An era of honorable men, and dedicated, classy women.  I think of my own grandpa Alvin, who is still living, but has struggled with some health problems.  How the stoic farmer can be both stern and tender.  He feels deep, and he loves even deeper.  He portrayed a picture of Christ's love for me, one of affection and tenderness, when I needed it most.  After my dad died when I was 12, I needed him not in a disciplinary-dad figure, but one of open arms and tenderness.  He never withheld his whiskery cheek for a kiss and a hug.  I still love the fact that when I take my babies to meet him, he will never shy away from holding them or just sitting and watching them, listening to them coo.  I truly believe that God provides for our needs, using people that may not even know they are doing His work.  When I met people at Art's visitation - people I had never met before, it was evident that he had served a purpose in many peoples' lives.  He sowed seeds of good into peoples' lives.  He was a servant of the Lord, and we were all blessed to have been a part of his life.

As I sat in the church pew during Art's funeral service I was reminded of a Christmas eve service, sitting in between Art and his grandson, my hubby.  The same pastor who talked about wisemen, camels in the desert, and baby Jesus in a manger on Christmas eve, now tried to make it through scriptures and a eulogy without letting his emotions get the best of him (key word being tried).  Poor Pastor Augie, doing his best to honor the memory of Art, his friend.  It was a beautiful service.  Across the aisle sat more than a dozen veterans who were part of a color guard, honoring Art not only for his acts of bravery in the military, his years of service in the same color guard, but also for his friendship.

I thought of the first time I had seen him since Amelia died.  I was just sitting in the living room, and the boys were watching a cartoon on t.v.  He cleared his throat, and went on to tell me me how often he thought of us, and how he wasn't too good at writing notes to people, but that he wanted me to know how sad he was when he heard the news about Amelia.  She had impacted him, and he wanted me to know.  If there is one thing that has become glaringly obvious to me in the past year, it is that no one likes to talk about death, or mention people who have died, especially young people, particularly babies - it is scary, it is horrible, it is to most... unmentionable.  I get it. I have been there, on the other side, unsure what to say, or how to say it - scared into silence.  I now understand that it is an impossibility to cause the bereaved person more pain.  I also understand the awkwardness, and I try to assume that people think about Amelia, and they just don't ask about her or say anything out of fear.  I will never, ever forget when he mentioned her to me.  I know that Art was a brave soldier, evidenced by the honors and medals he received in WWII (from Gen. Patton), and by the fellow veterans who stood to honor him both at the church and at the cemetery.  To me, however, his bravery never shone more brightly than the moment he mentioned my daughter's name, recognizing her life, even though it meant he would have to risk seeing my tears.  It was brave, simply put. Although I didn't shed a tear that day, the tears roll down my cheeks today - touched by a few simple sentences he didn't have to say, but did anyway.  It was honorable.

Throughout the cemetery service, the color guard stood there stoicly in a line next to us, their eyes focused elsewhere, their minds surely thinking of the man who stood next to them for so many years, honoring others who had gone before.  Art felt it was his duty to honor the men who had served this country, to be a part of that same color guard - something he respectively did for years, sometimes more than once a week.  The veteran who brought the flag to Glenda and Fred, like several of the other veterans, was in his 70's, and as he approached us with the pristinely folded flag, his breath was labored, sweat dripped from his brow, and he honorably choked through the few sentences he had to say.

The gunshots rang in my ears, followed by the sweet sound of trumpet taps, floating in the deafening silence.  I sat on a folding chair, thankful that I didn't have to stand in the sizzling heat 36 weeks pregnant... and thankful to be 36 weeks pregnant.  I sat there with my feet upon the all too familiar green indoor/outdoor carpet.  I thought back to sitting at their kitchen table for the first time, not knowing for sure I would marry their grandson, not knowing for sure I would ever be back again, not sure which direction was south, not sure I would be able to convince Art I didn't really want peanut butter on my toast, and that I would make it until lunch time without it.  All the things I wasn't sure of then... and yet how sure I was that even though a stranger, the newest person at their table, I felt special.  Even though I was not their grand-daughter, I was welcomed and made to feel important. 

At the cemetery I was feeling special to be under that tent, to be holding one of his great-grandsons on my lap, and to be honoring his memory, his life.

