The One With Another Weekend Thought: Heaven

I definitely am overdue for an update post. Our ultrasound story is pretty fun (like, for real--Sam is NOT a cooperative child. He actually made our tech crack up laughing several times because of his complete stubborness. She wished us luck with the rest of his life at the end, haha. Also, he's not just stubborn, he's a complete weirdo. Which makes me, another complete weirdo, love him all the more) so I'll have to share it. There's been all sorts of other excitement--the guy who backed into my car and caused $1200 worth of damage to the back of it (mom & baby were fine. and insurance is covering the whole thing); 23 of my peers and superiors coming in to have a huge meeting and "observation" at my store (one of my least favorite days EVER) and now, this weekend, all of a sudden a HUGE thing popped up--the possibility of buying a house. Like, in the next few weeks. Gah. Too long of a story to type now....since what I actually want to do is a weekend thought for the day. I had planned to do it every week, and I have been remiss :) But here goes.

I hope it's fine if my weekend thought is also a shameless plug for one of my most favorite people in the entire world--Steven Curtis Chapman. My mom and I had the cassette tape of "For the Sake of the Call" and "Heaven in the Real World" was one of my very first CDs. I grew up LOVING him. I feel as though his music has done nothing but improve over the years, and his recent albums to me have been inspiring, encouraging, and convicting. He has a faith that is amazing. I think this was most clearly seen in the days and months following the tragedy in his family, and I remember reading interview after interview and speculations from his friends, family, and the music world in general wondering if he'd ever perform and write again.

I had the distinct privilege of seeing him perform a year after that--the absolute best concert experience of my entire life. And now, the man people questioned if he'd ever write again, has released a new single--Heaven is the Face. And I LOVE this song. I think that obviously, the idea of losing a child has become so much more real to me since actually having lost a child through miscarriage, and now as I think every second of the day how much I love Sam. The pain that he has come through astounds me. His new album, releasing November 3, is very appropriately titled "Beauty Will Rise." I love that, because beauty truly has risen from among the ashes of his pain. You should learn about Maria's Big House of Hope, the orphanage opened in Maria's name...just one of the many amazing things that has come out of his tragedy.

But I've been so struck by the lyrics of his newest song. I find that heaven is an incredibly difficult concept to grasp. It is our greatest hope as Christians--eternal fellowship and worship; perfected bodies; perfected earth...but really, what is it? I don't know. I have no idea what it will be like.

Some of the lyrics of his new songs are as follows: Heaven is the face of a little girl/With dark brown eyes that disappear when she smiles/Heaven is the place where she calls my name/Says "Daddy, please come play with me for awhile"/And God, I know, it's all of this and so much more/But God, this is all I'm aching for/God, you know, I can't see beyond the door/So right now, Heaven is a sweet maple syrup kiss/And a thousand other little things I miss with her gone/But in my minds eye, I can see a place/Where your glory fills all the empty space/And the cancer is gone/Every mouth is fed/And there's no one left in the orphan's bed/Every lonely heart finds their one true love/And there's no more goodbye/No more not enough/And there's no more enemy/And God, I know it's so much more than I can dream/It's far beyond anything that I can conceive/So God, you know, I'm trusting you until I see/Heaven in the face of my little girl.

I think this song is so beautiful. And so honest. He KNOWS that heaven is a thousand things. But right now, he cares that heaven is the place where he sees his little girl again. And so yeah, Heaven is the demise of cancer and sickness....and a sweet, messy, syrupy kiss from the daughter he hasn't seen in a year and a half and never got to say goodbye to. Loss gives heaven an entirely new meaning.

So for me--heaven is a blond headed boy named Brandon who will probably want to play some sort of practical joke on me as soon as I see him, and who probably hasn't stopped laughing since he got there. It's a tall boy named Dave who I'm sure is dressed in orange pants and will probably ask me first thing if I watched the movie he gave me that's in all subtitles even though I kept telling him I hate that. (And no, Dave...I still haven't watched it. And I still don't think Edward Scissorhands is a good movie....) It's my grandmother, being able to jump and walk and go crabbing again. And it's a little baby that I don't even know was a boy or a girl--with a personality and a face and a body and who I will finally get to know.

So. What is heaven for you?

(For more Weekend Thoughts, head over to Life At the Circus)

The One With Dying

I've lost a pretty fair number of people that I love in my life--more than most people my age. This isn't something I'm a particularly huge fan of; however, it is a huge part of who I am today. I thought I had a pretty good grip on my thoughts of death and dying, but this week I am experiencing something new--actually being part of the process. See, the people closest to me that I've lost, I wasn't really there. I dealt with the aftermath more than the dying. With my friend Dave it was a little bit of a process, since it was a roller coaster ride as we waited to see what would happen--but it all happened hours away from me. I never got to see him, or say goodbye, or anything. Brandon died super suddenly...grandparents I guess I was a little more aware of things going on, but I was younger and thus not as much a part of what was happening.

