Five Minute Friday: Exhale

GO:

I feel like I am holding my breathe. Like I have been holding my breathe for 3 months now. Holding my breathe and waiting for the other shoe to drop.

My baby died. After all the prayers and longing and begging, God decided it was better to take her from us. I'm holding my breathe waiting to see what else he'll take.

He took my job, but then I found a new (better) one, but I still feel like I'm waiting to find out something went wrong with the paperwork and the offer will be taken off the table.

My husband and I have (mostly) worked through our issues and stopped fighting and blaming one another, but I feel like I am walking around holding my breathe scared to say or do the wrong thing that will be the straw that breaks the camel's back and he will be gone.

The money that we have to pay to not get to take home our daughter is ridiculous, but we got a good payment plan and insurance covered their bit, but I'm waiting to find out we owe more than I thought, or insurance decided not to pay.

I worry. I worry a lot. I worry because I realize now that life can't and won't be easy and things can't and won't always go the way I want them to. Even the enormous things (so why should I think the little ones will?).

But then I realize I can't hold my breathe forever. I have to exhale sometime. So I breathe out all the worries and anxieties and stress, and breathe in pure grace, mercy, and love. I breathe out all my fears to my savior, and breathe in peace that passes understanding. His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me. I need to stop banging my head against the wall and just fall down on my knees.

And just breathe.

STOP.

Fear

I used to be afraid of needles.

I was so afraid of needles, that I passed out after getting a tetanus booster as a teenager. I looked away, gritted my teeth, and grimaced, forcing myself to take slow deep breathes whenever I needed a shot or blood draw or anything else involving needles. The worst were IVs. I hated when they put it in, I hated having it in, and I hated when they took it out.

I'm not afraid of needles anymore. Bring it. Poke me with all you've got.

At one point while I was pregnant with Mikayla, I had an IV in each arm, and got blood drawn 3 times in 2 days for various tests. The nurses were injecting antibiotics into those IVs every 6 hours, and I could feel it going into my veins. One hand turned all puffy and they had to re-do that IV in a different spot, and then the one on the other elbow started hurting really badly, so they moved it to my hand, but my elbow hurt for days afterwards.

There is a possibility that I will need daily injections when/if I get pregnant again to be able to carry a baby safely to term. Go ahead. Give me the needles.

I'm not afraid of needles anymore because I have faced something that inflicted far more pain and terror, and I am still standing. My fear of losing my child is so much more than my fear of needles, that I would endure poking myself with needles 100 times every day for 9 months and keeping multiple IVs in at all times if it would guarantee I would get to bring my baby home from the hospital to raise.

I know there are no guarantees in this life. I know even with as far as medicine has come, it is not so simple to say that a positive pregnancy test equals taking home a baby nine months later. And that scares me so much more than any needle ever could.

But I do know there are guarantees in the life to come. That I will get to spend eternity with my savior and my baby in a place needles will never be needed again for anything. Hallelujah!

Five Minute Friday: Lost

GO:

Oh my. Lost. What a topic for me. I could write for 5 days about lost.

I have lost. I lost my baby, my daughter, my love. I lost being pregnant, and 3am feedings, and poopy diapers, and toothless grins. I lost first steps, and first day of school, and first love, and first heart-break. I lost graduation days, and a wedding day, and grandchildren. I lost a lifetime I was looking forward to sharing so much.

I feel lost. Some days I feel like I am drifting through a stormy sea without a compass. I don't know where I am or where I'm going, all I know is the waves keep coming and the clouds keep rolling and the thunder keeps crashing inside my head and it feels like all will be lost.

I hate the word lost. I hate having to say I lost my baby girl. Like she was my car keys or cell phone or insignificant trinket that I misplaced. "She's not actually lost!" I want to scream. I know where she is, I just can't go there to get her and bring her back.

And would I even if I could?

No, I don't think I would, because I know that though she is lost to earth, she has been found by heaven. She has been found by Love incarnate and wrapped in immortal splendor never to be lost again.

I know she has found. She has found happiness and joy worshiping at the feet of the savior. She has found an everlasting home where no tear will ever have to fall from her eyes. She has found peace and everlasting mercy.

I know that I can find my way. Because I know where my Mikayla is, I may miss her every day, but I know where to find my happiness and my joy and my peace. And it is worshiping at the feet of that same savior who holds her in His arms, because He carries me, too. He has found me and ransomed me and will never let me go.

Though I can never get back all the moments I wish I could have shared on Earth with Mikayla, I know they all pale in comparison to the joyous eternity of praising God side-by-side with my daughter.

