FMF: The Gift of Discomfort

Joining Kate for a 5-minute free write called Five Minute Friday. This week's prompt: Gift.

GO:

Life truly is a gift. And after experiencing loss, the preciousness of the gift shines through even brighter.

I am currently 32 weeks pregnant with my rainbow baby, whom I have nicknamed Chickadee.

32 weeks pregnant is not all pleasant.

I am getting more and more tired, yet finding it hard to get comfortable enough to sleep.

My emotions are all over the place.

Everything I eat gives me heartburn.

I wake up a million times a night to pee.

My hips are starting to ache, and by the end of the day my feet and ankles are swollen and sore.


And all of this is a beautiful gift!

I love the blessing of each and every discomfort and pain and difficulty because each one is due to the precious little gift that is growing in my womb. I will gladly take every one of these and more knowing that each day Chickadee is making Mommy uncomfortable is another day she is here on earth with me, growing and getting bigger and stronger and closer to being a squirmy little screaming bundle of joy in my arms.

I thank and praise my gracious loving Father for the beautiful gift of third trimester discomforts!

STOP

My Letter to Grief

I got the idea for writing a letter to grief from Kate Motaung, who encouraged readers to write their own letters. I began this letter several weeks ago, but it got to be too raw, and I had to back away for a bit, but I came back today feeling ready to tackle it. So here goes.



Dear Grief,

Over the past nine months I have tried holding you at arms length. I have tried bringing you in for a snuggle session. I have tried ignoring you and trying to pretend you were never there. I have gotten angry at you. I have coddled you like a newborn kitten and fed you until you became a tiger who nearly turned to devour me. I have researched you. I have tried to plumb your depths. I have ridden out your waves, even when I nearly drowned. You could not take me under.

Grief, you came into my life that early morning in the Emergency Room of the local hospital when I stared at the screen of the ultrasound machine, eyes searching for my wiggly baby and only finding a still stone instead. Strange that there should be a stone there. Where was my baby? Was she hiding? There must be some mistake. And then when I should have been hearing the delightful wild-stallion cantering clip-clop of her precious heartbeat, there was only silence. And I knew. I knew she was gone, and you crept in and made yourself known. An unwelcome guest in a place that should have been filled with hope and reassurance. You showed your ugly head that morning.

 You weren't through with me yet. In fact, you were only getting started. You embraced me as I was caught in the throes of contractions which should usher forth life, but instead were only bringing forth death. You held me as my precious daughter slipped into this world silent and still, when the only cries were that of a mother whose heart was ripped in two.

You were gracious to me those first few weeks. You let me ignore you for a bit; hold you away from me. But slowly, slowly, bit by bit you wormed your way in. You twisted into my heart and left it open and raw and bleeding. Scabs have formed now, but every so often you like to come and rip the scabs off as well, bringing up all the pain all over again.

You've been a constant shadow to me these nine months, sometimes almost disappearing for brief times when the joyful sun shines so brightly straight ahead that I can ignore you for a while. At other times you stretch large and spooky and make me want to hide under the covers like a frightened child. Especially now, that new life is growing in my womb. Now I am scared of you more than ever. I know your full power, and I don't want you coming close again. And yet I am powerless to stop you.

But I don't have to. I can live with you. I can let you come and go, ebb and flow, because I know that there is one in me who is greater than you or anything else in the world. He beat death. And because He beat death, He will one day banish you, grief, forevermore.

So I can close my eyes tonight, snuggle with my pillow, and sleep in peace knowing that though you can be so all-encompassing some days, you are merely a constant companion until the day I see Jesus and He strips you off of me and clothes me instead in pure joy.

Until then,

A Grieving Mama choosing to live by FAITH, not fear

A Bittersweet Thanksgiving

I can't help but think how if things had gone differently, I could be introducing my 3-month-old baby to my grandmother, aunts, uncles, and cousins today as we gathered around the table to give thanks.

I can't help but think if things had gone differently, I could have been finding out Selah's gender, and have a tummy gently swelling with a baby inside, instead of just bloated from too much turkey.

And yet, I do have a lot to be thankful for.

I am thankful that I have a beautiful healthy 5-year-old who is reading up a storm and singing praise songs that she makes up and prancing around the living room in her princess tiara and twirly skirt.