My grandmother (mom's mom) is very, very sick. She is dying. And she knows. I went to see her tonight, and we know it may be one of the last times we get to see her and actually have 2 way communication. She knows her time is limited, and she's scared. She also can still tell little jokes, open her eyes a bit, and knows who we all are. We don't know how long this will last, but it's very sad to watch. And it made me think--sometimes, I think death, especially in elderly people, seems...natural. I mean, everyone dies. You get old, body stops working, end of story. It's sad, and painful, and all that stuff....but man. It's so NOT natural. It's so opposite of the way God intended life to happen. And it's SUCH a picture of how incredibly broken world is. Doesn't matter if you're an unborn child, a 20 year old boy, a 29 year old man, a 64 year old woman, or a 92 year old man...death is awful.

Also, it got me thinking. I've wondered before about a few things. Would I want tubes and machines to help keep me alive? No. Definitely not. When it's time to go, it's time to go. I am not interested in artificially prolonging that. But more than that, I wondered...would I want the chance to say goodbye? Would I want this in between time, when I know I'm dying, but not dead? I know many people would. But I don't. I don't want to know I'm going, don't want to sit while people cry around me, don't even want to say goodbye. I'd rather live my life knowing I don't NEED to say goodbye because things have already been said. And I sort of wonder how well I do that. In some ways, I think I do. I'm pretty confident that if I die tomorrow, my husband will know beyond the shadow of a doubt that he is my hero, my strength, my joy, my best friend, and the love of my life. I am sure that Trip and Joy know that they are some of the most influential and important people in my life and without their friendship I do not know where I'd be. But in other ways, I wonder. Does my mom know how much I admire and respect her? Do my little sisters know how much I love them? Do my co-workers know how much they make me look forward to coming into my job? Does my sis-in-law Kristen know that every single time we talk, I'm grinning because of how happy she always is? Do Tim, Bethany, Kat, Jill, Holly, Becky, and Brian know how closely I hold them to my heart?

Sometimes, I'm not sure. But I know that at the end of my life, if I could choose just ONE thing to have people say about me, it would be this: She loved well. That's what I want. Looks like I've got some living, and loving to do!

(Also, people should say that I'm funny. Good thing my gravestone can say whatever I want. It could even say, "Ross Geller, Good at Marriage.")

The One With Not So Much Handling It

Since I've blogged so much about my experience so far, and most of it has been handled really positively by both me and Geoff, I feel it only fair to post in the times when I'm not handling it so well. Not because I feel as though I owe it to my readers, since I do feel this sort of grief is very acceptably handled privately, but more because I feel like if I don't, I haven't been honest about the road that I'm walking. Facing it this way is a good way for me to able to look back and see the truth of my emotions in this and not just the easy times of it.

I'm terribly, terribly sad today. It actually started last night after the Good Friday service, and my poor husband had to watch me sob myself to sleep. In grief, there's so many different stages. I feel I've successfully passed through stage where I know my baby is gone. However, the permanence of that is still hitting me. I understand the pain of, there is no baby right now. The thought of the spring...summer...fall...and winter, when he would have been due....that keeps hitting me in little ways. I'm NOT pregnant. This baby isn't going to be here in November, he won't have a birthday, he won't go off to school. The pain of the future is becoming a little more real to me. I miss being pregnant, and I miss the little baby I won't get to meet.

That's all I have for today. God is still good. Still in control. He's convinced me of that, strongly enough that even on days like today, I still know it's true. And as I was so wonderfully reminded last night, I am NOT God. I would make a terrible, terrible God and I rest in the true God alone for my strength in the midst of the darkness. I'm tremendously thankful for the people he's placed on this road with me to love me and push me along through the bad days.

The One With All the Redemption

A few years ago, I went through a pretty difficult time. During that, there were few people I allowed close enough to give me any sort of helpful words or prayers or anything. The ones that did get through, however, were incredible. I remember reading an e-mail from my friend Bethany and at the end, she said that she was looking forward to seeing the person that emerged from this; seeing the ways that God would grow me and change me, and that she trusted that God loved me too much to waste my pain. At that point in time, I was pretty convinced that God didn't love me that much at all, and that every moment of pain was indeed wasted, so I don't recall being especially touched by those words.

Flash forward.