I once was lost, but now am found. To live is Christ, and to die is gain.

Five Minute Friday: Release

Yes, I'm a few days late for FMF - it's been a busy week and I've been physically and emotionally drained. But better late than never, right?



GO

Tears are such a release. Some days the Bible reading turns into prayer which turns into tears. Quite often at church the songs turn into tears. Release is good. It is healthy.

I used to be one to stuff things in. To hide. To pretend like everything is great when it's really awful. To put on a happy face. Not anymore. I find comfort and beauty in the release. I find joy through the tears. I find freedom through pouring out my soul's dismay to the one who knows what it is to weep for someone you love. Jesus wept. The shortest verse in the Bible, but one of great comfort.

I love that I can release my burdens and fears at the feet of my savior. He tells us to cast all our cares upon Him and lay all of our burdens down at His feet. That kind of release cannot be found anywhere else. It is only at the foot of the cross we can find true and lasting release.


STOP.

5 Minute Friday: Messenger

GO:

A messenger. Do I have enough courage to be a messenger? One who might be used to bring messages of hope and healing to others? Will I go out on that limb and put myself out there in order to help others to know they are not alone?

Since Mikayla went to heaven, I have felt the desire to do something for other mothers who will most assuredly walk this horrible path after me. I want to comfort others with the same comfort I have received.

I haven't figured out the best way to go about it, but I do feel like there should be something for our local hospital to give to families to take home when they can't take home their precious babies. I was given nothing, and had to seek out resources on my own. Thankfully I found them, but how wonderful it would be to have been given a packet of them all at once.

I am not typically the organizer or go-getter. I am generally more content to sit in the sidelines and cheer on others, or help behind the scenes. But I feel like there aren't others to cheer or help right now, so maybe I need to be the one to rally some troops, to get the message out that there is a need to be filled. A need for mothers to not leave the hospital full of regrets and empty arms, but rather full of memories and recognition that their precious child lived and mattered and matters still.

A friend posted something on Facebook today about her business looking for causes or charities to raise money for. Maybe if I email her, that can be the beginning of something beautiful and healing for local loss moms. What am I afraid of?

How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news. I have a chance to bring a message of hope and compassion to those facing the most difficult days of their lives. So what is holding me back?

STOP.

P.s. I would love to hear some ideas in the comments section of what could be included in some type of packet for parents who experience miscarriage, stillbirth, or newborn loss. I was thinking maybe a teddy bear, baby blanket, brochure of local and on-line grief and loss resources, etc?

Just Tired

Feeling overwhelmed today. It's hot. So hot. My house is a mess. The kitchen sink is full of dishes and smells like something died in there (maybe something did?). I am still battling the roaches that decided to move into my kitchen when I had to move into bed and hubby had to move into temporary mom mode.

I feel like a rubber band stretched almost to the breaking point, ready to snap at whatever tries to stretch me the slightest bit more. Too often that is my husband. Or June Bug. Thankfully she is still young enough to think Mommy hung the moon, and forgives quickly when Mama snaps. And thankfully despite our many storms, he is still sticking it out, walking beside me as both of us looking desperately for the sun through the clouds.

I feel like my emotions have only two settings right now: off, or everything. Sometimes I go through the motions numb and half-sleep-walking through my day, just biding my time until I can crawl into bed at the end of the day. Other days the pain is welling up all through the day, tears threatening to spill out at the slightest provocation. Evening is when I let myself fall apart. Sometimes I sit at my computer while hubby is at work and June Bug is sleeping and I just weep.

5 Minute Friday: Hands

Prompt of the week is: Hands

GO:

Tiny hands. I remember them all dimpled and fat. Now they are long and lean and limber, wielding a pencil mightily and starting to put thoughts to page. Those hands that so often reach up for mine, or grab hold of some part of me and reach straight to the heart.  The little hands with the sharp fingernails because she won't let me cut them unless she is asleep. The hands that still sometimes absent-mindedly stroke the belly that used to hold their sister, until the brain realizes what they are doing, and she looks sheepishly up at her teary-eyed Mommy.

Those same hands that tonight were angry hands. Hands that were used to lash out against Mommy who was being mean and making her go to bed early because she was EXHAUSTED.

Big hands. Larger-than-life hands. Hands that hold life, the universe, and everything. Why do I so often fight those hands instead of resting in their peace?

The same reason those little hands lashed out instead of resting on her pillow. They want control. They want to be the author of their own fate. They want what they want, and not what He gives that they need.

Help me, Lord, to accept your hand.

STOP.