I am thankful that though it has been a rocky road, and the bumps are still not all smoothed out, my marriage is still intact.

I am thankful that God used my tragedy to get me out of a toxic work environment (which I was reminded again this week just how toxic it really was) and into a job that is full of love, grace, and mercy, with coworkers and bosses who come along-side and encourage and lift up instead of tearing down and pointing fingers and talking behind backs.

I am thankful for a new doctor who is ready to do anything it takes to help us bring a baby home.

I am thankful for two pink lines that showed up on a pregnancy test early this morning, and the opportunity to be Mommy to another precious little soul.

I was reading Psalm 139 this morning, and thinking about the fact that God knew each day that Mikayla and Selah would be in my womb. He knows exactly how many days June Bug will walk this earth, He knows how many days I have left until I see my babies in heaven. And He knows already how many days I will be blessed to hold this new little life. He is knitting this baby together in my womb, and that is a wonderful privilege to be a part of another miracle.

When I lit my candles in October, I lit an extra one for hope. This pregnancy brings me hope, but my hope is not in this pregnancy. My hope is in the God who created and sustains it. My hope is in the Savior who loves me. My hope is that God would be glorified through my life, and through the lives of all my children, however many days each of us may have on this earth.

Day 19: Honor

Day 19 of 31 days of healing, and joining Kate for a 5-minute free-write on the word Honor

GO:

I consider it a great honor to have served as the only home my Mikayla and Selah ever knew here on earth. When I look at my still-pudgy tummy and my ever-more-sagging chest, I remind myself that this body has housed not one, but three miracles.

Miracles take room to grow. Even the ones that only stay for 8 weeks leave the mother they grew in changed forever, body and spirit.

Yes, it is an honor to be called mother. It is an honor to have been trusted with tiny miracles, even for a short time. It is an honor to have held precious little souls created and knit together by God in my womb.

STOP.

Day 18: A Name

Day 18 (a little late) of 31 days of healing

Today when I opened my Facebook page, I found a pleasant surprise.

This photo:

 Look closely - go ahead, make it big. See there? Right near the top left corner? There it is! My baby girl's name. Written lovingly by Grieve Out Loud. Joined with so many other precious little ones who are dancing with her now around the throne of Jesus. I clicked over to their website, scrolled down, and there on the right down-curve of the S:

Selah's name, too! I had almost forgotten submitting them a few weeks ago, and it made me so happy to see them beautifully written in these precious memorials. 

And I realized suddenly, that seeing their names brought me joy. Joy alone, untainted by sadness. I was happy to see their names; to see them remembered and recognized. To know that there are others out there who believe ALL LIVES MATTER. 

And I realized that I am healing. Being able to feel pure joy without the shadow of sadness is a wonderful feeling, and one I haven't felt since Mikayla's heaven day. 

Thank the Lord for His blessings.

Day 17 and FMF: Long

Joining up with Kate here for another five-minute Friday free-write on Day 17 of 31 Days of Healing


Prompt word of the week: Long

GO:

This week was long. Very long. Getting home from work late every day long. Falling asleep myself as I put June Bug to bed last night at 7:30 long. I am grateful for the weekend.

Time is a funny thing. It is so subjective. Some things seem to last so long, and others seem to go by in the blink of an eye, even when really they take the same amount of time.

When I think back on my time on bed rest, the days felt so long to me. Part of that was being in bed all day left me forced to leave business behind. But I think it was also a gift that God gave me. He knew even when I didn't that I would have to say good-bye to my precious baby soon. I believe He gave me that time on bed rest and made the days seem long to give me the time I needed to prepare my heart for what was to come.

As I've said before, I spent a lot of the time on bed rest praying, reading scripture, and meditating on the truths of the gospel. I also spent a lot of time online, doing research, trying to find out what kinds of journeys I could be in for.

While I long for the day I will hold my babies in heaven, I am thankful for the gift of those long days on bed rest with my Mikayla and my God.

STOP.

Welcome to the Roller Coaster!

Well, I don't know where to start so I'll just come out and say it: We're expecting! June-Bug and Mikayla will (Lord Willing) be big sisters in May!

The emotions are all. over. the. place. One minute I am elated and so excited I could burst, and the next I am weeping and fearful and over-analyzing every little twinge.