I was rethinking these words this week, and how powerful the love of God truly is. I was thinking about the fact that we experience pain, loss, death, grief...so many broken dreams, broken relationships. What's the point? Why? 

I don't think we'll ever understand the answers to those questions, this side of eternity. I don't think we're meant to understand the mind and ways of a God is infinitely higher than ours. I think he provides us with glimpses of his character, however, and THAT is what pulls us through. The thing that has encouraged me most in the past week and half is this simple truth: my God loves redemption.

I believe that God, at any moment, could step in and right the path of destruction we see around us. He could cure the disease, heal the sick, raise the dead. Any of it; all of it. But he doesn't. He allows us to experience heartache and the harrowing effects of our own personal sin. But I believe that goodness is coming. I don't believe that all of this will come on this side of heaven. Much of the true goodness and true redemption that is to come we must wait for. But I know that every tear will be redeemed.

And that makes it easier to experience the hard times. It's painful yes--but the true pain comes in not knowing if there will be an end. If there's really a point to it. But if God loves redemption more than our pain, we have nothing to fear. That doesn't make it easier, and it doesn't make it hurt less. But it makes it worth it. It makes us able to hold on, for just a second longer...and then another second...for however many seconds it takes for Him to redeem the pain. WE have already been redeemed. How, then, can we think our heartache would not be?

I was already thinking through many of these thoughts, and processing through what it really means to give over my heartache. Then, I went over to one of my favorite blogs (audreycaroline.blogspot.com) and found this song. It is amazing. It also was posted by a woman who today is celebrating/mourning the death of her baby who was born, and died, on this day last year. The faith I see in people around me astounds me. Again, not because they are faithful. But because HE is faithful.

the cruelest word, the coldest heart

the deepest wound, the endless dark

the lonely ache, the burning tears

the bitter night, the wasted years

life breaks and falls apart

but we know these are places

where grace is soon to be so amazing

they may be unfulfilled

they may unrestored

but when anything that's shattered

is laid before the Lord

just watch and see--

it will not be unredeemed

what amazing hope. in the midst of all of the trials of life, there is grace. grace for the moments now, and a grace beyond anything we can imagine. 

The One With All the Faith

In one of the best experiences of my life, Hubby and I went with my parents to the Steven Curtis Chapman/Michael W. Smith United Tour. We actually were supposed to go to this concert back in October, but there was a  mixup with getting the tickets, and so we missed it. I'm now so very, very thankful that we did, because this was a much more opportune time for me to be in the presence of God in such an amazing way.

You can hear all sorts of people talk about the goodness of God. You can sit in church and learn about his grace, mercy, sovereignty, and love. You can know all the verses, all the lyrics and have everything wrapped up in the neat little boxes of "Christianity." But then, you can hear it from a man who less than a year past burying his 5 year old daughter, who not only has had to wrestle with God and what his goodness really means, but who has chosen to do so in the eyes of countless other believers. I was so blessed. I knew as we walked in the doors to the sound of him leading the audience in "Blessed Be" that this concert would be like any other I had attended. As we lifted our voices to sing "You give and take away/You give and take away/My heart will choose to say/Lord, blessed be your name" I felt the tears streaming down my face as I reflected on my own loss, and my own glimpses of God's grace in the past 6 days. There were so many moments where he gave us a glimpse of his brokenness, a peak into the pain he has experienced in the past 10 months. But deeper than that was an incredible hope and faith; a certainty that won over confusion and emptiness. My favorite song of the evening was "Yours." It's an amazing song to begin with, one he recorded before Maria died. After she went to heaven, he was processing through some of his grief and realized that he hadn't completed his song. The fourth verse, now added on the re-released version goes like this: "I've walked the valley of Death's shadow/So deep and dark I could barely breathe/I've had to let go of more than I can bear/And questioned everything that I believe/but still even here/in this great darkness/a comfort and hope come breaking through/and I can say in life or death/God, we belong to you/It's all yours, God." To be able to write those words so soon after such a tragedy is astounding to me. And while I appreciate his faith and openness, I also know that ALL of the glory of his story belongs to God. There is nothing about him that makes him able to speak those words--it is ALL by the grace of God.

I can say that firmly because I know that every moment of happiness and peace and even laughter that I've experienced this week (and there have been MANY!) have been nothing to do with my strong faith, or my wonderful handling of this situation--but have been the direct result of God's grace. I am in awe that he has protected my heart so well from anger and confusion; that he has given me the strength to handle each day of this. It is 100% for the glory of God and 0% anything I've done. I'm not typically a great handler of tough times--just ask anyone who talked to me the year after my cousin died. I'm a dweller, a despair-er, a wallower. God, and God alone, has lifted me from this pit and is keeping me from the valley this time. I do not know why. But I am so incredibly thankful. I owe much to all of you as well--you have loved my husband and I tremendously well. We have had wonderful week, growing together and being blessed. 