"There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under heaven:

a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,

a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,

a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,

a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain,

a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,

a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,

a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace."   Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

Thankful for 35 weeks and 94 years

I don't think there are many people who don't know what we are having, but in case you are in the dark, we are expecting a boy.  I am a little over thirty-five weeks along, and have been going in for weekly non-stress tests for a few weeks already. I will continue to go in every monday until August 6th, which is our planned c-section day. 

I know that God has the number of our days planned before any of them come to be, and as 36 weeks nears, I can't help but think about Amelia's last moments on earth.  I would be lying if I said I don't worry as that day approaches with this baby.  I wonder how long his heart will beat upon this earth. I think about the sweet man who turned 94 last month, the man my husband calls "Grandpa Art". The man who is ready to go home... his heavenly home, and yet his heart beats here.  I think of this little man inside of me, and I worry that his heart won't beat another 4 weeks, and I don't know why I worry... Maybe his heart will beat for more than 94 years. Maybe he will have the chance to marry a Godly woman, raise children for the Lord, hold and know his great-grandchildren, and minister to his family for decades, like Grandpa Art. 

Art feeding Ev-babe, at the young age of 90.

Only God knows what is in store for Art and baby boy, these two that I have been thinking of so much lately.  And His ways and thoughts are higher than mine, and more importantly He is faithful and trustworthy.  So I will not worry, but pray for my own lack of trust, and rest in His plan for each of these men.               

Baby boy

35 weeks and 1 day

You have to look around the grey blobs in front of him, but it is worth it. 

Love these sweet little lips - can't wait to kiss 'em!

I could stare at this little smirk all day...  I am going to feel bad when his birth actually happens, because I am going to throw his peaceful, happy little world upside down. (Okay, so I will only feel a little bad, or in O-dog's words - "a tiny, piny, peeny" bit bad)

There are so many emotions swirling around his arrival, and I know that it is only by God's grace that I am able to experience the unabandoned excitement for his tangible entry into our world, into our arms, into our home... It doesn't happen every moment of everyday, that I am able to feel so much anticipation for him without reservation, but when it does, I admit I embrace it whole-heartedly. I have to. He deserves that - this little man...

I am thankful for the 35 weeks and 2 days I have had so far with this little one, and how my heart aches for more, and is ready for years to come with him.  Nonetheless, I am still thankful, for today.  I am also thankful for Amelia's 36 weeks.  Thankful I am her mom.  Thankful that her heart beat here for 36 weeks, even if it broke mine.

And as for Grandpa Art, who just turned 94, the one in the hospital bed a state away, I can only pray that we are all so blessed to touch as many lives and hearts as he has.  If you knew this man, you would know that he is still touching lives, and there are probably nurses who just met him who will remember his spirit for a long time to come.  We all have our God-given jobs to do, and he knew his.  He was as focused on the heavenly prize as anyone, and no matter when he is made whole and healthy again in heaven, and his heart stops beating here, we can all be thankful for the gift... the treasure of however many years we knew him of the 94 he had on this earth. 

Girls' Weekend

We have been anticipating this weekend for almost six months.  A two-day Christian women's conference, a nice hotel bed, continental breakfast, restaurant dining, traveling to a different state, to a big city.... A GIRLS' WEEKEND!

We each opened an unsuspecting envelope on Christmas eve at my parent's house, and then looked at eachother as we opened them. In December we knew, this date would have our fellowship, our late-night girl-talk, our laughter, our tears, our smiles, our spirits, our growth, and our hearts- all over it.

My mom has four daughters, and the sweetest daughter-in-law.  All six of us, each different and yet the same, each learning a little more about the other, and trusting the other more and more.  As we talk of our lives, some hundreds of miles from the other, each containing much of the same.  We talk lightly of fun times and goofy things.  We talk deep and long of our hurts and our joys, all intertwined in our lives.  I cannot speak highly enough of these women God chose to be a part of my life.

