Making Room for Joy

Since Mikayla died and was born, I can count on one hand the moments I have felt truly happy without a cloud of fear or anxiety or sadness clouding the moment.

Today, I was given one of those moments.

I was putting June Bug to bed with our nightly routine: shower, pjs, brush teeth, drink of water, bedtime story, prayers, hugs and kisses, and lights out. We were snuggled on the bed together and I was reading a chapter of Betsy-Tacy  - a book I enjoyed as a child - on our tablet. I was holding the tablet resting its end on my lower belly, when I felt it. Baby was kicking! Baby was kicking at the tablet!

Now I have felt things that I thought might have been baby earlier on, and the other day I felt a few distinct flutters that I knew had to be baby, but this was different - vibrant, strong movements without a shadow of a doubt caused by little arms and legs exploring this thing that was pressed up against their home. I told June Bug about it, and we both enjoyed some giggles at the thought.

It was only later, when I had finished the chapter, said our prayers, and turned off the light that I realized how pure a moment of joy it had been. I was also able to remember feeling Mikayla kick at June Bug's musical teddy bear without the overwhelming feeling of acute grief, but rather a fond memory with just a hint of sadness.

I know there will still be days of weeping and pain. I know it will still be a long journey, but I do feel like I have turned a corner somehow. Like I have crawled far enough down the tunnel that I can actually see a glimpse of the brilliant light waiting for me up ahead.  

I am learning to make room for joy again. And it feels good.

FMF: Keep

GO:

More than anything right now, I want to keep this baby. I want to hold this baby and never let go.

I wanted to keep Mikayla, too. And Selah.

I know that nothing on earth is truly mine to keep. It all belongs to God, and He keeps it all in His hands, like the song I sing with June Bug about the whole world, and the Mommies and Daddies, and when I sing the little bitty babies the tears well up because I know He's holding two of mine.

Make that four of His.

He's got June bug and Mikayla in His hands, He's got Selah and little rainbow in His hands, He's got the whole world in His hands.

And I know that none of them are really mine because all of them are His and He has blessed me to loan them to me for a time. For Selah it was very short. Mikayla a little longer. Hopefully June Bug and Rainbow will be here in my hands a good long while, but even so they are not really mine, and I can't hold too tightly.

But I know He holds tightly to us all, and no one can snatch us out of His hands. So may the Lord bless us and Keep us; may His face shine upon us and bring us His peace.


STOP


Joining up with Five Minute Friday for 5 minutes of writing free of editing and second-guessing and agonizing.

FMF: Waiting in Faith

Joining in for a 5 minute Friday free-write with Kate and the gang

Prompt of the week: WAIT


GO:

I can't wait!

I can't wait until I can feel this tiny baby moving and kicking and reassuring Mama that all is well.

I can't wait until this awkward little bump grows big enough that I look pregnant and not just bloated or fat.

I can't wait to find out if June Bug, Mikayla, and Selah are getting a baby brother, or another sister.

I can't wait to be waddling around big and pregnant, complaining about back aches and cankles.

I can't wait to have a baby shower and wash all the tiny precious onesies and sleepers and itty-bitty mittens and socks.

Most of all I can't wait until a doctor places a screaming bundle of life into my arms and gives congratulations instead of condolences.

In the meantime: faith, not fear. FAITH, not fear. That is my mantra for 2015, and I repeat it to myself every time the enemy creeps in and whispers that maybe I can't trust God because after all, didn't He let me down before?

In the waiting place, FAITH, not fear.

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

Five Minute Friday: Adore

I've been battling first-trimester exhaustion and morning sickness lately, so haven't had as much time to write. Trying to get back into the swing of things now that I'm officially on vacation for Christmas - yay! 

Topic of the week over at Kate's: Adore

GO:

Oh, come let us adore Him. Oh, come let us adore Him. Oh, come let us adore Him, Christ the Lord. 

When you hear the word "adorable" what is the first thing you think of? Sweet puppies, cute kittens, squishy newborn babies? When the shepherds and wise men went to adore Jesus, he was probably pretty adorable by that understanding of the word. 

I bet you don't think about blood, or gore. You don't think about nails being driven into human flesh, or someone being spat upon. You don't imagine a spear being driven into someone's side. Or if you do, you might want to see a psychiatrist! 

When we look at what the word adore actually means; love or respect deeply, worship, venerate, cherish, revere; we see that the word applies just as much to the crucified Christ as it does to the baby in the manger. Jesus, who took on flesh at Christmas time as an adorable baby, lived the perfect life so that He could be our atoning sacrifice. He was despised, rejected, beaten, tortured, and ultimately killed in a horrific manner, all in my place. In your place. In our place. 

If that isn't worthy of adoration, I don't know what is. 

STOP.

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.

FmF: Turn your eyes upon Jesus

Joining 5 minute Friday for 5 minutes of free-writing on the word: TURN


GO.

Turn your eyes upon Jesus, look full in His wonderful face, and the things of earth will grow strangely dim in the light of His glory and grace.

Yesterday my boss started a meeting with a devotional (I work in a Christian workplace) about trusting. It said we often fail to trust because we want answers, we want to feel in control, and we want to know what is coming next. It also said the Holy Spirit in our hearts can help us turn to Jesus and think trusting thoughts.

It definitely hit close to home, because one of my biggest struggles these past 7 months has been finding the balance between faith and action. I tell myself I trust God, but I long for and search for answers. I say I trust God, but I also look for another doctor who I can trust. I want to TRUST God, but I want to DO something to avoid future pain.

My prayers today have turned 180. I am not praying for answers or action plans today. I am praying that the Holy Spirit would help me to turn my eyes upon Jesus.