Thank you, from the bottom of our hearts :)

The One With Handling It

It's been a long few days for us, and I'd like to thank everyone for their kind words. Each facebook wall posting, message, chat, text message, voicemail and visit has been cherished. I have gotten more hugs in the past 3 days than I have in the past month...and I love me some hugs.

We, overall, are handling our loss quite well. What I mean by that is that I am not struggling with believing lies or giving into asking questions I should not be asking. I do not think that this was my fault, or that there was anything I could do to change it. I'm not scared that this is some sign I am incapable of carrying children. I believe that these things happen, that they are outside of our control, and that this side of heaven I will never understand why I will not hold the child I was growing. I'm not going to try. One of my favorite lines from a MercyMe song is a line in "Homesick" where he says, "Help me, Lord, cuz I don't understand your ways/And the reasons why, I wonder if I'll ever know/But even if you showed me, the hurt would be the same." And I think that's a very profound point. Understanding why would not help me miss my baby any less. The sadness is coming from a loss, and I believe I am supposed to mourn that loss. I am not supposed to wallow, or sink into depression, or give into anger, despair, or any of that--but mourn, yes. I don't need to understand why this happened. I need to understand that my baby is with Jesus, and that I have completed the job I was called to do.

Geoff is doing well, too. He has been a wonderful support for me. It's funny, because SO many women say they deal with this on their own because they physical aspect of it adds so much more to deal with. In some ways, I agree. But I also think that because it happened so early in my pregnancy, we are dealing with some of the same emotions. What I mean is that, because I was so early (and I don't know if what I'm about to say is completely normal or not) I bonded much more with the IDEA of my child than actually physically WITH my child. I mean, yes, my body began to change, and I was aware of what was happening, but I wouldn't say I really felt like I bonded with the physical part of things. So I think both of us are extremely broken over the idea of losing our child, and he can grasp that just as well as me.

The harder part about dealing with the physical part of things for me is that it's such a continuing process. Without going into way too much detail that no one needs or wants to know, my biggest prayer right now is simply for the bleeding to stop. It's very hard to accept the "loss" when it's more of an ongoing "losing." I feel as though I will be able to more effectively move on and become actively involved in life again when that side of things is complete. I have a doctors appointment tomorrow to see how everything is going and making sure everything is ok. I'm very thankful that this appointment worked out at a time where Geoff will be able to come with me.

I do feel as though we're handling it well in the sense that we firmly believe God's graciousness and goodness are not absent from us and our current situation. This does not mean we are ok. Our hearts are hurting and broken, and there are many, many tears that have been shed and will continue to pour out. We miss our baby, and the excitement all the planning and talking of being parents was bringing us. Our days are long, and my nights have been longer. I have had a lot of trouble sleeping, and I'm very tired.

But again, God is good. Above all, he is working for HIS glory, not mine. Some have asked if we regret telling so many people--Absolutely not. I'm very proud and feel blessed to have carried that life for as long as I got to, and I'm thankful for everyone who shared our joy. And now we have just as many people to share our sorrow. That is what the body of Christ is for! Is it going to be hard to answer the question, "How's the baby?" Sure. Does that pain negate the sheer joy we felt for 11 days that we got to be his parents? Not at all. 

Thank you for your continued prayers. Our pain is sharp at times, and our trust in God does not diminish our sadness. We are fully confident that His glory is already being revealed in this situation, and while this is not what I would have chosen for myself, I am trusting that he will give me exactly the strength I need to get through each moment. I love you all.

The One With the Longest Day of My Life.

Baby Ward is no longer being grown in me. Now, he's being grown in heaven. It has been a long, and tremendously sad day.

Perhaps I should be sleeping. But I want to remember the details of the day as they happened. And I know many of those that love us will want to hear the story as well. Sorry if there's too much info about anything. But it's my blog...it's how I roll.