 

These women's conferences, they know just how to reach us. As each woman spoke, we poured over God's word, we sang praise songs, we sat and listened to their stories, their insight, their hope and dreams for us.  As women of God, we are blessed.  We each have broken dreams, broken hearts, and hurts, but we also have hope and encouragement from our creator.  We also have resources, as small or insignificant as we feel they are, we have to use them 100% for His purposes.  If we hold back, we are not truly allowing God to do His work through and in us.  It takes some risk, but that is what faith is, is it not?  He wants us to trust Him - to lean on Him - to know us, so that in turn we would know Him.  So that we would really know His incredible love for each of us.  So that we would realize our need for Him. So that He could be our knight in shining armor - so that we would dream of the day when He says to us, "darlings, precious daughters, come home to me."

Some of the speakers used their talents to inspire us to do more, to be more diligent in our daily tasks, to be a better ___________.  They throw in tid-bits that resonate with all of us.  How we fight with our spouses, and even plan retaliation; or how we have ugly thoughts about our neighbors, our friends, our family, and we struggle with our own insecurity.  They make us laugh because we have all been there. We have each had similar experiences in different circumstances.

At one point, towards the end of the conference, I couldn't help but be reminded of our deep desires, as women.  The speaker's words dripped of a love story, of a novel that is mesmerizing.  As I sat listening I thought ---- they get it, they know how the plot thickens and is complicated with obstacles, and yet how we all crave the perfect love story with the dreamy ending.  We all want to be sought after, dreamed of, and wooed (if that's even a word).  God is for everyone, His story of love is for each person that He created.  However, it is a talented few who can take His story, and remind us that our creator designed us a certain way.  A way in which our hearts would go pitter-patter for a love story, His love story, being written in the chapters of our lives is riveting.  If we would each take a moment to think of how He has wooed us, how He has craved our attention and pined for our affection.  Women connect with this story in a different way than men, and that is not something to be taken for granted.  It is something to be celebrated.

My hope for you is that you are able to see the love story in your own life. That you are mesmerized by the savior who gave His life for you.  Although I am frequently side-tracked and sucked into the mundane things of life, I am still in this story for the ending, for the perfect ending.  I will endure the obstacles and shattered dreams, and I will always remember His great love for me, and the gifts He bestows all the while the plot twisting and thickening.  I will choose to always see the loves He has put into my life, my hubby, my kiddos, my sisters, my mom, my friends, my in-law's, and yes, the material things too ---- like these darling purses that mom gave us.  Thank you, Mom!

Some days...

Some days aren't all days, and that is a good thing. 

Most days - I live more fully, realizing the brevity of life and the need to live it more fully.  I really enjoy the glow in my sons' eyes when they find some "amazing" subject to gaze upon... like a walk signal or a roley-poley bug.  Most days, even at the cemetery, I am comforted by the thought of where my daughter is, her holy surroundings, her savior looking into her eyes, taking in the soul He created.  Her death is sad, but it is also joyous.  I mourn her even though I also celebrate God's gift to her and to all of us who trust Him.  We will all find the same end.  In turn, each of us will have an end that will be a beginning.  Most days I feel Him close.  My God has shown Himself faithful even in the difficult moments.

Most days are also not all days, and this was just one of those days... one of those other days, one of those some days.

Some days there is a pit in my stomach, a lump sitting in my throat --- yes, all day.  I'm never sure when these days will come along.  The only good thing is that they remind me of the rest of the days, when I am less emotional, less harried, less fragile in a world of "normal".  The some days don't last, and I know that "this too shall pass".  Not without pain, not without some tears, but it will pass, and a different day will soon be here.

No matter what "day" I am having, I am always going to be different, changed.  I used to be normal, whatever that is, if it even exists.  I used to be less affected by things.  I also used to feel less, slow down less, read less, pray less, listen less.  I used to live less.  I am glad, that she has affected me so.  I am able sometimes to realize I didn't have a second to take her for granted, that I didn't once grumble as I got out of bed in the middle of the night to feed her. I didn't have a moment to get frustrated at the mess she made or a time to feel guilty because I left her in the swing for an hour and a half. These are things that I think about.  As I anticipate this new babe, I will be able to hold him and love on him in a greater capacity.  I can say that I am more patient with the boys, most days.  I am able to say, "because she is gone, I will live better, I will make my faithful God known to more people around me. Her short life has enabled me to feel more and live more.