I have decided that the only way to hang on is to take it day by day. Each morning, I am going to wake up and thank God for another day to carry this precious child. If one morning happens to be my last and this rainbow dissolves in more storm clouds, then so be it. I know where my shelter lies, and He is strong enough to see me through any storm that may come my way.

Either way, this baby will get to live; either with me and his/her father and big sister June Bug; or with Jesus and his/her Heavenly father, and big sister Mikayla.

God is good all the time! All the time, God is good!

Five Minute Friday: Nothing

GO:

Nothing can separate us from the love of God we have in Christ Jesus.

I have nothing to bring to the table. I come empty-handed. He holds everything in His arms. He lavished everything on me. He showers me with gifts from above. He takes away my nothing-ness and fills me with His everything.

Nothing but the blood of Jesus can wash away my sin; nothing but the blood of Jesus can make me whole again.

There was nothing in Him to attract us to Him. A man of sorrows, acquainted with suffering. He gave up everything to become nothing so we could have everything.

And how can I do anything but lay down everything I have (which all amounts to nothing), to take up my cross and gain nothing for myself in this world, but everything for Him and in Him for all eternity.

Nothing can snatch me out of His hands.

STOP.


Isaiah 53:2-12
Romans 8:38-39
Matthew 16:24-26
John 10:28
#PreachingTheGospelToMyself

Sea Glass Heart

We live on an island. Paradise. I have always loved the ocean, and feel so blessed to live in the midst of it now. On our beaches you won't find many shells, mostly coral. But you can find sea glass. Since we lost Mikayla I have been collecting sea glass.

I have always been fascinated by sea glass. How the ocean takes something so ugly and sharp as a broken beer bottle (which is where most sea glass comes from) and turns it into a shiny, smooth, beautiful thing.

The process isn't easy for the glass, though. It gets thrown around, beat up, and pieces of it rubbed clean off. It has to go through the nitty-gritty sand. It braves the storms and gets tossed around by the waves before it washes up on shore a thing of beauty to reflect the light of the sun.

It reminds me of what God does with our hearts. He took us when we were ugly sharp sinners, and is ever smoothing out our rough places and shining us up until one day we will shine like gems for Him in heaven. The process isn't easy. It involves a lot of hurt and tearing away of things we held dear, and wild stormy waves.

But in the end, He makes all things beautiful in His time.

The Body that Used to be Mine

This is a poem that I wrote when JuneBug was about 2. I decided this was a good topic for Mother's Day.

The Body that Used to be Mine

I look on the body that used to be mine,

The stomach that used to be flat

And firm with flawless skin,

The arms that long ago were thin.

The stomach that used to be flat, 

Now bulging fat and criss-crossed with scars.

The arms that long ago were thin,

Now marshmallow soft, along with the thighs.

Now bulging fat and criss-crossed with scars,

From stretching too far and too fast,

I'm marshmallow soft in the arms and the thighs,

And have deepening circles beneath both my eyes.

In stretching too far and too fast,

My body changed into a home for yours.

The deepening circles beneath my eyes,

Hold memories of 2am lullabies.

My body changed into a home for yours,

and then yours became a home for my heart.

I hold memories of 2am lullabies,

And I'm glad to be pillow-y soft.

When you became a home for my heart,

Then I was born new, as a Mother,

And I am glad to be pillow-y soft

To be a warm nest for my daughter.

As I was born new as a Mother

I found a rich beauty in softness and scars;

To be a warm nest for my daughter,

I gladly give up the body that used to be mine.

  

5 minute Friday - Grateful

Grateful

Go:

It's hard to be grateful when there are many heartaches. Yet even amidst the storm, I am grateful. 

I am grateful that God chose to spare my life even when He took my daughter's, because my other daughter still needs her Mama. 

I am grateful that the physical process was over quickly and the emotional and spiritual process could begin. 

I am grateful for the notes and texts and emails from friends and co-workers and church acquaintances and Facebook friends I had lost touch with years ago but who rallied around me in my time of need. 

I am grateful for the wisdom of those who have walked this path before me, though I wish no one would ever have to walk this path. 

Most of all I am grateful for a heavenly Father who knows what it is like to watch your beloved child die. A Father who is the God of all comforts and has blessed me with peace that passes understanding even now. 

I choose gratitude.

Stop.