Yesterday, I had some mild cramping in the afternoon. I didn't worry too much about it, and decided just to relax, drink some tea, and take it easy for the evening. I began to feel better and didn't think anything else of it. This morning I woke up feeling pretty horrible, and was thinking this must be the day I began feeling morning sickness (until this point, I'd had no symptoms other than extreme exhaustion.) I went in for my shift at work, but was convinced by my dear friend and assistant Tim that I should go back home, rest for a little bit, and come back in the afternoon to finish out my shift. We debated for awhile (I didn't want to be a wuss) but I finally agreed and came home. I decided to try and get some food in my system, as I also needed to take my pre-natal vitamin and knew it might make me more nauseous. I cooked some eggs, and then went to use the bathroom before I sat down with my plate. I sat on the toilet, looked at my underwear and saw a big, bright red circle. Instant sobbing. I called my mom and asked her to pick me up; she immediately hung up the phone and hopped in the car. I then called my husband, who was in Lynchburg, VA and told him what was going on and asked him to come home right away. He too, hopped in his car and began the trip. I also called my dear friend Joy, who has been through this experience and was able to calm me down a little bit. Then my mom arrived, and the longest 4 hours of my life began.

As I was still not sure I was miscarrying (there was nothing so far that convinced me. just things that scared me) the ER was the place to go. However, they were having a bit of an...unprofessional day it seemed. Every step of the way took FOREVER and they didn't properly pass my charts around, so every single person I saw (which totaled 7) had to ask my name and "Why are you here?" Super fun question to answer. The lady who did my ultrasound was a nutcase. She barely spoke English, and asked me if I was pregnant. (If you don't know that, stop touching me and find someone who's at least GLANCED at my chart.) Also, in the middle of the transvaginal sonogram (ps. NOT comfortable) someone busted in while I was spread eagle. Most embarrassing thing ever. People need to knock. Always. End of story. 

(Luckily, my mom stayed by my side every step of the way today. I can't explain how thankful I am for that.)

About an hour into this experience, I went to the bathroom and knew for sure that I had miscarried, as much more evidence greeted me in the toilet. However, once you start, you can't very well diagnose yourself and leave, so you're stuck in the twilight zone of complete stupidity. I FINALLY was diagnosed with a miscarriage and got to leave. It's a very weird feeling. They tell you that you "had" a miscarriage. I called people to tell them I "lost" the baby. All this makes it sound so...past tense. It's not. I'm still bleeding as I type this. It's a pretty horrible feeling, because it's like it's happening again every time I go to the bathroom. I want it to be over.

Physically, the pain is not nearly what it could be. I was only about 6 weeks, thus my body is having a relatively easy time of doing everything it needs to. I'm still cramping, but it's nothing worse than period cramps. I'm tired and have a headache, but that's more due to all he crying I've done. Strictly physically speaking, I'm very blessed that things are going the way they are.

Emotionally, we're having a rough time of it, but holding up. I was extremely glad to get a visit from my friend Joy and even more happy to finally see my sweet, sweet husband. This sounds horrible, but I'm going to say it anyway. Geoff is very, very sad about this and it's making it much easier for me. I know many women who have said they feel lonely because their husbands don't "get" what a terrible loss it is. Geoff is grasping the pain of all of this and basically handling it as badly as me. (Not that we're doing horribly. Just that he is feeling the same pain.) As hard as it is to see him hurting so much, it's also a comfort to have his sweet tears mixing with mine instead of crying alone. I know he would comfort me either way, but to share it together is so much better.

Those who know me know that I do NOT spout off happy, Christian, bible-college things to say unless I firmly believe them. There have been times in my life when I have been so bold as to admit that I lacked the belief that God was good, or in control; times when I've openly questioned his sovereignty. If I did not believe this to the depths of my being, I would NOT say it: God is good. God is deeply good, and he has us in the palm of his hand. This world is broken. Our bodies are broken. Our lives are broken. I do not believe God "took" our baby. I believe God is mourning our loss, because this is not how life and pregnancy were intended to go. This is brokenness being displayed. I believe that God allowed us this pain, that he is above our pain, and that he is in control of every aspect of our lives. I believe that our sweet baby is now with him, and that we were his parents exactly as long as we were meant to be. 

My heart is deeply broken tonight as I type these words. I thought that I was out of tears--I was wrong. But I'm so thankful for God's grace and mercy, which will be new again in the morning, and are covering us tonight. I'm thankful for the amazing man I have been blessed to walk this road with. I will be leaning on his strength more than ever. He has been my joy, my laughter, my rock. I will need him more, and I know I can trust him to hold me. I'm so thankful for the body of Christ, which has reached out and covered us today. Our familes, friends, loved ones...each word has touched our hearts. We love you all, and are thankful for the love you've shown us. Thank you for your continued support, encouragement and prayers. Many have asked for tangible ways to help--honestly, I have no answer for you. Prayers and love are enough right now. We'll get through it. It's a long road to walk. But we will walk it with grace and strength. 

We remain,

Mommy and Daddy of Baby Ward :)