However, with my new normal comes the some day.  That some day, was today.

Today I saw a baby girl in every grocery aisle.  Some just so new that their mothers had dark circles beneath their eyes.  Others were older, babbling and squeeling, drooling on a rattle or their shoe.  Their sweet faces peering at my boys, in my cart, at me, and then back to their mothers, and then a smile and a giggle... so sweet.  Some days it feels as though I am a walking pity party.  So pathetic when I think of parents who want a child and haven't been able to have one.  So pathetic when I have two boys, and one on the way, not to be grateful. I am... I really am, most days. It is just some days. Some days... like today, when I see Amelia's picture and physically ache for her to be here, when I am almost sick with the thought of her clinging to my leg in the kitchen as I stand there making lunch.  I wish I had an entire load of pink and yellow and orange, instead of a couple shirts of mine to throw in with the reds, blues and greens. I trip over her car seat, which has not had a home for over a year. It has been awkwardly placed in several different rooms, sticking out, reminding me that I bought something pink, something permanent, something in preparation for someone who is missing from our home. I have three dresses hanging at the end of the boys' closet.  They have no where to go. I can't part with them, and yet, there they hang, looking odd and out of place in a closet full of polos, next to Superman costumes.  It is a day like today when I am bothered by those things more than usual.  I feel like I am always apologizing to God, for not being thankful.  It is also on these days when I am still asking "why her"?   You would think I would be past this...  I mean, it has been over a year.  The many blessings I have, the family I have, the salvation He has given freely, these things I need to remember always.  It is days like today, when I need to remember that even though I am suffering, I now have a tiny bit more in common with the one who suffered so great, who was scorned and hated, who paid the ultimate price for us, for me. 

I know that most days I can be extra gentle with my neighbor, my friend, the stranger in the parking lot, for I do not know what his or her day has been like.  Maybe they buried a sister, a father, or a friend today, or yesterday, or maybe over a year ago, and they are having one of those days.  Maybe they just found out they have cancer, maybe they were laid off today, or were handed divorce papers yesterday, or last week.  Most days I can take a step back, and with God's grace, get out of "the funk" I am in.  I can be extra gentle, and share some of the grace I have been given.  The source is endless if only we would choose to ask for it. 

Everyday I need His grace.  Everyday He provides it.  His grace was always present in my life, but now, especially some days, like today, I am more aware of it.  As the title of my blog says, "His Grace Abides".  This is my new normal, living ever mindful of His grace for me.  Especially on a day like today, well, yesterday actually.

A long two-part post: MEMORIES, WHY, and HOPE

Part 1

The emotions of the last two weeks and the on-goings of life have not enabled me to put together coherent thoughts or even a somewhat organized post. I am going to try today to put into words some of the things I have been thinking about lately, and also some of the things I have realized over the past year. Some of the things that I never would have been able to understand, except through a suffering heart and an enlarged soul.

My mind has wandered constantly to a year ago this time. Each day bringing MEMORIES of what was transpiring one year ago. Lasts, firsts, and onlys...

May 5th, the last day I substituted in Franklin, smiling as I walked down the hall with my round stature, meeting the questions of students about gender with a smirk, "it's a girl". Many knowing of the two little boys I tow around in a wagon around their quaint town.

May 7th, my last doctor's appointment with Amelia. The last time I would hear her heartbeat.

May 8th, our final MOPS meeting of the year. An emotional day for me. The last time I would feel her move inside me.

May 9th, a busy Saturday. One of cleaning, running errands, and getting the boys ready for a trip to a softball tournament in town. P's cousins were in town. We spent the day making a "Welcome Home" sign for our friends who were traveling back from a month long stay in Uganda with two boys, who would be two new sons / two new brothers to add to their family. I remember thinking how we would both make additions to our families in a short time of eachother. I also remember tension in my body over the last couple of days. Maybe it was the growing suspicion that she was moving less inside me, or with less pronounced movements. I chalked up those thoughts to paranoia, to the fact that she was nearly full-term and had less room to move.

That evening the small suspicion growing into a giant cloud of confusion and concern. I hadn't felt her move... or had I? Had it been hours? Had it been all day? I just needed to eat. I hadn't eaten anything substantial for hours. I made supper, sat and waited... I drank juice, laid down, and waited. The last time of hundreds before that I would push against her foot, smiling, knowing it was her foot. The only time she would not push back, the only time it would fall away from my prodding, into the depths of my womb. I knew.

Later that night, the last time I would drive my car with her along. I take her with me now, in my heart, but that was the last time she would physically be with me. I drove to the hospital. Not thinking, taking the car with the car seats, hoping against all reason that P and the boys wouldn't need to follow. That I would be home after a mere scare. That they would find her heartbeat, and I would come home, reassured.

It was not to be.

It was the only time I would see nurses try and hide the panic in their face as they each took their turn moving the Doppler side to side, around my tummy, pausing for a moment, picking something up, and then matching it with my racing pulse. My pulse racing so fast, it was disguised as an infant's.

It was the only time I would see her full frame, completely still on the ultrasound monitor, with no heartbeat. The doctor's words ringing in my ears, something I knew was coming from the moment I sat on my bed and felt her foot, which did not push back. He said, "It's not good."

I'm not even sure what he said after that. Maybe, there's no heartbeat, or she's gone, or maybe something medical-like, there's no cardiac activity. I really don't know. I think the nurses were waiting to catch me, to have me fall out of the bed, or scream, or flail my arms.

All I could do was let silent tears roll down my cheeks.

There would be many more firsts, lasts, and onlys throughout that weekend. Too many to mention. There are two that are at the front of my mind today.

The first time I would see her.
P held her close for me to see, with tears rolling down our cheeks. She was beautiful. She was ours.

The only Mother's Day I would hold her in my arms.

 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Part 2

Sometimes the pain seems so fresh. Sometimes it is muted, sometimes it is distant, but it will always be there. The pain has caused me to look at things differently. It has proved to be a teacher and a constant companion. The pain is not caused by where she is now, for I know she is experiencing a joy we can not fully know yet. The kind that is beyond our imaginations. The pain is only because of what we are missing - for we know what could have been, if she were here with us. In our minds - we see her blow out candles on a sticky birthday cake, we laugh as she toddles around our living room, and we listen to her squeal at her brothers.

The pain is for a purpose. For the first time in a year, I read words that seemed to transcend all that I have struggled with.

I would ask God WHY, and never seem to get the slightest reason. I was waiting for a thorough explanation, and expected that during my quiet times with Him, He would lay out the answer. My frustration was with what seemed to be the most silent time in my life. The silence was deafening between me and my God. He was trying to send me a message, but I would push it away. I wanted more. I wanted a thesis on WHY.
I remember it vividly. I got out of the shower - a regular sobbing session for me - I dried off, and was dressed with hair still dripping. I paused before I left the bathroom, preparing to pull myself together before I faced the rest of the day. I paused, then sat down, and was frozen by an image. An image of me sitting on a shore, and there were no words spoken, but Jesus sat down next to me and put His arm around me. It drove me nuts - there was no message, no words. Just His arm. Just His presence. Just what I needed, but didn't want to admit.

I know that God understood that I could not get to the point of saying to Him, "I know you are here, and I trust you." I also knew that He would not let me go one more day without making it clear to me that He was with me. He was there in my pain ---- even though I didn't know why I had to have this pain.

Now, back to the words from a book I just finished reading. The author shares great insight about suffering and grief. Her name is Dee Brestin, and the book is called "The God of all Comfort".
Here are three insights she wrote that have meant the most to me, and I feel they are worth sharing. They continue to give me new HOPE.

First, "God does care. God does know what He is doing. He asks us to trust Him. He asks us to remember who we are trying to understand --- even when it doesn't make sense at all." "For if we actually love God, not for what He gives us, but for Himself, then our souls, instead of shriveling up in suffering, are enlarged. This seems to be a key reason God allows suffering."

Second, "Suffering helps us let go of this earth." "Suffering strips us of things that might have been keeping us from intimacy with the Lord."

Third, "Suffering has a purpose so deep we may not understand it on earth. But in the midst of mystery, we are refined. In the midst of questions, we come to a deeper trust in the One who knows every answer, in the One who laid down His very life for us." "God's spirit not only rescues and comforts us, but transforms us --- into expectant, longing, hope-filled children who are 'confident and unashamed before him at his coming'." (the last part from Jn. 2:28)

Our God, our creator, and the lover of our souls knows our pain. He may give us the desire of our hearts, but if He doesn't, we will survive, and if we allow Him - He will build our character, He will transform us.
Trust me, I will be the first to admit that I didn't want the transformation, I didn't want the character, - I wanted my baby girl, here with me. However, I knew that I needed God's comfort and His presence. I knew that He loved me. I also knew that He loved her - more than I ever could (impossible though it seemed).

I know we have all had trials and suffering in our lives. And, according to Dee, (and I sincerely agree) "Though nothing can fully prepare us for grief, those who have been strengthened in their love relationship with God before the storm arrives are more likely to make it through the icy waters."

I am sometimes still in icy waters, but I know I have a rescuer, a redeemer who loved me enough to lay His own life down for me. Jesus was forsaken at the cross, so that I never have to be forsaken, even though sometimes it feels like it. Today, I can say - outloud, I trust Him. I trust Him even when it hurts and even when I don't want to.

Sometimes devotionals are gems...

I get a devo each morning from Back to the Bible, and the last couple of days have been gems to me. Sometimes they are also hard to swallow - those are the good ones. The truth you know is truth, and yet you need to hear it anyway.

Author: Elisabeth Elliot
Source: A Lamp For My Feet
Scripture Reference: Genesis 39:21 The Lord Keeps Faith




When trouble comes, we are tempted to think we are being punished or that God has forgotten us. He never forgets. He keeps faith--that is He keeps his promises, is faithful to his word, even when it appears that we are forsaken.


Joseph suffered one disaster after another. When, because of the vicious lie of a rejected woman he was put in prison, the Lord was with him there, keeping faith (Gn 39:21). Perhaps Joseph wondered why Almighty God could not have prevented the woman's triumphing over him--or prevented his ever having been victimized by his brothers in the first place and thus being at this woman's mercy. But we are given the complete picture which Joseph did not have while he was in prison--the amazing purpose of God for his chosen people, Jacob and all his family, who because of Joseph's long-drawn-out sufferings, were saved. God keeps faith--He has a perfect blueprint, and He is building according to its specifications.
 
The second one, by the same author, similar themed...
 
Author: Elisabeth Elliot
Source: A Lamp For My Feet
Scripture Reference: John 17:26 John 17:23


Forsaken? Impossible


Twice in my life I have heard Christians claim, in all seriousness, that God had forsaken them. This is an impossibility. Does Christ live in us? He does. The living Christ dwells in the heart of every true believer--He in them and they in Him. There are no words which adequately describe the intimacy of this relationship. Jesus, in his last recorded prayer for those whom the Father had given Him, asked "that they may be one, as we are one, I in them and thou in me...that the love thou hadst for me may be in them, and I may be in them" (Jn 17:23, 26 NEB).


Jesus Christ, in the extremity of his agony on the cross, asked why God had forsaken Him. In becoming sin for us He experienced a terrible alienation from his Father, a sense of total dereliction. God did not and could not forsake the Son who was one with Him. He cannot and will not forsake us who are not only his sons and daughters, but also the dwelling-places of his only begotten Son. "I will never, never, never, never, never (the Greek has five negatives) leave you or forsake you," is his promise. At times we may be overcome with a feeling of helpless forsakenness. This is surely not from the loving Father, but from the father of lies. The best way to answer that "father" is the way Jesus answered when tempted by Satan: "It is written." Take God's own promise with its five negatives and hold on.
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These devotionals resonated with me. I feel that so much of the time people (me included) base our faith on the mountain tops and valleys of emotion. How a song can make us feel connected to God, or how a trial can make us feel alienated by God. It is comforting and a necessity for me to remind myself that it is not about what I feel at any particular moment, but who God is and what I know to be true about Him. Regardless of how I may feel at any given moment, I am still His daughter, and He is still my loving Father. Nothing can separate us from His hand.

I hope everyone had a blessed Easter!  I also hope that you will always be able to discern when the father of lies is trying to get at you, and you will combat him with the truth that "... is written" from our  heavenly Father.